Page 32 of Wild Eyes
Cherry suffers from no such concerns. Her cage is in the corner and she’s dead quiet, but I swear I can hear her breathing.
In fact, I can hear far too much.
Where I’m used to a white noise machine or traffic or the footsteps of somebody walking down a hotel hallway, everything in the bunkhouse is silent. And when things get too quiet, all I’m left with are the thoughts in my head. To be frank, I’m not in the mood to sit with those lately.
No, when I sit in the quiet for too long with only myself for company, my constant companions turn out to be regret, fear, and resentment.
Not wanting to face those feelings, I get out of bed. It’s warm but not stifling. As soon as the sun dropped behind the mountains, the temperature dipped. So I reach onto the top bunk, tug down my thick-knit cream duster cardigan, and wrap it around myself. It covers the matching Calvin Klein sleep set I got from a shoot I did not so long ago.
The size of my suitcase and the amount of shit I brought with me barely fits on the single bed up top. I considered sleeping up there to be farther from the floor, but the lower bed is at least six inches wider and is still most likely the smallest bed I’ve slept in since I had a crib.
I’ve decided this experience is good for me. That I could stand to build a little character.
With that in mind, I toe on a pair of slides I left near the front door and head out onto the quiet, rural property. To my right is the lake. Lights from the houses on the other side twinkle in the night against the black silhouette of the mountains. Their peaks stand out against the indigo of the cloudless sky.
The milky stars above blanket the valley in a way I’ve never seen. Sure, I’ve seen stars, but not this many, not in so many sizes and intensities.
Some are so bright that I wonder if they’re planets. Others are more subdued. Some are so faint I have to squint to see them. I’m sure those are the ones I wouldn’t see in the city at all.
Nickers and whinnies filtering down from the stables draw my attention to the left. The sounds remind me of the sweet noises Meli made after covering herself in dirt today.
I can see the path that winds through the trees, leading me back up in that direction. I check my watch and decide 11 p.m. is late enough that I won’t be doing anyone any harm if I visit the horses. To watch them, listen—acquaint myself with the smell.
Seeing Meli eat earlier today soothed me. I don’t know if it was her warm breath against my hand, or the deep, rolling chewing noise that her teeth made on the dried grass, or the way her big, kind eyes peered at me from beneath those thick lashes. The way she looked at me was different somehow, like she expected nothing more than pets and food. She didn’t give a shit about my video or my filter either. Meli just noted my presence and went back to eating like I was no big deal.
Having spent my entire life being told I’m a big deal and that everything I do is a big deal, there was something comforting about the way I was of such little consequence to her.
The feel of constant pressure has finally hit a boiling point. I don’t want people to be impressed by me. I just want tobe.
Be myself.Finally.
My feet carry me up to the barn, and when I clear the thick copse of trees, I see warm light spilling out from between the barn doors. It shines over the sand ring, toward where I stand. Like a yellow brick road pulling me in.
Before I know it, I’m right up to the edge of the barn, where the dirt road meets the concrete alleyway. Cautiously, I wrap my fingers around the edge of the aluminum sliding door and crane my neck to peer inside the barn.
From within, I hear faint footsteps and rolling rubber wheels. And when I get a good angle, I see West.
He’s wearing the same jeans from earlier, the same shirt with a hole, the same pair of worn slip-on boots. I bet people would pay to have them distressed in that exact way. He’s humming a song beneath his breath and doling out hay to each horse.
I watch him for a moment, trying to place the song.
But then he sings. No, hebeltsit out and does a little two-step with a thin piece of hay.
“Chasin’ that high! Feelin’ so alive! Every day with you feels like another golden prize.”
I recognize the song now…because it’s one of mine. Watching him strut down the alleyway, singing one of my songs in that deep voice, makes me giggle.
I don’t mean to.
I didn’t want to get caught.
Nevertheless, here I am.
West freezes and doesn’t bother turning to face me. He drops his chin, dimples denting his cheeks as he stares down at his feet. “Fancy face, are you spying on me?”
I didn’t go looking for him, but I found him all the same.Again.
The two of us, drawn to each other like moths to a flame.
