I got myself ready for my run with my ten-pound weighted vest and two concealed weapons that I carried at all times. I had never gone anywhere without Thelma and Louise. I wasn’t a big female at 138 pounds, so people tended to underestimate me.
The apartment complex that I lived in was all-inclusive. I was a person who needed only the bare minimum, so my setup was just that. My place came fully furnished, and I was on a month-to-month lease. I wanted to be able to dip whenever I was ready. The $1,200 rent wasn’t bad, especially for the location. My disability check covered the rent comfortably.
After fourteen years in the military, I medically retired at E-6 promotable. I was 70 percent disabled because of posttraumaticstress disorder (PTSD). That income was $1,808.45 a month, which wasn’t bad. I subsidized that income with a bullshit work-from-home job. Although bullshit, I didn’t have to talk on the phone, and it paid $26 an hour. With all-inclusive rent, free health care, and a paid-off SUV, my overhead was slim.
Marie knocked on my door right as I finished my stretches for my run. She was my housekeeper. “Hey, Marie, I had a long night.”
She knew what I meant. She’d been my housekeeper for almost as long as I’d been out. I loved her because she was efficient at her job, she didn’t ask too many questions, and she was quick. That was what I needed, and that was what she delivered. She came two times a week when I left for my run and was gone before I got back. I was always back in an hour and fifteen minutes. After my run, I always went to the coffee shop next to my building until I saw Marie walk by.
She smiled and nodded. There was nothing that she needed to say. She knew that a bad night meant to change the mattress protector along with the sheets. She also sanitized my mattress for me. Marie waited until I completely cleared my door before she went into my apartment.
I had an appointment at Veterans Affairs (VA) today. That tended to be an all-day thing. I always made sure that I brought lunch, snacks, earbuds, and a book. Rarely was music playing in my earbuds, but it was for the illusion so others wouldn’t talk to me.
Let’s get going so I can get back.
Veterans Affairs . . .
It was three hours before I was called to see my social worker, Verna Pressley. Mrs. Pressley was a woman about her job, and I respected that. She was a civilian who was the spouse of a fallen soldier. After his death, she dedicated her life to the betterment of other soldiers. It was what gave her purpose.
“Minnow, I really think you should open up to going to therapy. I know you said you don’t think you need it, but your psychiatrist thinks otherwise,” she said in her motherly voice. Her eyes were filled with concern, and her smile was soft.
I had no idea why we had to go through this every visit. It didn’t interest me to sit in a room with a bunch of other veterans to reminisce about some of the worst days of my life. A good day in my mind was when I didn’t have to squeeze. A bad day was when I did.
“Mrs. Pressley, how about we just not. I’m thinking about moving. Atlanta is becoming too much for me. I need something different . . . something quiet.” My shoulders lifted to my ears. “I don’t know.”
My fingers rubbed along my short, blonde hairline. I kept my hair short, natural with a little curl at the top, and tapered. It was easy to maintain without the need of a hairstylist. All I had to do was take my ass to the barbershop, and I was good. Men understood when you didn’t want to engage, but most women were too nosy to not try to engage. I wasn’t interested in having female friends—well, friends, period. Friends equaled explanations.
“Okay, Minnow, one last thing, and we can leave it alone. There are programs like K9 Battle Buddies for Vets. I think you could benefit from that possibly. I’m going to leave that alone for now. As far as you leaving Atlanta, you’re not the first that I’ve heard say that. It can be a lot and a place that’s not very accommodating for individuals who suffer from PTSD.”
She got quiet for a minute. While she thought, I scanned her office from my seat. She didn’t have too much going on in here. We didn’t have personal family conversations. I knew about her husband because I'd heard someone mention it in the waiting room once.
Her voice interrupted my thoughts. “Have you ever heard ofPlasters, Georgia? It’s about an hour and twenty minutes away from here. It’s a small town. I’m talking a few stop lights, one major grocery store, which is a Piggly Wiggly. They don’t have a hotel, but they have a bed-and-breakfast. Have you heard of it?”
“No, I’m not familiar, but it sounds peaceful. I bet they have clear skies.” The last part came out in a mumble. I spent a lot of time on the rooftop of my apartment building. There was a special spot that I found just for me. My apartment was on the fourth floor, but the building in front of it obscured the view of pretty much everything. I wanted a higher floor, but it was out of my price range.
She smiled. “Well, there is a family farm business and butcher shop,Dawson Premium Cuts Butcher Shop, which is Black, veteran owned. Victor, or Vic, hires vets often.”
“How do you know about the place? It seems like a golden gem. I couldn’t imagine you just giving it out like that. It would be flooded with veterans.” When people heard about a good thing, they wanted to take advantage of it.Plasterssounded like a good thing.
Mrs. Pressley smiled. “Well, I don’t tell everyone aboutPlasters. I know about it because I was born and raised there. It is, in fact, one of the best golden gems. When you have time, why don’t you go down there and check it out. I think it’s just what you need.”
I wasn’t sure if she was right. It did sound like something that would intrigue me. I loved to be intrigued. There really was nothing that I could lose if I checked it out. I could do my jobanywhere, so I could stay a week. If I didn’t like it, then I would come back to Atlanta. If I did like it, then I would pivot.Let’s see if a pivot is needed.
The Next Day
Let’s See What This Is About . . .
Mrs. Pressley was right aboutPlasters,Georgia. There wasn’t shit here, and my heart loved that. On the drive here, I saw so much land for sale. I never thought myself to be a country kind of girl, but I had grown to be. It probably came from some of my deployments if I had to guess.
The first place that I needed to go was to the bed-and-breakfast to secure a room.Rosebuds Bed & Breakfastwas a quaint little establishment. It was a gorgeous house, and the landscaping was immaculate. I understood the name because there were roses everywhere. It was breathtaking.
I parked in the gravel parking lot, turned my SUV off, checked my mirrors, then opened my driver’s side door. I grabbed my duffel and book bag from the back seat before I headed to the front door. My eyes scanned the perimeter of the porch and front door before I went up the stairs. I paused for a second before I opened the door and walked in.
“Welcome toRosebuds Bed & Breakfast,” the woman at the front desk greeted. She wore a huge smile. If I had to guess, she was in her late forties or early fifties.
I walked up to the counter. I kept my bag in my duffel bag in my hand and my book bag on my back. “Yes, I would like to rent a room for a week if there is one available, please.”
“I sure do have one available, sweetie. Since you’re staying for a week, I’ll put you in our cozy king at the rate of our standard double. Are you new to town?” she asked me.
