| Tammy Christensen |  |
Mrs. Mills's Vantage Point
Mrs. Mills is a disagreeable community icon. She has had pearl-white hair and a grumpy face for as long as the six King kids can remember. Lately, she coughs and spits phlegm into her handkerchief during Sunday school and uses binoculars to spy on people from her high vantage point west of town. Her husband, Arnold, is very personable and somewhat of a town novelty with three fingers on each hand. He is an excellent cabinet builder and avid rock hound. He crafts cupboards and rock jewelry for his neighbors.
When Mrs. Mills was young, Alpine was a thriving logging community. She spent Friday nights at the dance hall, walked daily to the post office for mail and gossip, shopped at the grocery store, and avoided the tavern. Now, in the 1970s, Mrs. Mills is past her prime and so is Alpine. With the exception of the store and tavern, the places she frequented as a young lady are abandoned or run down and only interest her indirectly as she spies on the younger generation exploring her old haunts.
It’s a summer evening, time for bed but too sultry to sleep. Mrs. Mills is sitting on her front porch listening to the King children play a half-block away. She watches their silhouettes dart in and out of the single street light and infrequent car lights. Her binoculars are inside on the windowsill. They’re useless right now, but she knows the kids are hiding from cars again. They have created tunnels in the old park’s overgrown grass. The King kids stand in the street and, just before the car lights give them away, they dash into the tunnels.
Mrs. Mills's eyes look for the red brick fireplace in the middle of the park. She does not see it at first. Then the image begins to emerge. The grass is neatly mown and the community is celebrating Independence Day. Children are roasting hot dogs in the fireplace and competing in sack races. Adults are relaxing on blankets in the shade of trees. Mrs. Mills blinks. It’s dark again, but she can still hear the children playing. A cool breeze gives her goosebumps, and she rises to go to bed.
The following morning, Mrs. Mills awakens early to hang her laundry out to dry. The AM radio announcer promises another hot day. She wants to finish the chores before lunch, before the heat. She walks up the back porch steps, through the kitchen, and into the living room. Through the picture window, she discreetly watches the three youngest King children ride bikes in front of her house. Mrs. Mills glowers as they stop their bikes, rest one foot on her split-rail fence, and talk in the shade of the maple tree.
Ronny, the oldest of the three, notices Mrs. Mills walking towards her front door. "Let's ride down to the creek," he suggests. "Mrs. Mills is coming!" Six feet pedal their Schwinn Stingrays quickly away. The creek is shadier than Mrs. Mills’s maple tree, and the cool sand under the white, wooden-railed bridge is a wonderful place to spend a hot afternoon. Ronny and his two younger sisters, Kay and Tammy, decide to build a small dam of rocks across the creek.
As the heat of the day dissipates, the children emerge from beneath the bridge. The dam is only partially complete, but they want something new to do. Back on their bikes, the young Kings race back into town. They pass the abandoned post office on the corner and cross the intersection. Ronny, who is in the lead, stops in front of the old cement building—a large, dilapidated, two-story structure that once housed a grocery store and soda fountain on the first floor and a dance hall on the second floor. The King kids rarely enter this vacant building even though the doors are unlocked and the windows are broken. But today, Ronny decides to climb the stairs to rescue the ivory keys off the dance hall piano. The volunteer fire department plans to burn the building this summer.
Mrs. Mills calls the old cement building "the dance hall," even though it hasn’t been one for years. The King children do not realize that she is now peering at the dance hall, and them, through her binoculars. They are in perfect view. The second-floor stairs are only accessible from a door on the west side, Mrs. Mills’s side, of the building. She watches the children pull the door open and ascend the steps.
Ronny and Kay climb to the second floor. Tammy begins to follow but decides to wait outside. The worn cement steps are littered with chunks of wall plaster, and it’s difficult to walk without slipping. Mrs. Mills watches Tammy kick rocks up and down the sidewalk, waiting for her brother and sister to return.
Mrs. Mills slowly moves the binoculars up the building’s cement wall. The glare of the setting sun reflects off a second-floor window. She closes her eyes to shield them from the glare. She hears piano music. It's a summer evening. She and Arnold are leaving the dance hall. He offers his arm for support as they descend the cement stairs. Pearl comments on the wonderful evening of music, dancing, friends, and laughter. When they reach the bottom step and open the door, a cool breeze refreshes their hot, tired bodies. Now that they are alone, Arnold cannot wait any longer. Bending down on one knee, he asks for Pearl’s hand in marriage. She accepts.
Mrs. Mills opens her eyes and again looks through the binoculars. Tears blur her vision. She cannot see the King kids peddling home with pockets full of ivory. She walks to the kitchen to make Arnold's dinner.