Page 36 of Taming Georgia

“Sometimes, but I was used to it. It was hard when I got close to people. Though, leaving Ann Arbor wasn’t hard at all.” She throws in the last part as a jab toward me.

“Yeah, I imagine it was pretty easy.”

Driving through Ann Arbor, I have to slam on my brakes several times to avoid hitting college students. They just walk into the road, headphones on, faces looking at their phones without so much as a glance into the street. Pedestrians are like gods here in this college town. They step into the street, and the cars part, allowing for the students with their overpriced rich kid clothes and abnormally large heads to cross without so much as a glance.

I hate this place. I don’t know why I stay. I could go anywhere. I have nothing tying me here, no family or friends to speak of, only horrible memories. And yet I stay.

I park in the structure on the corner of Fourth Street.

“So, are you going to tell me what we’re doing?” Georgia asks, tightly wrapping her coat around her to block out the bitter wind.

It’s the end of February in Michigan. We’re all extremely ready for the sun and warmth of spring to arrive, but in actuality, we have another six weeks of winter.

“We’re delivering the bags you and Ethel packaged up yesterday.” I reach into the back of the truck and grab one.

Each duffel bag holds nonperishable food for both dogs and people, thick socks, a warm blanket, a hat, gloves, a dog jacket, flea medicine, and gift certificates to local eateries that are dog and homeless person friendly.

I managed to work out some deals with local restaurants to help get warm food in the bellies of the homeless population in Ann Arbor. I have to admit, there are some cool people in this city who are very willing to help.

Bag in tow, I walk toward the exit of the parking garage. “I think you know our first delivery.”

“Mark and Stan?” Georgia asks eagerly.

“Yep.”

“Awesome!” She almost skips beside me.

“Well, if it isn’t two of my favorite people,” Mark says as he sees us approach. He’s leaning against the brick wall of the bank—his usual spot.

“Hey, man. How are you?” I ask him.

“Good. Real good.” He nods and pats Stan on the head. “Good to see you again, beautiful.” He smiles to Georgia, who’s kneeling beside Stan and petting his back.

“You, too. Are you staying warm?” she asks him.

He grins. “Can’t complain.”

I give Mark the bag of goodies. “Usual stuff. Is there anything specific you need?”

Mark shakes his head. “Nah, bro. I’m good.”

“All right. Well, you know where to find me if you need anything. You still have my number?”

Mark nods.

We chat for a few minutes, and by we, I mean, Mark and Georgia. She really can talk to anyone. I watch as she interacts with both Mark and Stan. I look for the judgment and wait for hidden condescending remarks, but they never come.

Truthfully, I watch her more than I should, waiting for the spoiled snob in her to show, and I haven’t seen it yet. I suppose that should make me happy, but oddly enough, it makes me feel worse. The Georgia I thought I knew and the woman I see before me, holding Mark’s hand and pretending to read his palm, are two very different people.

“See this line here?” She points to a spot on his palm. “This is your life line. It says that you’re going to have a long life.”

“Ah, shit. Well, I’d better figure out what to do with my life then, huh?” He shoots her a semi-toothless grin.

“You and Stan could come help at the shelter. One of our girls, Hope, just had the cutest litter of puppies. You’d love holding them. It’s my daily therapy.”

“What do you need therapy for?” Mark laughs. “You’re damn near perfect.”

Georgia smiles warmly. “I’m definitely not perfect, and we all have some darkness in us that we wish we didn’t. Right? I think more people in this world could benefit from some puppy therapy.”

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