Vidalia

By Katherine Druiett

Katherine Druiett is a junior at VWU who is majoring in Environmental Studies to hopefully help the Chesapeake Bay. She has always loved express herself through creativity and finds herself most inspired by the things she loves.

I stand tall and watch many people go about their day on the busy street. One moment, I was in the quietest place I've ever been. Now, I stand here with some of my belongings in a leather suitcase, wearing a pair of blue jeans and a wrinkled yellow button up. They fully expect a man like me to just resume my life with no trouble? I showed up to this place in this exact outfit and now I'm leaving with it on, yet it's wrinkled and it carries memories I learned to forget about. Honking and yelling is all I hear. I see a young girl on a motorcycle. That's odd. People in a rush. Looking straight, knowing their destination and the quickest route. Some bump into me without an apology. None of them are worried about what's around them. My mind is still swirling with questions. I stand in the middle of the busy crowd. A tall man with a neon green tie bumps into me. I'm so used to seeing the same people everyday wearing the same uniform. The people almost remind me of robots who are hardwired to go down a certain road. I feel alone. No one around me knows my story, which actually gives me comfort. I stand alone and feel lost, as if I should start walking, yet I have no direction. The difference between me and the people around me is that they all have a purpose. 

“Don't forget your medicine before you go to sleep tonight,” the nice lady at the desk said. 

“What medicine?” I thought. Not wanting to ask, being too afraid I would be here any longer. The lady hands me a brown wrinkled bag. 

“Thank you,” I said sarcastically. It's not like I'm even thankful for anything this place did. 

Opening the paper bag, I was shocked to see what was in it. Wow, I haven't had candy in sixty-three days. This is probably the nicest thing they've done for me. They put the candy in a little cup with my full name on it and it had a label saying, “Take once a day.” Of course, even when I'm out, they're still telling me what to do. Too bad for them, I don't even like hard candy, especially the blue flavor. I grab my things and swing the door open, ready for whatever life throws at me now. 

Back to my everyday routine, the routine that sent me into overdrive. Every day I did the same thing until my mind started playing tricks on me. I like to tell myself that my mind got so bored with life it just wanted to see new things, but I guess that's not normal. What is normal?   

“Next in line!” yelled a grumpy old man. You can tell he's been working there for years. I walk to the front and hand him my stack of signed papers. 

“Huh? Inpatient hospital, you don’t look like a looney,” he said. 

“Well sir, I didn't know there was a certain look for people who've been in a mental institute,” I said with a blunt face. 

“Well, since you've been cleared by some professionals, your mental hold has been revoked and you've been cleared to work again.” He reaches deep into a cabinet and hands me my safety vest and my hairnet. 

I shivered as I heard the machines slowly turn on, a sound I wish I wasn't familiar with. The hairnet was tight on my head and every ounce of me wanted to readjust it. I didn't because if I lost any ounce of focus I would miss a package that needs to be taped. One package after the other, some small, some wide, some long and thin. Fold, tape, cut. Fold, tape, cut. Even with this being my first day back, my hands never forgot these motions. I could almost do this with my eyes shut. I soon became a robot, not even thinking about what's in front of me. This is my life again. I almost began to think my life was better when boring nurses would wake me up multiple times a night. Sometimes I can still hear them in my mind. 

“Checking in, time to take your vitals.” 

I felt like an animal locked in a cage. I could tell the nurses were always judging. I knew I wasn't a bad person, but I could tell people thought I was a monster. A freak. They always flinched when taking my blood pressure, like they thought my mind would turn them into something I would want to hurt. In reality, if my mind did, I would only want to hide or escape. The place was so quiet, until “code blue” was yelled on the overhead speaker. I hate blue. I hate the color blue. This is going to be a long week.

When you have nothing to look forward to, the weekend always goes by fast. I put on my hairnet and place my roll of tape next to me. The bell rings. Time to start taping. Time to get lost in the never ending packages. My thoughts soon took over. I'm always going to be alone. I'm never going to stop living this repetitive life. I snap back into reality. A small delicate hand reached towards me. I quickly looked over and the first thing I saw was two round blue eyes staring at me. So blue, so full of life. 

