Preston is a small place.  The town square is comprised of little more than a convenience mart, a small hardware store, and the Baptist church.  Down near the highway there are a couple of gas stations and a decent restaurant frequented by the locals as well as those travelers who have shunned the interstate in favor of a more picturesque route.  Otherwise, with the exception of the Flamingo Estates Trailer Park, there isn't much of anything else until you get to the next town.
     Ned moved in with Queenie about four years ago.  He's a mechanic and a welder by trade.  He dropped out of school when he was sixteen.  Besides his job at the highway truck stop, he is considered to be a top-notch mechanic especially when it comes to engine and transmission work.  If it isn't a farmer's combine breaking down, then it's a pickup truck that won't run.  There are always five or six cars parked around the place that need his attention.  The extra income, along with his regular paycheck, helps them keep their head above water.  He's a small wiry guy with an infectious smile and a lot of nervous energy.  You hardly ever see him without a cigarette bobbing up and down in his mouth as he jabbers on and on about some engine part he jimmied to finally get it to work.  The black grease stains permanently engraved all over their fingers are the badges of his trade.   He's a hard working man and he loves his Queenie.
      Between the two of them, they somehow manage to keep the bill collectors out of their hair.  When asked how things are going, Ned usually responds with, "Well, I'll tell ya', so far I'm keepin' the wolves at bay and that's about it."
     Queenie hasn't been able to go back to work since the accident.  As a traffic controller for the State Highway Commission, she was one of those people who spent  tedious hours holding up one of those "Stop-Slow" signs  to direct construction traffic.  The constant monotony of doing the same thing over and over again tends to make a person a little spaced out.   It was one of those unbearably hot August afternoons and she was dreaming about enjoying an ice cold beer.  She just couldn't manage to get out of the way in time when the pickup truck failed to slow down in time and rear ended the car in front of her.  When the half-shocked driver finally backed the car up, her right leg was crushed against the concrete divider.  The bones had to be fused together and her damaged leg was now a little shorter than the other one leaving her with a noticeable limp.  In time she received a settlement which paid for the medical bills and also gave her a small nest egg to draw from whenever she wanted to.  She jokingly referred to it as her "concrete cash."
     Most people might go out and splurge on a new car or some other expensive item from such a landfall.  Not Queenie.  She was never fond of driving and fought having to get her license so that wasn't even a consideration.  The money could have been used for a down payment on a nice new home but having to make mortgage payments again killed that idea; especially since the double-wide was completely paid off.   No, she knew exactly what she wanted to do.  She put most of her "concrete cash" into a savings account for a rainy day and went out and purchased the one thing that she had been wanting ever since her sister, Marcie, got one the year before–a brand new personal computer.
     It was one of those deals that you just couldn't pass up.  The advertisement in the Sunday newspaper said that the whole outfit only cost $999.95.  Not only that, but once the rebate came back in the mail it practically paid for the cost of the color monitor which was a little extra.
     Ned drove Queenie to Springfield the following Saturday.  After making her purchase, she pushed the cart back to the station wagon and Ned loaded the two boxes into the back seat.  He would have used the cargo deck but it had a bunch of car parts piled up in it.  Queenie couldn't wait to get home and set up her brand-spanking-new, state-of-the-art computer. Then she'd get on the internet just like her sister, Marcie.
     As one who had dealt often with the complexities of vehicular electronics, Ned bravely tackled the job of setting up Queenie's new system.  The enclosed directions seemed easy enough.  He soon found out that the connections in the back of the computer only fit certain cables.  Once it was all together, he plugged it in and pushed on the power button.  Immediately the little green lights on the front began blinking and something inside the box started clicking away.  There were a few minutes of frustration, though, when nothing appeared on the screen.  Finally, he noticed some switches and adjustment settings on the back of the monitor and located the "On" button.  Immediately a beautiful cloudy blue sky appeared on the screen with the word "Start" located at the bottom lefthand side.
     Ned smiled at Queenie and, as he nodded with satisfaction, bowed with his arms and hands majestically pointing at her proud new purchase; motioning for her to ascend to her throne and begin to explore her new realm.
     Learning when and how often to click the mouse took some getting used to.  It didn't take long for her to realize that once you get to the point to where you don't understand what you are looking at, all you have to do is click your way backwards out of it.  Not only that, but the typing classes she took in high school slowly came back to her.
     The following Sunday, Marcie drove down from Joplin to show her sister how to get signed onto the internet.  They were now going to be able to communicate with each other using the wonders of e-mail and meeting each other for on-line chats.  Those expensive long distance phone calls and occasional letters to each other were about to become a thing of the past.
     Marcie spent the day taking Queenie through the internet.  She also gave her a short tour of Chatville.  This would be the place where they would meet each other.  Before her sister left to return home, Queenie knew enough to get started.  The next morning she turned up the volume on her favorite country music station and signed on.
     Like most "newbies" who spend their first several times investigating various internet chat rooms, Queenie was no exception.  She entered each one with abandon and couldn't believe that there were so many people from all over talking about everything from "soup to nuts."
     The "Woman's World" chat room soon became her favorite haunt.  She felt comfortable with the everyday housewives who were usually there at various times during the day.  Queenie became one of the "regulars" after awhile, along with her sister.  None of the chatters knew that her chat nickname was indeed her actual name.  Marcie called herself "Peachy" and they met there often.
     Any regular who strolled in was usually treated to a hug fest.

