silently dare myself to abandon the route and discover new territory, but the harsh reality of fear takes over. I wouldn’t call them panic attacks, but rather fucking common sense telling me to stay safe and keep my motherfucking back to the wall.
Four blocks north, one block east, and then a half block north again, and my destination is on the right. So robotic my life is now, which I totally love. No pain, fears, or feelings to deal with. Full-on boring routine is my friend.
Tuesdays are the worst, because no matter how many times I’ve begged Becky to work, she won’t let me. She insists I have at least on whole day off, and that means a complete twenty-four hour period of time. Absolute hell in my book. As if my brain knew what was coming, it gifted me with a horrible nightmare last night. Steve and Duane were both in it and hell-bent on taking me back to my mom. I fought with everything I had, but lost the struggle as they tossed me in an old, rusty van and headed back to my hometown. I woke up before I had the chance to see my mom’s haggard face. Woke up in a dead sweat, screaming and grasping for freedom before I realized it was only a dream. Then my eyes focused in on the time, and it was only 4:32 a.m.
So the only way to survive this day is a trip to the grocery store. I always eat a hot meal at the diner. It’s the one and only perk of working almost every day of your life. My piece of shit apartment doesn’t have any appliances, so it’s always a cold meal for me. My shopping list is simple: cereal, chips, Lunchables, cookies, and bananas. Nothing exciting, but enough to get by. Today I’m in desperate need of body soap and shampoo. I’m always able to sneak a roll of toilet paper from the diner. Not classy, but survival mode has never been known to be fancy.
Today on the walk home I’m silently cursing myself for buying a pint of whole dill pickles. You know the type they sell at the movie theaters. I’ve only been to the movies one time, and that was with my mom and one of her boyfriends. I had to beg for Jazzy to come along, and my mom finally gave in, but I know it was only so she didn’t feel guilty for sending me off to a random theater while she and the man went to a different one. Thank God Jazzy did go, because my mom never met us afterward. We ended up walking home, and when we passed Horseshoe Bar we saw her from the front window.
All I remember Jazzy saying was, “At least you got one of those pickles. It was delicious.”
I remember at the time thinking it was definitely worth the pickle, the big comfy seat, and watching a movie. When I spotted the pickles twenty minutes ago on aisle nine, I knew I needed them. I sacrificed a week’s worth of Lunchables to buy the puppies, but now carrying them in the heat, not such a good idea. Three blocks and two turns left.
Goodbye, Jillian.
Chapter 3
412 Miles Gone
Every day I fight the uncontrollable urge to write to Jazzy. Her address is one I’ll never be able to forget. It’s practically my childhood home with all my memories, or at least the ones I want to remember. Building dirt volcanoes in the alley and having to borrow the vinegar from the old lady who lived across the street is one of my favorites. We were scared to death of that lady and played rock, paper, scissors to see who was going in. So many memories with Jazzy, but that’s all they’ll ever be.
I’ve found another small town in the middle of Iowa. Places like this are suitable for now. Not much danger and just enough space to fit in without sticking out like a sore thumb. I’ve noticed more “Help Wanted” posters in the smaller towns and feel safe walking to and from work. The anxiety that builds when I settle in a new place is completely unnerving. Every dark corner or strange person spooks me to my core, causing me to literally walk with my back against the wall until my routes are planned out.
The first
Four blocks north, one block east, and then a half block north again, and my destination is on the right. So robotic my life is now, which I totally love. No pain, fears, or feelings to deal with. Full-on boring routine is my friend.
Tuesdays are the worst, because no matter how many times I’ve begged Becky to work, she won’t let me. She insists I have at least on whole day off, and that means a complete twenty-four hour period of time. Absolute hell in my book. As if my brain knew what was coming, it gifted me with a horrible nightmare last night. Steve and Duane were both in it and hell-bent on taking me back to my mom. I fought with everything I had, but lost the struggle as they tossed me in an old, rusty van and headed back to my hometown. I woke up before I had the chance to see my mom’s haggard face. Woke up in a dead sweat, screaming and grasping for freedom before I realized it was only a dream. Then my eyes focused in on the time, and it was only 4:32 a.m.
So the only way to survive this day is a trip to the grocery store. I always eat a hot meal at the diner. It’s the one and only perk of working almost every day of your life. My piece of shit apartment doesn’t have any appliances, so it’s always a cold meal for me. My shopping list is simple: cereal, chips, Lunchables, cookies, and bananas. Nothing exciting, but enough to get by. Today I’m in desperate need of body soap and shampoo. I’m always able to sneak a roll of toilet paper from the diner. Not classy, but survival mode has never been known to be fancy.
Today on the walk home I’m silently cursing myself for buying a pint of whole dill pickles. You know the type they sell at the movie theaters. I’ve only been to the movies one time, and that was with my mom and one of her boyfriends. I had to beg for Jazzy to come along, and my mom finally gave in, but I know it was only so she didn’t feel guilty for sending me off to a random theater while she and the man went to a different one. Thank God Jazzy did go, because my mom never met us afterward. We ended up walking home, and when we passed Horseshoe Bar we saw her from the front window.
All I remember Jazzy saying was, “At least you got one of those pickles. It was delicious.”
I remember at the time thinking it was definitely worth the pickle, the big comfy seat, and watching a movie. When I spotted the pickles twenty minutes ago on aisle nine, I knew I needed them. I sacrificed a week’s worth of Lunchables to buy the puppies, but now carrying them in the heat, not such a good idea. Three blocks and two turns left.
Goodbye, Jillian.
Chapter 3
412 Miles Gone
Every day I fight the uncontrollable urge to write to Jazzy. Her address is one I’ll never be able to forget. It’s practically my childhood home with all my memories, or at least the ones I want to remember. Building dirt volcanoes in the alley and having to borrow the vinegar from the old lady who lived across the street is one of my favorites. We were scared to death of that lady and played rock, paper, scissors to see who was going in. So many memories with Jazzy, but that’s all they’ll ever be.
I’ve found another small town in the middle of Iowa. Places like this are suitable for now. Not much danger and just enough space to fit in without sticking out like a sore thumb. I’ve noticed more “Help Wanted” posters in the smaller towns and feel safe walking to and from work. The anxiety that builds when I settle in a new place is completely unnerving. Every dark corner or strange person spooks me to my core, causing me to literally walk with my back against the wall until my routes are planned out.
The first
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