(Please read Theron 1 before moving on to this book)
A stranger washes ashore on a deserted beach.
With no memory of who or what he is, the only clue he has to his identity--the only thing he recalls from his past life--is a single, solitary name:...
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Everything is white.
Covered in snow and excruciatingly bright fucking white.
The tires of passing vehicles crunch and slosh through the newly frozen tundra. The horses snort, the heat from their noses creating puffy little clouds that look similar to speech bubbles in comic strips. If I had an imagination, I would create dialog between them just to kill the time.
"What do you wanna be when you grow up, Max?"
"The only thing I can be, Joe--glue."
...But I don't.
I glance over at a sleeping Bug. Her mouth is slightly agape as she snores away soundly... She appears peaceful, her face relaxed and calm and I wonder if, today, she's forgiven me yet.
I wonder if today she might speak to me again.
I wonder if she's scared of me.
I wonder if anything between us will ever be the same.
I wonder a lot.
The semi slows. The trailer hitches and the horses start to vocalize their displeasure. A look outwards indicates that we're pulling off the interstate into a rest area and my heart pumps faster.
The sign we pass claims we're in Virginia... but this doesn't feel like home yet so we need to go further.
That will not make Bug happy.
As the truck pulls into a parking space, I know I have to wake the sleeping monster.
Her.
Not me.
My large hands look awkward against her thin and bony shoulders and suddenly I'm scared I may unintentionally crush them in my monstrous grasp. I hold my breath and concentrate on being as gentle as possible, leery of my newly discovered powers. The very last thing I need right now is to add another indiscretion to my already growing list.
Her eyes are barely open and she grunts at the disruption to her dreaming state. "We gotta go," I whisper as I hear the trucker slam his door. Logic claims he probably stopped for a quick restroom break so we won't have much time to sneak away... even less if he's one of those repugnant delinquents that don't wash their hands after using the toilet.
But when I turn to help Bug down and out of the moving horse stall, she eyes my outreached hand wearily.
And I recognize that look...
It's the same expression she gives me when I tell her a joke that she considers lame.
The same look I received when I once told her we had to relocate because our favorite abandoned house was taken over by doped up squatters.
The same face she makes when I scold her for not eating her vegetables.
Its wariness and annoyance and aggravation and it silently screams everything she dare not say to me outloud: leave me the fuck alone.