“Hello neighbor!” a young woman said. "My name is Vidalia but you can call me Vivi for short. Sorry if I got in your way.” Her hair was so red it almost looked unreal, with her hairnet full of curls it looked like it could pop off her head. I guess they hired someone new while I was gone. They must have been desperate. 

“Vidalia, like the onion?” I asked.

 “Exactly! The sweetest onion in the bunch,” she said with a smile. 

Under her safety vest she wore a purple T-shirt with lace around the arm-holes. Her earrings were long with two pearls on each end. 

“Wearing jewelry is a safety violation,” I said. 

“Well how am I supposed to show the world who I am if I dress like everyone else?” she snapped back. 

We soon started talking. Long conversations, mostly about her life. I was too scared to share anything about myself, I was afraid I would scare her off, so I just listened. She was so full of life. How could someone so joyful work in a place like this?  We got so carried away I began to realize I missed taping multiple packages. For some reason, I didn’t mind. That night, I went to sleep excited to go to work tomorrow. I think I'm very fond of Vidalia. 

The next day I walked to work, still too scared to drive. I cringe as I remember what happened when my mind took over last time. I enjoyed my walk to work today. Normally, I dread every second thinking about the long repeating day ahead of me. I walk past an older couple walking their large great dane. The dog’s tongue swung back and forth as it took long strides. Vidalia doesn't like big dogs; she has a beagle named Bert. I saw many flowers today, normally I only see the bricks under my feet. Short white daisies that are so fragile, they could blow over if you walk too fast. Full baskets of colorful hydrangeas hung over windows. Vidalia likes flowers. Her parents own a mobile flower shop. She used to travel in an old van to farmers markets, selling beautiful bouquets. She described the van as the one in her favorite cartoon, Scooby-Doo. She is good at telling stories. I look up and see the bright blue sky without a trace of any clouds. The sky reminds me of Vidalia’s eyes; you can get lost in them if you look long enough. 

I like to work quietly, but today I enjoyed the non-stop chatting. Having her next to me on the conveyor belt helped my loud thoughts simmer down. As each package slowly came across the belt, she started to ask me questions about myself. Nervously, I answered all her questions. Normally, people aren't interested in a tall, pale man like me. Many people find me unapproachable. 

“I'm sure your ears are tired of me going on about myself. Tell me more about you. Where are you from?” 

I pulled the roll of tape across a long package, nervous to answer, “I'm actually from here, born and raised in this city.” 

“No way, me too!” 

For some reason, that surprised me. I know this city is big, but I feel like I have seen every local at least once. If I had seen her walking down the street, I would have stopped and stared. I understand it's unkind to stare, but Vidalia has an energy surrounding her. Vidalia is someone you don’t forget. You just have to stop and watch her go about her day.

 She then said, “My favorite food is pizza. You can tell a lot about someone by the toppings they select. I'm sure you've been to Angelos on the corner of North Montross Street. Every local has been there!” 

“Actually, no I haven't,” I said dejectedly. 

“No way, you'll have to go there and let me know what your favorite pizza topping is. They have a lot to choose from.” 

We carried on many conversations and wrapped many packages. She made me forget how much the room smelled like cardboard and Scotch Tape. I hate the smell of cardboard. 

“So, why did you take a leave from work?” 

My hands began to sweat. I trembled trying to roll the tape around the package. Do I tell the truth? 

Short but sweet, I answered, “My mind was playing tricks on me, so I had to go to a place that made sure I was safe from myself and others.” I was scared to see what she was going to say. 

“Well… I'm glad you got the help you needed. Everyone deserves to be happy in their own mind and body.” 

I could tell her answer was genuine. She looked at me with her soft blue eyes and a smile on her face. That small answer made my stomach flutter, and my body sprung with emotion that had been lost in me. Vidalia made me safe. Vidalia made me happy. 

