Woodbridge Sucks
Chapter 2 of "Half-Blind"
[Previously in “Half-Blind”… we were introduced to James DeYoung and found him in high school stumbling through a new relationship, and attempting to explain his minor disability of having only one functioning eye. In this chapter, we jump ahead a couple decades. Read Chapter 1 here.]
Woodbridge, VT ~ 2015
Small towns harbor small imaginations. - Stephen King
Woodbridge, Vermont, was well passed its glory days, at least according to the old-timers. The teenagers seemed to agree, as they gave the town its unofficial motto. Caught in the middle were many of the 20-, 30-, and 40-somethings, who either hadn’t left town, or found their way into town, and were trying to make a go of it.
But not too many years ago, somebody spraypainted “Woodbridge Sucks” on both sides of the train overpass on the north side of town. As graffiti goes, it was tame enough, and perhaps artistic enough, and certainly true enough, so it stayed. Rumors abounded about who was responsible, but no one owned up, and ultimately no one seemed to care. The vast majority of the traffic in and out of town had that message drummed into their head every day. Most folks stopped seeing it, at least consciously. A few towns over, in a different world, somebody spraypainted in a similar spot: “You’re going to be OK.”
Highschoolers, longing to break out of the small town, repeated “Woodbridge Sucks” to each other daily. 20somethings, caught in the grind of low wages, high fertility, and cheap narcotics grumbled it to themselves often. The few professionals in town, who kept to the outskirts and the high ground, shook their heads and thought it often as they passed through town. Retirees, who made up the majority of the population, would never utter such a vulgar phrase out loud, but certainly believed it whole-heartedly. Gone were the simple times. Gone were the days when they had all the influence and control, so for them too, Woodbridge did indeed suck.
Woodbridge, like nearly every town in Vermont, was mostly a mix of old hippies and hillbillies. Over the years they learned to coexist, because the chief value for both groups was live and let live. Leave me alone and I’ll leave you alone. Being one of the larger towns in the state, it also had its fair share of blue collar and no collar folks, many of whom were caught in the opioid morass. It was in the whitest county of the whitest state of the union, so a racist mindset was inevitable for most, although mostly under wraps. Classism, however, was rampant and brazen.
When James, Melody, and the twins moved into town with the fresh optimism of outsiders, they soon met the next door neighbor, who, oddly enough, always wore a smile. There was no “Welcome to the Neighborhood” plate of cookies, but rather a quick education in the New England Way. After exchanging initial pleasantries, Tom got to business: “Let me show you where the property line is.” And so he marched James to the rebar pin in the corner of their back yards.
“Paid good money to get this surveyed. Mind the offsets if you’re going to put a shed up or something,” Tom said.
Taken aback, James had little to say besides, “Oh, OK.”
“Oh and the previous owner was elderly, so I mowed the lawn for them, and shoveled the snow too.” Tom paused to take a good look at James. “You look young enough, so you’re on your own. Good to meet you. Take care.”
“Oh, OK. Thanks.”
Still new in town, attracted by the Vermont landscape and lifestyle, James hadn’t yet noticed the graffiti on the railway overpass.
~~~
This is the second chapter of my novel “Half-Blind” which is being published on Substack serially. Subscribe to read on!