A little East of Paris: Moving

“What do you think about spending the rest of the winter in Texas?” Gwain asked.

“Texas is the last place on earth I would ever want to go” Jana replied.

And on that note, a Nutritionist and an Occupational Therapists entered the room and interrupted the conversation.

The next four weeks were a blur. Jana learned how to stand up (her muscles were as weak as water) and how to safely sit down. Gwain learned how to use equipment to lift and toilet her and how to bathe her.

Seven weeks after Jana’s slip-and-fall, they were sitting in Detroit Metro Airport with tickets to Texas. Janna was sitting in a wheelchair and wearing a helmet. She felt like everybody was looking at her. Her emotions wheeled between mortification and anger, depression and a need to lash-out, helplessness and the tiniest glimmer of hope.

On the one hand, she resented that Gwain had not consulted with her. On the other hand, she realized that she would not have been able to offer any useful advise; the doctors had been very clear about three points: Her thinking would remain wooly-headed for the immediate future, her emotions would remain volatile and that another blow to her head would kill her. Not “might kill her” but WOULD kill her. Hence the padded helmet.

During the four weeks of therapy Jana learned how the University had closed-ranks to support her and Gwain. Colleagues had taken their classes including the grading of the end-of-term papers. Their peers had discretely reached out to professional associates and alumni in southern states where ice was a rarity and asked about positions and housing.

It was the Dean of the College who found the house in Lefleur, Texas and had made inquiries at the local Texas A&M about positions for Gwain.

Jana had always thought the Dean to be a bombastic buffoon with a forced hale-fellow-wellmet demeanor. In their moment of need, Jana was forced to admit that perhaps there was more to the Dean than her emotional reaction to his mannerisms.

Jana really didn’t have a choice. She was going to Texas.

***

LeFleur, Texas (Jana insisted on spelling it with a capital “F”) was a little bit east of Paris, Texas and was one of a string of towns that had grown up along New Boston-to-Savoy railroad. They would have died when the railroad closed except that Texas Highway 82 paralleled the old rail-line. Businesses switched from servicing the railway to serving commuters and truckers who were going to Paris.

The rail-bed had been converted to the Northeast Texas Trail.

Jana’s new home was a single story, 920 square-feet bungalow with fifty year-old pecan trees in the front yard. There was a vacant lot that separated the house from Veteran’s Memorial Park which had a walking-track, parking and provided access to the Northeast Texas Trail.

The transfer of all of her files to the Paris Regional Medical Center had been seamless. Her therapy sessions were a scant 20 minutes away from where they lived.

The pansies were blooming in profusion as Gwain wheeled her to her first session. The sun made the temperature feel warmer than the 60 F.

Jana was completely prepared to hate Texas, but she had to admit that flowers in early February was something she could grow to like.

 

---Note to Readers---

Gwain and Jana are Professors of Language Arts at University of Asphodel, a small, Liberal Arts college in Michigan. Although past the age of retirement, they continue to pick up a few classes to help with the budget and to keep their mind's sharp.

LeFleur, Texas is a mash-up of Blossom, Texas and Detroit, Texas. Blossom is 7 miles east of I-286 which circles Paris and Detroit is 14 miles east of I-286.

Roughly 300 miles from the Gulf of America, 15 miles from the Red River and 100 miles (as the crow flies) from Dallas. 55 inches (1400mm) of precipitation in an average year and USDA Zone 8a.

I will take liberties with certain things. The Texas A&M campus which is in Commerce will be relocated to Paris.  Any resemblance of the characters to real people, living or dead, are purely coincidental.

These start-off installments are likely to be short as the background is sketched out. Trying to stretch them out to 1000 words makes them an impenetrable thicket of information.

Incidentally, I stole the title for this series from a frequent commenter whose sig line is "a little east of Paris". Thanks bro. I am making you famous.

Any intelligence on the area will be much appreciated.