My second full day in Alaska, I set out to explore downtown Fairbanks. It wasn’t anything like I expected. I pictured a little area of shops around the river; I found more of a ghost town. As it turned out, my most memorable moments from the day came from conversations I overheard among interesting people.
Before I met anyone, I wandered the mostly empty streets. I noticed lots of street art painted on the sides of buildings. The bright colors of the Alaska mural (above) caught my eye in part because it was such a contrast to the mostly concrete colored buildings. In search of breakfast, I walked toward the Morris Thompson Cultural and Visitors’ Center, hoping to see more options than the two places I’d passed on the edge of downtown.
The sidewalk leading up to and around the cultural center had these beautiful mosaics, modeled off the colors and patterns of Native Alaskan tribal art.
I returned to a breakfast spot I’d seen earlier, the River City Cafe, for a fresh smoothie. As I enjoyed my breakfast, two women sat at the far table by the window. Their conversation was so interesting that I merged their stories into one character in the hopes that maybe she’ll show up in my fiction sometime. Here’s her story:
My brother’s a millionaire, owns his own company.
My sister got two Bachelors’ degrees and a Master’s.
And then there’s me.
Two failed marriages.
Barely got my Associate’s.
Living with my ex mother-in-law.
I’ve always felt that I had to make up for it somehow.
Prove my worth to this glorious family.
So I work.
Eight hours at the call center.
Twelve hours at the hospital.
The night shift so I can get my homework done.
I’m still in school.
I want to get my nursing degree.
Guess I’d better get used to sleeping only 2 or 3 hours a night.
After I’d wandered around downtown a bit more, I made my way to the transit center and caught a bus back to Pike’s Waterfront Lodge where I was staying. On the way, I met another interesting character whose conversation with the bus driver sparked a flash fiction sort of story:
“Seen any werewolves lately?”
“I…uh…no…”
I didn’t know what she was getting at. Werewolves? You had to believe in those to see one. Right? I didn’t think they were real.
She’d boarded my bus at the Behavioral Health Center. Black braces enclosed her lower legs, growing from inside the heel of her shoe, up her calves, and strapped around her shins. Her hands were full with a styrofoam take-out container, a white-handled paper bag with “Born and Raised in Alaska” printed in maroon on its front. She held the take-out container on a flat square thing, which she held with two hands. Even with all that and the leg braces, she stepped up impressively steady onto the bus. She wore her long brown hair wet, and her pants were a fun black and white plaid pattern.
She’d been the one to ask about the werewolves. Mental issues, I decided. Until she spoke again.
“Rainbows,” she said.
My brain relaxed. Rainbows. Her surgical mask had muffled her initial question. Rainbows. She was asking about rainbows.
“Not today,” said the bus driver, keeping his eyes on the road. “Saw one yesterday though.”
“Should be having one today,” she said, almost to herself.
I smiled as I logged the conversation in my memory to write about later. When I returned to my hotel, I walked across the parking lot to the bar at Pike’s Landing, ordered a pint of Alaskan White beer, and wrote her story.
Despite the day’s inauspicious beginning, these colorful characters brought the town to life, brightening my day by simply going about their own lives.