Personal inquiries are just a part of the in-depth welcome that strangers get from Little Rock natives. The questions flow freely from the uninhibited mouths of cocktail partygoers during my dutiful appearances at my husband’s work things or after brunch when he bumps into someone who, although he’s never met them in person before, can trace his family tree.
“Who’s your family?”
“What are your parents’ names?”
“Where are they from?”
It differs so much from the disinterested head nods and nonchalant handshakes of my hometown. There, you’re lucky if a stranger makes eye contact with you, let alone remembers your name after you say it. A wave or, God forbid, a smile is a special treat reserved for when you hold the door for someone or let a car into your lane during rush hour. Yes, back where I’m from, they don’t care who your family is. They just want to get where they are going with as little small talk as possible.
The get-to-know-yous in these parts, however, are much more personal. Genuine. Charming. Yet still jarring to me.
“So, what brought you to Little Rock?”
“My husband.”
“What’s his name?”
Really? You need to know that?
“And who are his parents?”
Seriously?
“Where are they from?”
Keep smiling.
I name their hometown, an even smaller town in Arkansas than the one I’m currently standing in (the one that seems to be shrinking by the minute). That’s when I see it—that oh-so-familiar flash in their eyes.
“Well, I’ll be! I know your kin!”
Well, of course you do.
It’s not even six degrees of separation, just three—me, my husband, my husband’s parents and boom. We’re old friends already. I went from anonymous to placed. My presence in Arkansas is now accounted for. It now makes sense to them why this interloper has infiltrated their city. I have family roots here (albeit I married into those roots).
I wonder, though, are folks asking my husband these same questions? I have to chuckle at the mental picture.
“Who’s your wife?”
“An amazing, talented and beautiful woman named Lindsay.”
(At least that’s how he better be introducing me!)
“Who are her parents?”
“A complicated set of divorcees.”
Sympathetic smile.
“And where are they from?”
“Not from Arkansas.”
Blank stare.
It’s not so bad really, being a stranger. But you can’t relate; you know everyone.