I was excited to stop at the pizza place on my way home, wondering what kind of topping Vidalia chooses on her pizza. Normally, I go straight home and heat up my dinner-for-one microwavable meal. The pizza shop was filled with loud people. Lots of families with kids squirming in their chairs. Couples on dates, struggling to be as neat as possible as long cheese strands pulled apart from the pizza to their mouth. Italian music played, and the place smelled strongly of garlic. 

“Welcome to Angelos, what can I getcha?” a large man with a red checkered hat said. I looked at the menu that was filled with toppings I never thought would touch a pizza. Odd toppings like bacon, pineapple, and macaroni. 

“I'll just have one slice of cheese pizza, please.” Wait, I can't just choose cheese, Vidalia would have chosen an adventurous topping. “Actually, I'll have the bacon and macaroni.” 

“Coming right up, name for the order?” he asked.

 “Kameron, with a ‘K’ not a ‘C’.” 

I sat at the bar on a creaky bar stool eating my pizza. To my surprise, it was quite good. I wonder what type of pizza Vidalia orders. The same man that took my order was wiping down the seat next to me. 

“Weird question, but a lady with red hair, Vidalia, comes in here often. What does she order?” I asked. 

“Man, I'm not sure, I see a lot of pretty women and I'm sure I would have remembered a name like that. Are you sure she's been to this pizza joint?” 

“Forget it, it's a weird question.” 

Who forgets a person like Vidalia, I thought. Surely the whole room would have turned to look at her. I went to sleep that night excited to tell Vidalia about my pizza. 

The next day, Vidalia and I started our shift together.

“Macaroni and bacon, nice choice. You struck me as a cheese guy!” I blushed as we taped a package, almost in sync with each other. 

“So, what's your favorite topping?” 

 “Pineapple and purple onion of course, sweet but savory.” 

Something about our little conversations took me away from my thoughts. She cleared my head. I got so lost in her story, my hand slipped. My hands never slip. I sliced my thumb on the edge of the blade that cuts the tape. It had to be my thumb. Out of all my fingers the nurses always pricked this thumb. 

“You need to eat something, your blood sugar is low,” the nurses constantly said. Always trying to tell me what to do. 

Blood starts running down my hand. Embarrassed, I grab the first aid kit that's kept in a cabinet below our feet, in case of incidents like this. 

“That's a deep cut,” she said.

“Yeah, this is going to leave a gross scar.” 

“You know there's a flower shop off of Cabin’s Point Boulevard, and they sell aloe plants. Aloe is supposed to be good for cuts and burns. It's nature’s medicine,” she said happily.

 Of course she would know that. We go back to wrapping packages. Sometimes I wonder what kind of people are receiving these packages and what kind of stories they have to tell. 

On my way back home, I stopped at the flower shop. Normally, I go straight home to my blank-colored walls. As soon as I walked into the flower shop, it was like being smacked in the face with the smell of dirt and the sweet fragrance of different flowers. On a wired shelf I see many aloe plants, some big, some small. An old lady with pink garden gloves crept up behind me. 

“Can I help you with anything sweetie?” The last person to call me sweetie was my mom, she often called me that, until she thought it was better if I left home. She wanted to be sure that my younger siblings would be “safe.” 

“I would like to purchase an aloe plant, please.” 

She put my aloe in a bag as I got lost in all the flowers in the shop. So many flowers and plants. So full of color and sweet smells. I wonder what flowers Vidalia would have chosen. 

“Actually, I would like a couple more things,” I told the lady.

I purchase daisies and herbs for my kitchen. I pick out a strange looking cactus and tall plants with leaves bigger than my head. I make many trips to the store, back and forth to my apartment, carrying multiple colorful pots and plants up my stairs. My once blank walls began to fill with vivid green plants. My kitchen soon took on the smell of basil and fresh mint. My kitchen table was centered with a pot full of fresh flowers. I step back realizing this is somewhere I would want to come home to every day. This is a lot better than the cold mental institution I laid in at night while nurses pricked me with needles. The plants had no interest in me or what I was thinking. I then cut the long, spiky aloe and lathered it on my thumb, expecting it to sting. It feels nice, almost like a slug crawled over my thumb. My apartment was full of life. Vidalia would love this. 

