Selma
There was a girl born in a small town (the town was very small. There was a main street and a handful of secondary roads that lead off of it (most people lived off of these roads, in clustered neighborhoods with green fields where children would play sports (the girl (her name was Selma, after her grandmother (born in 1906 in the same small town (most people didn’t leave. It was a close knit community, and friends were lifelong friends (though Selma had a very hard time making friends. The children wouldn’t play with her because of her bad legs, her crooked spine, her limp and the way she always said dreamy things that didn’t have anything to do with anything (she was born sickly and weak, and the doctor said she would never walk. But her parents, particularly her mother (born in 1940 in her parents’ house. She was the most beautiful girl in the town, so most people agreed, and when she got married to a handsome local boy it was a grand celebration for everyone. There was a band and afterwards the festivities lasted long into the night (it had been a warm night, and for the honeymoon Selma’s parents made love with the window open. They could still hear people laughing and shouting on the other side of the trees (on a summer night, the moon and the fireflies would come out, and there’d be a breeze up off the river, and there was no war and no pain or death (there were no epidemics where people were told to wear masks and avoid each other (no political contests where lies were told and reputations ruined (no disease (no sinking ships (no suicide or still births (the children would come out to play at night, on Main Street and in the fields while their parents sat in the yards, drinking tea or beer, smoking cigarettes and recalling when it was their turn (Selma could not do those things. She didn’t play tag or baseball. She spent most of her time inside, reading and sewing (though she would, on occasion, sit outside, next to her mother (her mother quickly gained a reputation for fierce protectiveness, always on guard for the harsh treatment of cruel children (not all of the children were mean to Selma, or excluded her. There was one little girl, named Maggie, who would approach Selma in the yard on an afternoon and sit down next to her (Maggie was very small, and for this reason was often marginalized in the same way Selma was (though not to the same extent. Maggie was quick and very good at tag. Maggie saw in Selma someone who accepted her despite her small size (Selma saw in Maggie the same thing. Selma did a good job of not letting the other children hurt her feelings when they laughed as they passed her in the yard, or when no one knocked on her door to eat ice cream by the fountain in the park (occasionally, however, she would break down in tears and her mother would console her, sitting on the bed with her daughter and patting her on the back while Selma’s father looked on sorrowfully from the doorway (as Selma became older she was better at hiding her feelings. Her skin had become thicker. She no longer cried (the children had also become more mature, and some of the girls became her good friends (they knew Selma couldn’t dance or take long walks by the river, but she was funny, and all of the reading she’d done had made her interesting and knowledgeable on most subjects, even boys (it was the boys that kept Selma isolated. Because she couldn’t dance, even her closest friends found it difficult to spend an evening with her on the night of a school ball, or one of the concert nights at the gazebo. They were learning to kiss and learning to fall in love, and Selma didn’t seem capable of either (Selma had been in love, but she’d never said anything about it to anyone. Love, she felt, was not for her, and so she had no right to speak of it as though it was (because of this, she understood well the negroes and their denigration. She felt as they did, she was sure, and wondered if she’d be better off if she had her own side of town (she only felt this way for a period in high school. As she came closer to graduation, and then left high school, she began to feel better about everything (her back was still in terrible pain all the time, and she had to go to the doctor frequently (her parents had a hard time paying for it, and did not allow themselves luxuries. The sacrifice, to them, was a small price to pay for their daughter’s health (Selma knew of her parents’ sacrifice and felt awful for it. But she knew it would be a necessity until she could afford her own care (when she was twenty-two she began to teach at the elementary she herself had attended (the children loved her. She always picked the best books, and she made jokes, and she sang songs. And she knew everything about everything (she didn’t teach for long (she’d been able to leave her parents’ house when she began to teach, and it had made her so proud. She cooked for herself and listened to records at night while she prepared lessons for school (on the day her father carried her back into her old room, to stay for good, Selma cried for the first time in years (she wouldn’t ever cry again (Selma had to quit her job at the school and, once again, her parents cared for her. When things were the worst, and she was in the most pain, Selma’s mother helped her take baths, and prepared her meals. Her father spoke to the doctor (Selma attempted to do these things on her own, but she was often overwhelmed by pain (she was not confined to bed. She would help her mother cook several days a week, and, on occasion, go into town with her father (as time went on, she was forced to spend most of her time in bed. She felt like a terrible burden on her parents, who were getting on in years, and tried to think of ways she could make money to help them (she thought she might be an inventor. She tried to invent a better sewing needle, as well as a new, more comfortable shoe sole (she was not an inventor. Though her mother and father, and Selma herself, were proud of her inventions, their practicality was limited, and none of the companies her father contacted wanted them (eventually she gave up on being an inventor and decided to be a writer (she felt the best money would be in the movies, and so she attempted to write a script. But by the third car explosion she was sure she had no talent for it and gave up (she was much happier with the novel she wrote. It was a sweet book that Selma decided to call What It’s Like to Dance on Concert Night. The story was about a young woman who can’t dance because of a splinter in her foot. The wound gets infected and the girl dies. Then one by one the people in the girl’s town describe what they remember about her, and why they loved her (the book was not published until after Selma’s death. It sold very few copies, but every person in Selma’s town had read it (she got really sick just after she finished the book and spent her last days in her childhood bed with the window open (her mother sat by her side. Her father marveled at how like a child his little girl looked again (Selma had lost so much weight that her body barely rose above the mattress, and her knees and feet made the smallest knots in the surface of the blanket (her mother made sure she stayed covered and comfortable at all times. She knew her daughter was dying (the whole town knew. Her old students sent her handmade cards drawn in crayon with get well messages. Some of Selma’s friends came to visit (they never stayed long, and they always left crying (only Selma’s mother could see her fleshless baby without tears (though it was always a struggle (it always would be, until the end, and for a long time after (Selma passed away in bed on a rainy afternoon with the window open)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))) where dreams don’t often come true, but love is well-known and unbounded by fate or circumstance.
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Sam Ramos was born in Austin, Texas and received a BFA in Art History
from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago. He’s been published
in Fogged Clarity, Pindeldyboz, and Jettison Quarterly.