Escape

I had a crazy meltdown before, so I took a last-second trip upstate to clear my head. It was a successful trip and I’m feeling better again. Writing this post was a big help. It kind of reads as a stream of conscious, but it’s more just a reflection on what happened while I was away. Hope you enjoy.

Escape

I’m a prisoner of my own mind. Music blasts the entire ride upstate. I sing as loud as I can. There are times where I want to pull over and break down, but I press the gas pedal harder. The sooner I get there, the sooner I’ll feel better. It’s been a long time since I had a weekend to myself.

She lingers in the background. I see her everywhere. I can still hear her voice as clear as today. But I’m thankful there’s closure. I regret how it got to this point. What are you going to do? Nothing. Because it already happened. We all know the story; there’s no point in telling it. All that’s left to do is let to time do its job.

The music doesn’t do much. Towards the end, it just becomes a nuisance. I’m thankful to get out of the car and breathe the fresh country air. The place, like myself, needs to be taken care of. We both do our best. The walks out back, and the view of the mountains turned to gold from the sun. Breath taking. Without thinking, I reach for my inhaler that’s still in my bag back in the bedroom.

When I get back, my cousin and his wife and their newborn baby are watching tv on the floor. I’ve seen the baby before, but I didn’t get to hold her. I was sick with bronchitis at the time. As soon as the baby settled in my arms, and I saw its big blue/gray eyes staring at me, I melt. So much innocence packed into such a small baby is tough for anyone to handle. I can’t imagine how lucky my cousin is to be the father. Samantha’s big smile is infectious, like my brother’s. She’s a beautiful baby, the type of baby where you can look the parents in the eye and not have to lie to them when you say how beautiful she is.

She’s out, for now. But it won’t be so bad next time. I believe it, so it must be true.

I find my book for class and walk out back. I never read a book back there before. The land is too beautiful to not pay attention to. Birds dance across the meadow, hunting for seeds. Butterflies flutter in the wind. I open the book and get to work. Baby birds chirp for their mothers. They’re hungry. It’s dinner time. I realize I only had ice cream. Peanut butter cookie dough. And Chips.

Something is moving in the grass close by. Way too close for comfort. I close the book and wait. A head pops out. Then a second. A fawn and its mother. They don’t see me in my green shirt, or they’re in disbelief. How could they not see me? What are they going to do? I wave my arms and talk to them. I wake them up. I let them know that I am here, and that I exist, and they are too close. I’m looking out for both of us. One runs behind me, the other runs back towards the mountains. I go back to my book.

Another rustle. I’m about to finish at this point, but I have to see what’s coming towards me. A small grey dog. A coyote, I think. But it’s by itself. They travel in packs. But it’s not a fox, either. The nose isn’t pointy, the tail isn’t bushy. The fur is wrong, too. Why is it by itself, though? Is it? I can’t believe I’m seeing one in person. I have to go. I don’t want to stick around and find out it’s not alone. Never get in the way of a mother and its child. Whatever happens, you asked for it. I read the last few lines of the short story. The narrator shows her lover a letter his wife sent him. The narrator was pregnant with the man’s second child, her first.

When I get back to the house, I decide I’m going to spend the night and leave early tomorrow. I call my father and tell him about the coyote. I tell him it was one of the most frightening and most exciting moments of my entire life. I knew they were in the area, but you don’t believe it until you see it with your own eyes. He tells me seeing something like that wouldn’t have ever crossed his mind when he was my age. Times are changing. I’m blessed to be a part of it. I realize all I have to do is give in to it, and things will work out in the end.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s