I wake up, ready to tell Vidalia about how my apartment has turned into a jungle. Vidalia has turned my boring routine into a life filled with new adventures. As I eat my buttered toast for breakfast, I stare at the vase of lively flowers on the table. In an instant, I grab them and pull a strand of blue ribbon from a drawer. The ribbon is covered in dust, I haven't wrapped a gift in years. I carefully tie the ribbon around the wet stems. Today is the day I ask her to go out into the world with me. Possibly to Angelos? No, she deserves somewhere fancy. Maybe I should let her pick where to go, after all I don’t know any places around here. Maybe I shouldn't ask her out at all. This is too soon. I gather my thoughts and bottle them up. Not this time, no over thinking. This time I'm not going to let my thoughts win. I rush to my bathroom to freshen up, noticing I haven't been to the store since I've been back. I hate grocery stores full of people who are doing the same thing, and the bright fluorescent lights always hurt my head. Rushing through my drawers, I realize my toothpaste is empty. I open my bottom drawer. There, staring right at me, is the brown crinkled bag, filled with the blue candy, that I meant to throw out. That will have to do. I pop one in my mouth hoping it would freshen my breath, but instead it just tastes bitter. The candy is not hard at all. It dissolves into a white powder on my tongue. This doesn't taste like the blue flavor I know! I'll just ask her out from a distance. Hopefully my breath doesn’t smell that bad. Vidalia makes me nervous. 

I walk to work faster today, eager yet nervous to ask the question to Vidalia. I never talk first, I always just answer.  The water from the flower stems trickles down my elbow. I walk up to the conveyor-belt, scanning the room for Vidalia. 

 The emotionless workers across from me, who I've never shared a conversation with, look at me strangely.

“Hey crazy! What's with the flowers?” one yelled. I could see his rotten teeth from here.

“They’re for Vidalia,” I answered. Like you would ever give a nice girl flowers, I thought.

“Who’s Vidalia?” 

“The girl that works next to me. She's been on our shift for the last week. You know, the one with red curly hair. The only girl here.”

“There hasn't been a girl working here for the past thirty years.” He turned to the man next to him and asked, “Have you seen a lady working here, named Vidalia?”

“Vidalia? Nope, trust me. If I saw a lady here, I would have known,” he said. They both stared, the same stares that many people gave me while I was in the hospital.

“The looney bin sure did a number on you,” they both chuckled. 

She was just a creation. My idiotic brain was playing tricks on me. Frustration flooded my body. It felt like barbed wire was wrapped around my neck making it hard to swallow. All I wanted to do was fall to the floor and disappear. I stood there next to the conveyor belt with the flowers laying lifeless by my feet. My eyes fell to the floor and my chin dangled on my chest. My vision was engulfed with haze as tears filled my eyes. The once lively flowers were now ruined by the dull room full of machines and hateful people. I was frozen. I wish my mind would freeze. I am alone and I was always alone. Small tears stung my cheek. 

Slowly, a small, delicate hand trembled into view through my tear-blurred gaze, desperately reaching to gather the scattered flowers. I blinked. Blinked again. I brought my view to the top of the blurred figure's head. She was bent down, her curls full of life. She picked each flower up as if it had a heart beat. Vidalia. I looked up in confusion at the cruel men. They both looked ashamed as they watched her appear. She slowly stood up as her imperfect hair fell in front of her face. Her bright blue eyes looked into me. Vidalia. Her earrings sat on her shoulder and swung next to her round face. Her small grin climbed her smooth face. Vidalia. Her soft hand brushed against my face. Her other hand was gripped tightly around the rich flowers. Vidalia. Her hand stayed on my cheek as her glare sunk through me. Oh, Vidalia. 

“Why would you bring such beautiful flowers and not put them in a vase?” Vidalia said.