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“Amigo, you really need to take a shower. You smell like…” he pauses and takes another sniff, “horses?” He doesn’t wait for my answer and continues his walk down the street, burrito in hand.
“Have a nice day too!” I call after him.
26
IMMPECABLE TIMING
SASHA
Such A Simple Thing by Ray LaMontagne
Itip my head and let the water fall over my face and into my mouth. Standing in the shower for what feels like an eternity, I finally lean my forehead against the tile. My body feels like it’s been through a battle, every muscle aches in protest as I move. I don’t know how I can feel both physically and mentally exhausted, yet so alive at the same time.
I helped Grandpa John get the horses settled, fed them, and rotated them in the pasture. He left a little while ago to pick up Grandma Jo now that the area has been cleared. I took the opportunity to get in the shower and wash away the last twenty-four hours.
I can’t stop thinking about Cash’s bike starting up and watching him leave. He didn’t say goodbye, not really. I’m sure there are a million reasons why and I’m overthinking it, but I know the last twenty-four hours were overwhelming for the both of us. I just hope it didn’t scare him away.
The water starts to turn cold, and I realize I’ve been in the shower way too long. I turn the handle and wrap the towel around me. In my room I grab a change of clothes and sit on the bed, brushing through my wet hair. I reach under the bed and pull out the shoebox. Tipping the top open, I pull out the picture of my mom.
I should have run in here last night and grabbed the box for fear it would go up in flames, but I didn’t. Maybe it’s because I wish it did catch on fire, then it wouldn’t be a reminder of something I don’t have and could never have. It just brings up feelings that are of no use to me, like wondering who my dad is. I thought I put all of that behind me. Maybe I talked myself into thinking that I don’t care, but the fire made me realize something.
I could have lost everything.
I could have been hurt, or worse yet, died.
Whoever my dad is would never have known, would never have missed me.
Wondering ‘what if’ will do me no good, so I close up the box and shove it under my bed.
I slip on my shoes and head for the door, wrapping my still wet hair into a bun. I have an overwhelming need to see Cash and make sure everything is okay. When I woke up this morning, wrapped in the horse blanket in the stall we slept in last night and he wasn’t there, a panic ripped through me. At the fence he looked pensive, and I wondered if he regretted what happened between us.
Thoughts of him invade my mind, the feel of his stubble against my thigh, and the way his hair felt between my fingers, and I doubt I will ever be able to look at another man without seeing him.
Grandma Jo walks through the back door, and I practically knock her over with my hug. She pats my back and runs her hand over my head soothingly.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” she says into my hair.
I pull away to get a good look at her. I thought I was the emotional one, yet here she is, weeping unabashedly.
“When your grandpa came back without you, I was ready to hop in the truck and come get you myself. I was so angry at him for leaving you.” She touches my face as if she’s inspecting me for damage.
I don’t doubt had the roads not been closed, she would have showed up and hauled me to safety.
“Don’t be mad at him,” I plead. “You know I couldn’t leave the horses.”
We walk into the kitchen and Grandma Jo sets her bag on the table and grabs the jug of orange juice and pours a glass for me, just like she used to when I got home from school when I was little.
She sets it near the chair opposite her and I take a seat.
“That man,” she pauses, “your boss from the record store. He was here?” she asks, but I know it’s not a question, so I just nod.
Grandma Jo takes a sip of her water and eyes me. She looks like an older version of my mother from the picture I keep. They share the same almond shaped eyes and strong, defiant jaw.
Maybe I look guilty, or maybe it’s the fact that Grandma Jo just always seems to know everything, she asks, “Are you sure you know what you’re doing with this man?”
I look down at my orange juice and turn the glass around with my fingers. I really don’t know the answer to that.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I say innocently.
