Thelma Dudley Characterization Scene

A thick wall of humidity greeted Thelma as she exited the air conditioned freezers of the Dudley Butcher Barn. She unzipped her poufy down jacket and placed it down on the rolls of extra butcher paper beside her gloves and scarf. She made her way down the concrete corridor, out the door and across the gravel parking lot to her beat up ‘91 Ford pickup. The wipers swooshed against the dry windshield when she turned the key, smearing heat and dirt across the glass. Thelma smoothed out her light pink dress which she had worn underneath her jacket, and exchanged her heavy fishing boots for a pair of scuffed white flip flops. She studied herself in the rearview mirror for a moment. Her blond curls had flattened in the summer heat. Her matador red lipstick had faded from her lips, and the mascara had smudged from her lashes, making the circles under her eyes appear deeper than they really were. She opened her glove compartment and pulled out a string of artificial pearls and clasped them around her neck.

Every Wednesday in the summers after work, Thelma would drive 40 minutes to Forsyth Park, on the opposite side of Savannah, where the city held a “Culture Concert” series. And for sixty minutes Thelma would sit on a rusted metal folding chair, upon uneven clumps of splotchy yellow grass and pretend to be those second rate performers coming from all across the great state of Georgia, on the stage. Any person on that stage, she thought, would be better than being Thelma Dudley, the butcher’s daughter.