          Greeter:    "Lioness" has entered the room
          Queenie:    {{{{{{{{{lioness}}}}}}}}}}
          Peachy:     {{{{{Lioness}}}}}
          Lioness:    {{{{{{{queenie - peachy}}}}}}}
          Greeter:    "Dirtbuster" has entered the room
          Peachy:     {{{{{Dirtbuster}}}}}
          Lioness:    {{{{{{{dirtbuster}}}}}}}
          Queenie:    {{{{{{{{dirtbuster}}}}}}}}
          Dirtbuster:  {{{{{peachy lioness queenie}}}}}

     Of course, things usually settled down very quickly as the chatting continued to scroll down across their screens.  There were no prescribed topics.  Anything might be discussed from family pets to how best to sew on a new zipper for some prized piece of clothing; from the foibles of  husbands to the frustrations of raising children.  Affairs and scandals were always fun topics but it wasn't uncommon to see a favorite recipe shared with the whole group as well.  Griping was allowed but didn't last too long because they had a way of lifting up each other's spirits with whatever jibing and teasing that was needed to get the job done.  Rarely did the conversation get off color.  That kind of thing  was usually ignored by the rest and avoided as much as possible.  Unlike single-topic-only men, these ladies could juggle a number of different topics at once and usually did.

          Lioness:     Anyone got a rec. for banana nut bread?
          Peachy:      has stormy been in here today
          Queenie:     no, haven't seen her
          Dirtbuster:  yeh, i do–banana nut bread
          Peachy:      she sure got hot under the collar
          Dirtbuster:  why she got hot
          Lioness:     can you e it to me
          Peachy:      something about women getting their rights
          Dirtbuster:  i will e it to you today
          Queenie:     she's always griping about something anyhow
          Greeter:     "Gossipal" has just entered the room
          Queenie:     {{{{{{{{{{{Gossipal}}}}}}}}}}}
          Peachy:      {{{{{Gossipal}}}}}
          Gossipal:    {{{{{{{Group Hug}}}}}}
          Queenie:     hey, girls, my richest relative just bought a
                              new home
          Lioness:      i guess that's why she calls herself stormy
          Dirtbuster:  is it a nice house
          Lioness:      please be sure to send it today,
                             DB and thank you <s>
          Queenie:     yeppers, but we had to help them get
                             the wheels off <g>
          Peachy:       lol
          Gossipal:     lol Queen lady
          Lioness:      too funny <s>
          Dirtbuster:   geez, girlfriend, your humor's getting worse
          Queenie:      will send you my nut bread rec. too
          Lioness:      thank you dear <s>

