Purple Winks (4 min read)
(Sometimes, as I photograph my mother's jewelry deisgns, little stories grow in my mind. This is one such story.)
A Purple Wink
The Brantley Grove community wasn’t fancy. There were no gates, no newsletters printed on linen paper, and certainly no official HOA bylaws—though Hilary Theron had enough printed “strongly encouraged suggestions” to fit in a binder thicker than a child’s arm.
At 40, Hilary was a self-appointed neighborhood czar, the beating heart of every bake sale, community yard sale, and car wash. Her voice carried across the blocks like a fog horn on a clear day. If there was a cause, she rallied. If there wasn’t, she invented one.
So when the playground’s swing set snapped mid-swing (luckily, no one was hurt), Hilary leapt into action. A fundraising event was promptly scheduled with the theme “Pizza and Pop for our Playground.”
By the time Saturday rolled around, the playground smelled like baked ambition and cheesy self-congratulation. Balloons bounced. A plastic donation thermometer stood proudly under the cabana. Hilary took the mic, cheeks pink from exertion or possibly the rosé wine she concealed in her water bottle.
“Thank you all for coming out to support our precious playground!” she beamed. “We are just shy of our $25,000 goal, but oh—what generosity! Let’s take a moment to appreciate some very special households…”
She flourished a gold index card, the kind you’d expect to hold a county fair prize-winning contest. “The Halls – $2,000! The Simmons – $2,000! The Boones – $1,500! And of course, my household – $1,000, not to mention the money we laid out to cover unforeseen expenses for this gathering.”
Applause rippled. Kate, seated quietly in the back crowd, sipped her birch beer pop (known as soda to most of the world) and tried not to roll her eyes. She adjusted her shawl and glanced over at Millie, who stood near the bulletin board, dressed in a flowing yellow tunic and ceramic earrings designed like pepperoni pizza slices.
Kate knew something the others didn’t. As treasurer, she’d seen every donation come in. Millie, the neighborhood eccentric and whose age was debated, had quietly contributed $5,000—the largest donation by far. And yet, her name hadn’t graced Hilary’s glitter index card.
Kate knew why. Hilary had long led false campaigns against Millie - the backyard solstice rituals which was the one night Millie searched for a bracelet she had lost in her garden; the “outlandish” clothes which were actually retro-chic; and the time she allegedly tried to barter a harmonica for Girl Scout cookies. Millie didn’t own a harmonica.
That night, Kate sent a neighborhood-wide email. No photos, no emojis, just the facts:
Subject: Playground Fundraising Update
Thanks to everyone’s contributions, we’ve reached $23,420! A special thanks to Millie James, for her generous donation of $5,000. Your kindness brings us that much closer to a playground all our children (and small dogs) can enjoy.
– Kate Learner, Treasurer
By morning, the email thread had 47 replies. Most were some variation of “Wow!” “Millie?! Incredible!” and “I didn’t even know she liked playgrounds or children.”
Millie, however, hadn’t replied. Instead, she stood on Kate’s porch at precisely 10:00 am, holding an envelope. She hesitated before ringing the bell—experience told her most doors stayed shut when she visited so always had a note ready to leave in the mail slot. She’d long since accepted it. People were uncomfortable with things—or people—they couldn’t neatly label.
Just as she turned away, the door flew open.
“Millie!”
She blinked, clutching the envelope like a shield. “Oh—Kate. I didn’t think—”
“I saw you from the window. Come in. Coffee?”
Millie hesitated. Her purple earrings were small glistening disco balls catching a shard of morning sun and tossing it across Kate’s entryway like little winks.
“I don’t want to impose,” Millie said.
“You brought the community within reach of a whole new playground,” Kate said, stepping aside. “You’ve earned a cup of coffee at the very least.”
Millie crossed the threshold as if walking into another world. Kate’s house smelled of peppermint, ginger, and old books. A cat blinked at her from the stairwell.
Kate gestured for Millie to sit in the living room while she went to the kitchen.
“Here we are,” Kate announced, setting the serving tray on the coffee table.
“Oh, isn’t this lovely, Kate. I didn't want to put you to any trouble.”
She took the coffee cup Kate handed her. “And thanks for the email,” Millie said, settling back into the Queen Anne wingback chair. “I had preferred to remain anonymous.”
“I should have talked with you first. I was just so furious when your contribution went unacknowledged. I apologize if I over-stepped.”
Millie laughed—a rich, unexpected sound. “Of course not. Not really. I just wanted to avoid being the center of more gossip. I know people talk about me. I hear the stories, and little snickers.”
“I’m sorry you have to go through that,” Kate said.
“I’ve lived a long life,” Millie said, taking a sip. “Let them talk. I enjoy being part of good things. I don’t need to be center stage. Though, admittedly…” She tapped her earring. “I do enjoy a little sparkle.”
Kate smiled, watching the light flicker from Millie’s earrings like tiny constellations. “They suit you.”
There was a quiet comfortable moment. Two women, different as moonlight and table lamps, sharing coffee.
“You know,” Kate said slowly, “we’re still short approximately $1,600. Hilary’s planning a Bake-off/Pet Costume Parade to make up the difference.”
Millie grinned. “I make a mean lemon thyme scone. And I have a sequined beret to match Fluffy’s cape. Fluffy’s my dog.”
“And earrings to match, no doubt,” Kate said.
“I have fashionable earrings for every occasion thanks to Turn the Page Boutique,” Millie said with a twinkle in her eyes.
They both laughed.
Outside, lawn mowers buzzed, dogs barked, and neighbors talked and pointed at Kate’s house having seen Millie enter. Inside, a new friendship was sparked.