I nod.
I hear gravel crunching under the tires and realize she’s turned into the Ashwood ranch driveway. A few miles of silence later, the truck comes to a standstill as she parks in front of my parent's ranch home. I open the passenger door, the orange and grey kitten are still perched on my shoulders, their claws digging in to hold tightly as I slide out, bringing the box of the four others that are sleeping along with me.
“Can you see well enough to walk?” she asks.
I nod. “Yeah, I know this path well. Walked it a few times while drunk which is how it feels right now not being able to see. Follow me. I’m sure my parents are asleep, and I don’t want to wake them.”
We go around the back of the ranch house, crossing over thedeck and out towards the pool house.
“This is where you live?” she asks as I open the door for her.
“Yep.” Maybe it should be embarrassing that I’m in my twenties still living with my parents in their pool house, but this wasn’t the way things always were for me. It’s just a temporary stop along the way, a minor bump in the road while I recollect my life and figure out my next move.
“Wow, this is really nice.” I can hear her voice trail off as she moves around the space, likely taking in the few belongings that I have in here and the lack of any sort of personal effects. Most things were either donated, tossed or put in storage after I moved back in almost two years ago.
“Give me a second, I’m going to run into the bathroom and put on my glasses, then we can take these kittens to the barn to find the cat that just gave birth,” I say.
She waves her hand, her voice somewhere in the corner of the pool house now. “Take your time, Wilder.”
A few minutes later, I return, finally able to see her again, and find her standing by my floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, reading one of my old notebooks dated with the year2016written on the front.
Well, shit.
“What's this?” she asks, holding it up in her hand to show me.
“Words.”
She smiles. “I know that they are words, but did you write these particular words?”
I nod.
“They’re… beautiful...” she murmurs, her voice trailing off as her eyes scan them frantically like she’s trying to memorize them. “Poetry.”
“Thanks, but it isn’t poetry.”
She raises an eyebrow as her eyes shift back to the page she’s reading. “What does this mean?
'Pleasure for a moment,
yet resulting in a lifetime,
pain turned into joy,
joy turned into sorrow,
sorrow turned to eternity?’”
I shrug, not wanting to get into the depths of my mind.
Music.
Lyrics.
My past on a page.
Her gaze catches mine and then she nods, realizing I’m not in the mood to open to her. She closes the book and slips it back on the shelf. Thankfully, not pressing further. I’m not trying to be a dick, but some of the stuff contained in those notebooks was written during extremely painful periods in my life and it’s not something I’d like to rehash with a stranger tonight.
“Let’s go find these kittens a home.” I gesture back outside and take the box back into my arms.