     Occasionally a curious male would slip in out of curiosity.  Most left after a few minutes of observing from the attic.  Those who stayed and tried to flirt were quickly frozen out.  Whenever a real jerk came into the room and got nasty the ladies knew how to hit their "Exclude" buttons all at once, file a quick complaint, and then inform the guy that he was on his way out.  Their record for alerts still stands at twenty-one when one guy really got vulgar.  It was so effective that the online service sent in a one of their system monitors to observe.  The next thing they knew the guy's nickname disappeared and they were informed that his account had just been canceled.
Some people can't even get it right in Chatville.
     Queenie never failed to get a good response as a result of sharing a good joke every now and then.  Others took note of her wonderful humor and so she soon started receiving e-mails filled with great stories and anecdotes from her friends in the chat room.  Ned would make a contribution from time to time whenever he heard a good one at the garage.  She soon figured out how to save them on floppy discs and her library of laughter grew rapidly.  Her chat friends looked forward to finding their mailboxes filled with a dozen or so e-mails filled with all of the latest humor and cute stories from her majesty.
      Every once and awhile you find someone who has so little and yet gives so much of herself to others.  Everyone in the ‘Woman's World" chat room loved Queenie.

          GabbyDoll:    did anyone watch the awards last night
          Queenie:        yeh, but I'm peeved big time
          Dirtbuster:     how so
          Queenie:        haven't watched ‘em since
                                Smokey and the Bandit was
                                snubbed for best picture
          Lioness:         lol
          Dirtbuster:     that was worse than the last one <s>
          Gossipal:       where in MO are ya' Queenie
          Queenie:        a little podunk town called Preston
          Peachy:         it's a nice little town
          Queenie:       down here we consider a six
                                pack of beer and a bug zapper
                                as quality entertainment
          Lioness:         lol
          Dirtbuster:     and all those pickup trucks in
                                the driveway too <g>
          Queenie:        my husband invented a new color
                                to paint ‘em with
           GabbyDoll:  what color is that, Queenie
           Queenie:       a new one...he calls it ‘bondo'
           Dirtbuster:    lol, loved that one <g>
           Peachy:        don't tell anyone she is my sister <s>

     It was just a happy group of women who met each day for some enjoyable chat.  There were days when only a few of them could be found in the room.  On other days when up to a dozen or more filled their monitors with volumes of text causing screen freeze and general mayhem.  Rarely was the name "Queenie" ever missing from the room during the mid-afternoon hours.  She was the queen of the room then and everyone knew it.
     It happened one Tuesday afternoon not too long ago.  Queenie never mentioned it to anyone.  It wasn't her nature to blab about such things even with her chat friends.
          Greeter:       "Bluebird" has just entered the room
          Dirtbuster:   hi bluebird
          GabbyDoll:  Welcome Bluebird <s>
          Peachy:       hi there blue
          Queenie:     bluebird, come on in girl and set awhile
          Bluebird:     hi, all...thank you
          Queenie:     are you new to the room, blue
          Bluebird:     yes
          Peachy:       we are glad you are here
          Bluebird:     have any of you ever been pregnant before
          Gossipal:     are you kidding
          Lioness:      yeh, five different times <s>
          Queenie:     what's the matter, blue
          Bluebird:    I want to kill myself
          Dirtbuster:  we all know the feeling girl <s>

     While the rest of the ladies went on with their chatting, Queenie sensed that the little bird with the pregnancy question was serious.  Without a moment's hesitation she clicked the private chat icon after highlighting "Bluebird" and then asked.....

