Country Boy

“Wallace, I really don’t get it.”

“Don’t get what, Leanne?” Wallace looked up at her from his newspaper.

Lena was staring down at him. “First of all, why you insist on calling me Leanne. It’s Lena. Second of all, why you wear the boots and the hat and listen to country music and all that. You drive a truck, for Christ’s sake, when you live in the city and work in IT.”

“Sometimes I gotta move gear around, Leanne.”

“Lena.”

“I tell you what, Leanne. You know why I am like this? It suits. I like the style, I like the life. I didn’t always used to be. I was the geek with the glasses and the grumbling about people and their emails. Then my girl left me, and stole my car and my dog. I was sad, until she came back, told me she had killed the dog with the car, and so was leaving the vehicle there. Then she come back again, punctured all four tires, and scratched some obscenities in the paint. Then I got angry, and things was real bad. So I found my solace, Leanne. And if that means I don’t fit in, and I mispronounce some folks’ names, well, I’m sorry, but I gotta do what I gotta do, knowhatImean?”

Lena pursed her lips. “It’s a sad story, Wallace. But I was talking to your girlfriend yesterday. She said things were fine with you two.”

“Well, potato potahto, hey?”

Lena rolled her eyes. “Just say my name right, would you?”

“I do, darlin’.” He grinned as she turned and walked away.

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