This One is Too

Chapter One

Josie

The wind hits my face as I jog through the park. It's hot today, and the blaring sun against the pavement is making my workout brutal.

I've been taking three laps around the park every day for almost a year now.

Truth be told, I hate exercise. But I make myself do it.

I need to stay in shape, not to fit a certain size or look a specific way. I just want to know I could hold my own, should the need ever arise.

That's why I jog the roughly two and a half miles every day, and why I take a self-defense class on Monday and Wednesday mornings.

Not only am I a young woman living in New York, who ventures out alone on a daily basis. I also have a deadline looming over my head that I know I need to be ready for. The better in shape I am, the less horrific it'll be.

I hope.

A bead of sweat glides down my back as I push around the last corner. I nod at Katie, the woman I see walking her toy poodle at the same time every day, and then I push it to finish my third lap.

I slow myself down and stop to check my watch. I've been gradually getting faster, but it isn't about speed. It's about endurance. Today I did the three loops in twenty-two minutes. My record is nineteen minutes, but I was pissed off that day.

My apartment is only a couple blocks away, and I get there in no time.

I no longer live with my aunt Sadie and her wife, Denise, but I live in the same building. Sadie helped me get my own one bed, one bath about six months after I moved in.

She told me that she loved having me with her, and still wanted me close, but that it's important for a person to spend some time alone in their early twenties.

I didn't know what she meant at the time, but I do now. I'm thankful for the push, though I do get spooked at night occasionally.

Sadie has helped me out more than she will ever know. Denise, too. They've been the only family I've had since I left Atlanta just over two years ago.

As lonely as I felt at times, Sadie made sure, and still makes sure, I don't feel that way for long.

There have been times the metaphorical ticking countdown over my head has made me want to give up completely.

Sadie reminds me to just breathe through it and keep on living.

That, and therapy.

I didn't realize how much shit I'd been suppressing until I started talking to someone about it.

But no amount of therapy can ever completely get it off my mind.

In my apartment, I throw my keys on the black counter top of my small kitchen, and slip out of my shoes. I pick them up and place them in the closet, while also grabbing a bath towel.

In my bathroom, decorated with cacti and succulents, I turn on the shower almost as hot as it will go.

I have an hour and a half to get ready.

Tonight, I'm having dinner with Sadie and Denise for my birthday.

Yep. I'm turning twenty-four when the clock strikes midnight.

It's not a significant number. It's not like turning twenty-one when the magical-American-law-fairies say it's okay to drink alcohol now. Or eighteen when you can waste your money on a lottery ticket or a pack of cigarettes.

Twenty-four is not a milestone age. It's boring.

But twenty-four means I'm one step closer to twenty-five.