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I was here. In Texas. I wasn’t there anymore.
I’d not been there for so long.
He can’t get to me.
He couldn’t get to me.
He couldn’t get to me.
I kept repeating that as my heart slowed, and slowly, I came back. I was okay.
I pushed the fear away. There’d always be residue. There’d be residue as long as I lived, but I was functioning.
I could manage this.
It’d been a long time since I’d had a nightmare. I was tempted to use the bathroom, then curl back in bed with the lights off. I doubted another one could happen so soon after this one, so I would probably be fine. I could sleep normally. Though, who was I kidding? There was no normal sleeping for me. If I got four hours a night, I was happy. Medications had me sleeping fourteen hours and barely functional during the day, so I’d stopped using them. Four hours got me through, usually.
I got up, washed, and made coffee. Vicky came out to check on the chickens, and I dressed for my day. I had a job where I could work anywhere, and I was my own boss, so sweats and a tank were just fine.
Vicky wouldn’t be in the coop long, not if she let them out. I filled two cups with coffee and headed over to the patio table. I was just sitting down when clucking filled the air.
Miss Sylvia Rivera was running around, her chestnut head bobbing. She kept circling, which wasn’t normal. Usually she’d do a run, then settle and go back to doing whatever she and the other hens felt like doing for the free-range part of their day. I figured they had their own schedule.
She kept circling and clucking, until I frowned and stood up. “Miss Sylvia Rivera, hey.”
Her head turned. I was never sure how much they could see, but whether she heard me, smelled me, or saw me, she took off running right toward me. She’d never done this. I sat back down and once she got to the patio, she jumped up and flapped her wings, landing in my lap.
Her clucks quieted as she settled into my arms.
“Well, I never.” Vicky stood just beyond the patio, her eyes wide. She was a tiny woman, around five foot three inches, with meat on her bones, but nothing in excess. She liked working in the garden and around the farm, and it showed, but she had pale skin so she often wore a giant hat to protect against the sun. And she was strong, which her size didn’t show. Her red hair used to be amber, but it’d faded to pale strawberry, with silver highlights mixed in. Today it was pulled back in a loose ponytail at the base of her neck, her sun hat pulled low to cover her eyes. She wore working gloves, hands at her hips. “Has she ever done that before?”
I shook my head.
“Never seen that in my life.” She chuckled, stepping up and taking a seat, her eyes still on the hen. “She must’ve missed you, I guess?”
“I guess I’m sitting tight.”
“Absolutely.” She picked up the coffee I’d brought for her. “It’s considered sacrosanct. If a chicken flies into your arms, you have to hold her until she decides to move. If you move first, the wish you’ve wished for is considered broken.”
“You just made that up.”
She laughed, sipping her coffee.
I gave her a grin, content to sit here. It felt nice. It felt settled. Peaceful.
“How you doing?” She used her low voice, her serious voice for when she was checking in with me and wanted the truth.
Vicky had never been a helicopter foster mom, but she was there. She’d watch, and she didn’t miss much, but she also gave me space. I was someone who needed space. Howard was similar, though he was quicker with a joke and more eager to have a beer. He was a one beer at night kind of guy. Just one. If they went to social gatherings or had friends over, he might indulge in two, but that was the limit. Vicky wasn’t a drinker. She said she’d never understood the appeal. She liked having all her faculties operational, but she always made sure she had the kind of beer Howard liked stocked. They were a team, a tight unit. They took their jobs raising children very seriously, like it was their purpose in life to raise kind, smart, assertive, and healthily balanced kids.
If I hadn’t met them, I didn’t know if I’d believe people like them existed. I was grateful.
Because of all of that, and maybe because I had Miss Sylvia Rivera in my arms, I told Vicky about the date. I told her about Brett. I told her about how I’d reacted to him, how I wasn’t myself with him.
She sat for a beat, listening. “You’re picky about who you let into your life. You were in a rough situation until you came to us, but I always knew your soul was good. You were kind. You were thoughtful. You were smart. But you’d been hurt. Your soul was wounded, but I knew all I needed to do was love you. So I did. I loved you, and I will always keep loving you. You never wanted to be a problem.”
She thought for a moment. “No, no… We fostered a few other kids before you. Sometimes there were behavioral problems, which made sense. It wasn’t their fault. Your problem was that I needed to make sure you wanted to live. I’m not saying you had thoughts like that, but your candle was barely flickering. I never wanted it to be snuffed out, and the way I kept it getting brighter and brighter was love. That was it. Some kids need structure. It helps clear out the chaos in their mind. But not you. Just loving you.” Her smile was fond. “I know some of what you went through, but I know there has to be more that you’ve never said a word about. Probably never said a word to anyone. I have to say, sitting here, having coffee with you, seeing you with this glow on your face, with Miss Sylvia Rivera in your lap, and hearing how this Brett guy made you act like not yourself, I can’t help but wonder if maybe he’s the first one to get the real you out of you?”
My vocal cords froze.
