This was written as a prompt from a real magazine article. I didn’t bother reading the article, I knew what it said. Although this is taken from the point of a country/city view, it is the same with all of our communities: black, white, brown, yellow, political, religious, and all of the others. We are all too human and ultimately have the same tendencies and thoughts at the core of our beings. It is our mental job to get over that and realize that “those people” are us. 

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Soak up the small-town life! That was the headline of the article facing me over this morning’s coffee. Small town life? What life? Whose life? Our lives? Does it really matter to you? You see us in the streets, behind the counters, sitting on the bridge; but you don’t look. You don’t even bother to think of us. 

We have no shopping malls, not much shopping at all. The five and dime, drugstore, bakery, lady’s clothing, and stationery shop have a few things. Besides that, all there is to see is our three churches, two banks, the photographers’ shop, and a mortuary. The main attraction is the old carved granite and marble building that holds all of the town’s services. I do mean all, including the library and the fire truck that is parked out front because there is no other room for it. The town hall is the cornerstone of our community and it was built long before any of us were alive, or firetrucks were large. 

Our town is set in its ways. Since it was founded our town has bearly changed. You still have to walk a few blocks to get to the train station. It has burnt down a few times before the fancy truck. Every time rebuilt by the local guys. There’s a plaque that tells you these things. The station is more than that. It is a symbol that we still exist, even though only six freights pass through a week now. 

The Milk Depot and the Feed and Seed are also down by the tracks for that one freight a month that stops with supplies. The tracks are always “down” and away from the houses sitting on the far side of the hill. They do not want to live near the tracks, it is loud, and it is dirty. It is a place for “those people” to live. 

“Those people” are the people who are not you and your people. “Those people” look different, talk different, maybe even care differently than you. It is blatantly obvious to all parties that the other is “those people.” It is “those people” that we in small towns watch. We watch you as you come for your ‘day trip’ to soak up our town. You are not one of us. We know all of us. 

Are you a rival town’s kid, or a city slicker tied to your mommy? It doesn’t really matter, you’re one of ‘them’, you’re not one of us. You may do your oohs and aahs at the old stone architecture. Quaint you’ll say, but we know that’s a slam. We also know with pride nothing like it still stands where you’re from. “Those people” would not allow it in their cities. 

Maybe you will buy something at Tom’s bakery and smile as you enjoy fresh cream. Perhaps a trinket from Sams’ five and dime. It’s to support the local economy you will tell yourselves. You’ll walk the four streets of our town looking at the old houses, wonder what a milk depot is, and take one last look at the grand town hall. Then you will get into your shiny vehicles and leave. You leave before nightfall so that you can keep your idyllic small town soaked up in your brain.