Girl in Blue

Lydia, a small town in Louisiana, is best known for its quietness and crawfish, but what I am about to tell you is not a happy story. It is a story forgotten by most but remembered by the few who listened in to their grandparent’s conversations. Some facts are true but most are false. They say it is about a girl, whose name they did not know, who died while playing on the train tracks that used to run in Lydia. Her family lived in the wooded area in the back of town and they kept pretty much to themselves. Like most stories, people thought they practice magic or was in some cahoots with the devil and that they sacrifice the girl. Once the girl died, the family had moved without a word, which only fueled the people’s fire. The only trace of the girl now is at the cemetery next to the old white church. Some say she still haunts the town, lonely for company. You can see her at night on the street of Dolze Guillout Road or playing on the left over track near the Peebles School.

Now here I am standing in front of the whole town ready to speak the truth.

“Welcome everyone, thank you for coming. This, uh, means a lot to me. I know many of the older folks knew my grandmother and were really good friends. My grandmother wrote me a letter before she died. She wrote about how she had felt guilty all these years for never saying what really happened on December 24, 1933. At the end of the letter she urged me to tell everyone the truth, to make sure that the family wouldn’t get the blame. Honestly I thought it was stupid. So many people have forgotten about it that it really wouldn’t make sense, but here I am doing it anyway. I shall respect my grandmother’s dying wish.” The crowd all stared up at me. I wiped my hands on my jeans and started to read the letter.

 

My dearest granddaughter,

Here I write you what has guilt me all these years. A family was treated with such hate because I was a coward and still I am. This is what happened to the girl in blue.

I knew the family personally from my walks in the woods. They were a sweet but poor family with just one child, Opal. She was a year younger than me but could barely read and write. So I would go with some food and teach her what I knew. She was such a quiet girl, very shy, and the most beautiful girl in town.

I tried my best to give what I could to the family without being notice. One day I was at the store with my mother and saw this beautiful blue material, the store owner said it was called ‘Bleu de France.’ I knew instantly what I would do. I made a dress for Opal. She had been doing so well in her reading and writing and we became good friends that she deserved it. I had finished a couple days before she died and couldn’t wait to give it to her. She loved it and promised to wear it when I was to return.

On the day she died I was walking in the woods but was followed by my brothers. Mother gave them orders to see what I had been up to all these months. Like a coward I roamed all over except to her house. I honestly was hoping for them to get bored and go back home, but they didn’t. Soon they began to wander closer to her home and I became more nervous.

That is when I saw her; Opal was on the train tracks dancing in the dress I gave her. Oh how stunning she looked! She had cleaned up, her black hair bouncy, and her tan skin shinning. My brothers caught sight of her too and saw the dress. They asked why she had the dress I made and I choked for too long.

They took off towards her yelling at her; accusing her that she stole it. I stood there and watched as she looked afraid. She swore she didn’t and that I gave it to her. They looked up at me, but I was too scared myself to even nod. I can never forget the face she made before she ran off. Of course my brother’s chased her. I tried calling for them to stop and that I had given her the dress, but it was too late. That is when I heard it, the train. I hurried after them in hopes that I could stop the madness I had let on for too long.

When I finally caught up my brothers had her surrounded. They said she would either die by the train or their hands. I couldn’t let that happened. I shook my eldest brother and told him that she couldn’t die for something she didn’t do. I was ignored and yanked into the shadows of the trees. I couldn’t watch what happened next. The train whistle blew for her to move, but she didn’t. Seconds later she was gone, hit by the train.

My brothers made me promise not to tell…or should I say threaten, and as a coward I promised. We ran home before anyone could see us and made it in time before the news got to mother that a girl had been hit by the train.

Everyone blamed the family for one thing or another. They moved and were never seen again. I am sorry for being a coward. I am sorry for not speaking up when I needed too.

I beg you to tell the people of the town the truth. They need to know.

With love,

G. S.”

 

Everyone was silent. I hurried to wipe my eyes, not expecting to cry again. Many of the old people shook their head in shame and others were in tears. I found the hurt and anger towards my grandmother rising. I was ashamed of my grandmother and great uncles, one which was standing in the crowd horrified. Many turned to him, some saying nasty names, others cursing. I shook my head and walked to my car. Old man or not it was his time to pay.