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May. 24th, 2014 10:27 pmI guess I've always been an easy target. It's worse in the city. Right now, at least. I still have my cast for a couple more days despite the fact I'm pretty sure it's all but healed – the doctor insists on erring on the side of caution, and it's not like it's getting in the way of the whole lot of nothing I do lately – and weeks of wearing it haven't made it much less awkward. I don't mind it too much, though, except for the sympathetic glances I get that make me flush fifty shades of red because I've never been good with attention. I guess a lot of people crave the spotlight at my age, but I'd just as easily sink into anonymity.
I'm not doing much when it happens. Walking down the street with my groceries in my good arm, not that far from my building at all. It's still so different from the houses I grew up in and still so far from home. I know that the people I've met here have settled in and that gives me hope, but I can't help but wonder if I was kidding myself in thinking I could just up and move to St. Louis with Sutter. Maybe my mom was right. Maybe my place was helping out around the house. I don't have that choice now, though, so I'm just doing my best. Waiting for college in the fall. Trying not to dwell on the way I left things with Sutter, or the way that the only thing I carry with me of familiarity is my flask. I haven't been caught drinking in the park since T.J., but I keep it close to me as a comfort. There's not much left. Somehow knowing it's there, though, vodka bitter and biting, means more than any single sip would. I guess that's why it's so upsetting when some guy I've never seen before darts out of nowhere to grab my purse – flask secured safely (or so I thought) in it – and starts to sprint away.
I fall off balance and onto my feet and I guess my arm isn't quite healed because it aches in a new way. "Hey!" I yell out, but it gets caught in my throat like a cry. I don't know why, but of all the things that have happened in the past month or so, this is what makes me crumble.
I'm not doing much when it happens. Walking down the street with my groceries in my good arm, not that far from my building at all. It's still so different from the houses I grew up in and still so far from home. I know that the people I've met here have settled in and that gives me hope, but I can't help but wonder if I was kidding myself in thinking I could just up and move to St. Louis with Sutter. Maybe my mom was right. Maybe my place was helping out around the house. I don't have that choice now, though, so I'm just doing my best. Waiting for college in the fall. Trying not to dwell on the way I left things with Sutter, or the way that the only thing I carry with me of familiarity is my flask. I haven't been caught drinking in the park since T.J., but I keep it close to me as a comfort. There's not much left. Somehow knowing it's there, though, vodka bitter and biting, means more than any single sip would. I guess that's why it's so upsetting when some guy I've never seen before darts out of nowhere to grab my purse – flask secured safely (or so I thought) in it – and starts to sprint away.
I fall off balance and onto my feet and I guess my arm isn't quite healed because it aches in a new way. "Hey!" I yell out, but it gets caught in my throat like a cry. I don't know why, but of all the things that have happened in the past month or so, this is what makes me crumble.
