Prologue:
There are towns, however remote, and even some closer to
civilization where, much like Girly May, some people have never left. They were
born here, and this is where they stayed. No desire for ocean or mountain, no
knowledge of living at a different pace. They knew what they knew. They knew
when times were tough, and they generally were. They knew when things
were better. When the church was less crammed with drawn faces and Sunday
afternoons held as much adult laughter as that of children. They also knew that
nothing could last forever but they tried to make it so by never venturing away
from the safety of home.
Girly May had been born in just such a place, to
a mother and father who confused complacency with contentment. Where shoes were
for Sundays, and fizzy cool drinks were a godsend. The dust that puffed up from
her 14-year-old toes as she slapped her bare feet on the schoolhouse veranda
did not set her apart, instead it confirmed what she in her heart had always
tried to shy away from; she was one of them; born to live even as she died.
Girly May wanted more, and now at the ripe old age of 25 she
decided to go and find it.
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