Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 76698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Deep down.
Like the other thoughts.
The uglier ones, but ones that hurt all the same.
Standing there, I poured milk into my coffee. Cow's milk. It tasted different than goat's, which I had gotten so used to. My gaze wandered around, landing on the landline. I had no idea why I even had it. Except maybe because it came included in my cable and internet package. And perhaps because I lived alone, and having another way to access to 911 if my cell phone was carelessly tangled in bedsheets or still in my purse after work.
But there it was.
With a blinking light.
The bills had that number, so I didn't ever have to have them calling my cell.
I had automatic calls from two companies - my cellphone that I didn't have anymore and my car insurance when I didn't even know where my car was. But the third one didn't have a computer voice.
No.
It was a familiar voice.
"Hey, Meadow. It's Jim," my boss' voice talked to me through the speaker. "I'm so sorry to hear about your grandmother. Your sister told us you would be out of town for an indeterminate amount of time. I just wanted to reach out to let you know that when you do return, you will always have a place with us. We might have to change schedules, but, yeah, you're family here. We hope everything is good. And hope to see you soon."
My sister.
It didn't take long to know it had been Miller. That she had likely called a long while ago. Maybe after I only missed a few days of work. She conjured up a story. Gave me a safety net.
Miller handling my job, Finn handling my food and cleaning my apartment.
These people really could fix things. Make them right.
Well, maybe not right.
Right would be me back in the woods, back in Ranger's arms, back with Gadget and Captain, back getting my ankles pecked by Red, back with dirt under my nails, back with achy muscles from work.
Back in the only true happiness I had maybe ever known.
I took a deep breath, let it out, pushed it down.
Down.
Down.
It was a practice I figured I would have to get good at. Because I wasn't sure it would ever stop.
Some emotions were harder to deal with than others.
Anger and frustration, for example, usually burned hot and were brushed away just as easily.
But other things.
Like regret, like hope disappointed, like longing, like, ugh, I didn't even want to think it.
If I thought it, it made it so much more real.
I had to call Jim back.
I had to go to work, have an income, pay my bills, live my old life. Even if I was a new person. Even if the old mold felt tight and uncomfortable, pinched at my skin, chafed at my spirit.
Maybe I could start a little garden on my balcony. It was useless otherwise, too small even to put a bistro set on it. But I could grow something. Get a little piece of that other me back.
Maybe someday, I could move. Get a townhouse with a little yard. Have a real garden. Rescue a dog no one else wants, but likes me.
Maybe the old me and the new me could make friends, learn to inhabit the same body.
The idea of that, somehow, brought on more pain, making me realize that anytime I petted a dog in the future, I would think of petting Captain, that anytime my hands were in dirty planting, I would think of how Ranger had taught me how to do it.
Maybe the only way to fully move on was to renounce all those things, as painful as the loss might be at the beginning.
Resigned, I drank my coffee, deciding I would get a single chair for my balcony, maybe get myself a parakeet or guinea pig, something to love, something to give my time at home a purpose other than watching mind-numbing television.
I had to rebuild.
I had to move on.
I had to forget.
And so I tried.
Except, like the nightmares when I had been burying memories of what had been done to me by a blue-eyed, soulless man, my subconscious refused to forget, brought me nightly images.
Some sweet.
Beautiful.
Happy memories mixed with potentials ripped away - a house with a baby, a ring on my finger, those roses big and sturdy, beaming with giant flowers ripe for picking after years of care.
But there were ugly thoughts too.
The coldness of his goodbye.
Regardless of the good or the bad, I woke up crying.
Day in and out.
It wasn't too long before I realized that there was only so much that could be pushed down until I ran out of room.
And then, one day, overflowing and confused and overwhelmed by life as a whole, an idea came to me.
And I acted on it.
Come better or worse.
TEN
Ranger
Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck.