In a Perfect World

Chapter 13

Six months later I was back in my shrink's office, where I had been since January. Things were better now as good as they ever got. The government was stabilizing, and the corrupt politicians were being weeded out-slowly.

"So how are you doing?" My therapist asked.

I considered.

"I'm good." This time I really meant it.

"How's your mom doing?"

"She's better than she was." I answered honestly, "I think she's more like herself now."

The therapist nodded.

"Good. You look better." She studied me slowly. "Your hair looks nice and I can tell you put on more weight."

I touched my shoulder length nondescript hair self consciously. It was thicker now, and I didn't look like the string bean I had several months ago. It had been almost a year since the abduction.

"How's your friend..." She consulted her notes, "Noel?"

"Much better." I replied, "Though he's probably always going to have migraines now and then."

"If you told him how you feel?" She asked.

How did therapists have a knack for bringing up things you didn't want to talk about? I made a face.

"No, not really." I answered.

"I understand how what happened affected both of you, but at least telling him the feelings you were going through may help. At least think about it."

"How are the flashbacks and nightmares?" She asked, her voice softening slightly.

"I wouldn't say they've gone away completely, but there better than they were." I answered. "Those first few months after we got back... I don't think I slept much."

"Have you considered getting a service animal? Or even just a pet?" She questioned. We had talked about this before.

"Mom and I talked about it... I'm still thinking about it."

"Good." The therapist looked satisfied and she smiled a little. "I think you're making progress Kara."

"Does it ever get any easier?" I felt like I always asked this question even though the answer was always the same.

"I can't say it will ever go away completely, but you can learn how to manage it. PTSD is not a death sentence."

I nodded mutely.

She asked about my medication and I said I was okay. Other than the occasional panic attack I was managing.

"Are you considering going back to school? Have you made any progress?"

I nodded.

"I'm thinking of going back in the fall and taking a year off before I start college, but I'll see where I am in a few months."

My therapist made another note.

"Good. All I ask is that you keep moving forward."

My mom and I finally decided to adopt a dog. It didn't make sense for both of us to apply for service dogs that would be performing similar functions, when a pet (provided we found the right one) could provide comfort and support to us both.

On a Saturday we headed for the local animal shelter. We will looking for a dog something not too big and not too small and that liked to snuggle.

After looking at rows and rows of dogs, we finally found a little female mix who was looking at us calmly from her kennel. Unlike many of the other dog she wasn't barking but simply wagged her tail politely when approached. The card on her kennel said she was a "retriever mix" and between 2 to 4 years old. She could have been anything from a golden mixed with shepherd or chow. She had friendly brown eyes with a glistening medium length coat. This was the dog we asked to see.

The dog proved to be as friendly outside the kennel as in and seemed unfazed by her environment and the chaos that went on around her on a daily basis. Without saying so my mother and I knew this was the dog we were going home with.

It took some time to come up the appropriate name finally we decided on Goldie. It was short and simple but not as common as "Sunny". Goldie proved to be everything we wanted she loved spending time with us but also provided companionship and comfort when we needed it and sometimes when we didn't. She slept on my bed but often did rounds of the house as if she were checking on everything and everyone. She seemed unfazed by my PTSD and sat quietly until an episode had passed. Above all, that was one of her best qualities. Goldie alternated between watching me and my mom. She was her constant shadow and watched anxiously if we ever left the house waiting for us to return.

I knew when I went back to school Goldie would be a good companion for my mom and after all we knew she took her job very seriously whatever that happened to be.

Things seemed almost normal after we got Goldie. The house seemed less empty and lonely, so I knew we were moving in the right direction.

One afternoon I walked Goldie to the park where a plaque had been erected to the people that had been killed in the camps and the abductions over the past few years, the most being the previous year. There were many like them across the country they didn't list names but the plaque simply said:

"In Loving Memory... To Those Lost, But Not Forgotten"

This was the only place I had to remember my dad.

"Hey dad," I said, "I miss you. Mom and I got a dog... Her name is Goldie, you would like her."

Knowing she was the topic of conversation, Goldie wagged her tail but she seemed to sense the somberness of the moment and stood by my side without pulling at her leash.

"Mom is back at work now." I continued, "I start school again in a few months..." I paused, suddenly feeling choked up, "I miss you dad... I love you."

I placed a bouquet from the local Walmart by the plaque. On any given day there were hundreds of flowers and momentous for loved ones, though the city tried to keep it as neat as they could.

I walked home quietly, Goldie walking beside me. What had happened the summer of 2025 would never be forgotten like so many historical events that would end up in children's textbooks, the collapse and degrade of the government and how it had been built up again. Like many events in history I hoped people would learn from it; if anything, there was light at the end of the tunnel.

I looked down at Goldie who looked up at me and wagged her tail. Then she pulled at her leash and let out a short, insistent bark. We were almost home.