          Queenie:     whatsa matter honey
          Bluebird:     I am so confused.
          Queenie:     do you want to tell me about it
          Bluebird:     My parents are going to kill me.
          Queenie:     pregnant?
          Bluebird:    Yes and scared too
          Queenie:     can i ask you some questions, hon
          Bluebird:    Sure
          Queenie:     how old are you
          Bluebird:    almost 17
          Queenie:     who's the father
          Bluebird:    My boyfriend
          Queenie:     have you told him yet
          Bluebird:    No.  I don't want to.
          Queenie:     i understand but you ought to tell him
          Bluebird:    Not today though.
          Queenie:     what do you think he will say
          Bluebird:    I don't know
          Queenie:     do you think he will stay with you
          Bluebird:    I'm not sure.  Maybe.
          Queenie:     what about your parents
          Bluebird:    They are going to be very angry
          Queenie:     how angry
          Bluebird:    Really angry
          Queenie:     do you love your mom and dad, hon
          Bluebird:    Yes, but my dad's going to kill me
          Queenie:      do you still live at home
          Bluebird:     Yes
          Queenie:      will your dad kick you out
          Bluebird:     I don't think so
          Queenie:      sure, hon, that's cause he loves you
          Bluebird:     I think he does
          Queenie:      are you going to have the baby
          Bluebird:     Should I get an abortion
          Queenie:      that's up to you...only you can decide that
          Bluebird:     I don't think I want to
          Queenie:      it will be hard raising a child alone
          Bluebird:     I know
          Queenie:      a lot of responsibility for you
          Bluebird:     I am not afraid of having the baby.
                              I am more afraid of telling my boyfriend
                              and my parents
          Queenie:      listen, hon, life is sometimes
                              very hard and we need the help of
                              those who love us most
          Bluebird:     When should I tell them
          Queenie:      as soon as possible
          Bluebird:     I am so afraid to tell them
          Bluebird:     I just want to die <crying>
          Queenie:      now settle down, girl, there's got to be a way
          Bluebird:     Maybe I'll just get a secret abortion
          Queenie:      that's up to you, darlin' but why waste a life
                              just because you're afraid to tell anyone
          Bluebird:     I guess you are right
          Queenie:      they're all going to find out anyhow, you know
          Bluebird:     I know
         Queenie:      if you don't want the little baby, there are
                              plenty of people who do
          Bluebird:     Would somebody adopt it maybe
          Queenie:      sure, hon, and maybe by then
                              you'll want to keep it
          Bluebird:     But I would have to drop out of school
          Queenie:      maybe...maybe not–first you need to tell
                              your folks and your boyfriend
          Bluebird:     I know
          Queenie:      where are you now
          Bluebird:     At home
          Queenie:      are your parents home
          Bluebird:     My mom is–dad is still at work
          Queenie:      why don't you tell them tonight
          Bluebird:     Should I really?
          Queenie:      sure, hon...the sooner the better
          Bluebird:     Okay, I will
          Queenie:      bluebird, do you believe in God
          Bluebird:     Yes
          Queenie:      a little prayer might help, ya know <s>
          Bluebird:     Yes, I know <s>
          Queenie:      i'm gonna give you my e-mail
                              address and i want you to let me know
                              if you need help

     Queenie gave it to her and then spent a few more moments trying to encourage  the distressed girl.  Finally, when the little bird seemed to be calmed down enough, the older lady reminded the younger one that life can be awfully hard at times but "we got to keep lookin' up and believing that if we do right, everything'll come out in the wash."
     They said their goodbyes and "Bluebird" left the room.
     In the fifteen minutes or so that they chatted, nothing prolific had been said.  There were no easy answers or miraculous solutions.  For those few brief moments a frightened girl found solace in the caringness of a complete stranger.   It was enough and it did make a difference.
     One of the unusual characteristics of this medium is a new found ability to be able to safely speak with strangers; to share problems and fears with faceless people.  There is always someone out there who will connect and help in any way that they can.  Sometimes their counsel works and then there are times that it doesn't.  Sometimes it just helps to find a sympathetic monitor screen--sort of like having an interactive conscience when your own can't be completely trusted.
     As it turned out, Cindy Boone gave birth to a darling little blue-eyed baby girl.  It took her parents a while to accept the situation; especially her father, but they eventually did.  Her boyfriend denied having anything to do with it.  Cindy could have asked for a blood test to prove otherwise but she decided to forego it and got on with her life.  She graduated from high school two years later  through the GED program. A year after that she married a young man who loved both "Bluebird" and her little blue-eyed baby.
     Queenie knew the whole story.
     Cindy had become one of her many e-mail pen pals.   There were several others whom she had personally helped.  In fact, she had even used a little of her "concrete cash" a few times to aid a few souls in distress.  She simply had an innate ability to key in on people who were in trouble even if it was on a computer using the chat room format.  Nobody walked out of the "Woman's World" chat room without the protection of her royal highness.
     She never expected tribute either–just a heartfelt "thank you" was more than enough.
     As she clicks the send button, another collection of the world's greatest humor is spread like pixie dust across  the addresses of Chatville.  Queenie rules and her subjects sign on each day to a mailbox full of her majesty's finest jewels from the royal treasure chest.
     Long live the queen!