Focus on what’s working, little jewel. I wipe a tear from my cheek.
After this week I will move again. I will find another town to temporarily call home. I am alive. I have a best friend and a fish. I have a good job that lets me travel the country.
There is so much to be thankful for. I have to stop wishing for a normal life.
I glance back to the wilted plant buckled into the car’s passenger seat. I think of the townspeople—the families and flourishing life all around that I never let myself engage in. I chew my lip and gather my resolve.
You cannot stay.
“I know,” I say with clenched fists.
People aren’t safe if I stay. It’s time for me to move on to the next place. I’ll forget this town eventually. At least nobody will miss me.
“Come on, Ferngully,” I say to the plant. “Let’s go home and pack.”
