Hunter's Chance

t h i r t y - t h r e e

The clouds, if ever there were some, showed no sign today.

It has been sunny all week with only a swift gust of wind blowing my hair in my face and a small piece of paper across the street as if only there to remind the world, mainly myself, of how quickly things can be swept away. Telling you that if you're not careful, you'll lose sight of the tracks that were once bound to your whole being.

I've sought out for warmth and found it in the skies. I've searched for a distraction and saw it locked in the soul of a song, and I've disguised my sadness with the pure and obvious distinction of contentment, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't find what I once had.

"Did you get a new shirt?" Cass questions, pulling me from my reverie.

I looked down, recognizing the familiar colors and textures of the plaid shirt, "Oh no," I said as I ran my hand up and down my arm. "I've had it a while."

"Oh," She said giving me a shrug.

She smiled and went on with her story as I studied the pushed up sleeves on my arms. I didn't even notice that I was wearing his button up shirt. Or maybe my subconscious was subtly reminding me that when I move, I can smell the faint cologne left buried in the fabric.

I couldn't deny that it made me feel close to him again, if only in the smallest manner. He wore this shirt the first night I met him. It seems like so long ago, lost in all the memories of our captivating summer romance and here I am, missing him all over again.

I never knew consistency like I know the stars that shine through my bedroom window at night when I can't sleep. It was never there at my beck and call. It plays hard to get and the more I look, the more I realize that nothing in life is constant except for change and I fight that battle every single day.

I went from having a small mind to exploring the depths of a new identity. Meeting in duels with the old me and fighting off the urge not to detonate any passing glances towards the dark and lonely road I once lead. Sometimes, though, she found me. Perched on my shoulder with a whispering taunt that would slowly accumulate into the residence of my mind until I deemed her to be safer than any new and unwritten loves I may have found without her. 

James. 

She hated seeing me happy and sometimes I did too. I fell into new habits, I built new boulders and without even thinking, I was turning into someone who was allowed to feel something, and I swear if it was wrong for me to be curious or to ask questions, I was okay with that because I owed it to myself. I could no longer be modest about how I felt. I had to know that he felt it too and if that meant keeping something from me, something so fierce that it would rip away the tiny seed of happiness I planted the night I met him, then so be it. 

But then I fight that statement because sometimes it feels as if I was wearing an eye patch and only saw one side. He was so sure, so confident that I couldn't handle what he kept from me and that I would run. I never planned on running, but when I did, I boomeranged my way back to him. Offering up what was left of who I could be, and now It's been three weeks, and he's still lost somewhere in my hopeful thoughts where my damaged ego has found her slice of reality. 

He isn't coming back. 

There is this irrational fear hidden deep in the meadows of my darkest nightmares that maybe just maybe, he feels the same and nothing would make my heart break faster. I've spent so much time dissecting what could have possibly motivated our fate to push the ending so hard on us. 

It couldn't have been that his t-shirts were always just a little bit wrinkled and my pants a little too tight. It couldn't be that I spun in circles in the rain while he skipped rocks across the river and told me about his day and it couldn't be that he never knew the words to my favorite songs but I loved to listen to him try anyways. 

It couldn't be any of that. 

So it had to be me.

"Are you even listening to me?" Cass is staring at me blankly as I begin to pack up my things.

"Yes but listen, I have to get back to work. I'm going to Prescott tonight so don't wait up for me."

She had her arms folded across her chest her lips pushed out.

"Are you seriously pouting?"

"I barely see you anymore. And school starts back up soon."

I scrunched my face and reached for her shoulder as I leaned down and kissed her forehead. "I'll be back tomorrow."

"Fine," She said as I walked towards the exit. I was about to push on the door but not before turning and pressing my pointer finger and thumb together and giving her three fingers. She smiled and returned the gesture as she mouthed the words.

"I love you too."

-

Work was slow, but the drive to Prescott is becoming even slower, and an uneasy feeling has settled in the pit of my stomach. Even with Conner calling me with updates on mom almost every single day, I know I should have been back sooner. It's been difficult, to say the least. School starts next week and the luxury of summer and all my free time is sure to come to a close, but so easily I hid behind the camouflage of a broken heart. I didn't want to have to explain myself; it just seemed easier this way. 

There is no way Conner would understand, and although I know I could turn to mom, who by the call of God somehow knows everything, I didn't stand a chance against her interrogation. She'll ask why I came to Prescott on a Thursday night without calling, but I don't dare tell her that it's because somehow in the last three weeks my bed has become colder and already, I'm a gypsy at heart. Not so much that I want to travel the world and site see. I want to travel experiences. I want to grow in my movements and find new ways to love again. Mostly, though, I had to get away from my thoughts of him. 

So I'm here. 

I flip the lever up and turn right down the road heading towards familiar territory. The sun, as if it were waiting for me, held on for this moment to finally set behind the hills in the far distance. The night was coming in as I tossed my bag on my back and started trotting down the asphalt. 

The Prescott cemetery is a quiet place, so quiet that the things you wouldn't particularly notice on any other day, begin to stand out. Like the break of a tree branch as it collides with the ground or the soft whistle of a car as it passes by. Today especially, though, it feels different. It's calm and peaceful and brings a new dynamic to the many times I've been here before like with James the first time, I had someone to hold onto. He made things so much easier for me. 

I had been burdened with booze on my breath and an eerily real feeling dream that my dad was right here with me the last time I was here and today, well, I am about to embark on something totally different. 

"Alright dad," I said as I unzipped the front of the bag and pulled out a piece of paper with my name in his handwriting on the top. I scooted up against his rock and began to unfold the paper as his lettering came into view. It took me well over two years to get to this point, but I've never felt more ready. 

So I took a deep breath and began to read. 

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