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You Always Keep Line of Sight

From one who knows

By The Dani WriterPublished 3 years ago Updated 2 years ago 11 min read
15
You Always Keep Line of Sight
Photo by Jeremy Bishop on Unsplash

July 4, 2019.

Thursday 15:31

Beginning: This is unfiltered B.S

Ending: Decades later unfiltered B.S

Shouldn’t have to ask about the middle.

I swear some people got their degrees out a cereal box.

They’d put prizes at the bottom so you’d eat all that cereal. My sister and I found a work around. Eat just enough to tilt the box.

Right now I’ll do ANYTHING to be done with damn counselling sessions.

HATE ‘EM!

Dr. Hillier “Call me Marcus” from day one and I’m like,”Ain’t never gonna happen dude! And it’s Ms. Correia not Caralyn, thank you.” Just hate how people here take liberties. I grew up not playin’ that. Don’t know you like that and don’t want to.

But if *air quotes* coping strategies like journaling bi-weekly satisfy you to “have the green light to discharge me from psychiatric,” I’ll do whatever to make you disappear. Not that I’d notice your anal-retentive ass anyhow.

“Ms. Correia, there are apps to assist you.”

Like who he been talking to all these months??? Sally Senior Citizen in Serenity Gardens Senility Home!

Punkinhead can’t remember post six months of therapy I was Developmental Editor at Scroll & Lock.

Could knowledge bury him in digital apps.

He never mentioned content or length. And won’t be reading this, so there it is…a stupid journal entry.

July 5, 2019.

Friday 09:08

Just wanna get this over and done with. I’m up. Still could care less. No painkillers. Sick of pills. Sick of more than pills. Don’t want anybody else evaluating another aspect of my life. My options. Just wanna do whatever I damn well please. Can’t nobody understand anyhow. Blah-blah-blah-blabbity-blah-blah-blah. Done.

July 9, 2019.

Tuesday 12:30

I’m craving a golden caramel iced latte from Costa. Miss ‘em. And oooh fire! Watching Kenny make it…MERCY!!! Could drink him ANY day! But won’t be getting some. And none of the drink either.

Edit: @\ craving Costa fire Kenny make it…MERCY!!! C#uld drink him Adai. But he getting some. ^nd none of the drink either.

13:06

Been half hour trying to edit/delete that last stupid entry. It’s not working or I’m just making it worse. Giving up. Confidential content anyway. Heffalump Hillier better not even! Would have his teensy practice license yesterday! Head hurts…Crap! That’s the housekeeping service knocking.

July 10, 2019.

Wednesday 22:02

Might as well familiarize myself with edit voice to text. I despise spelling errors.

Adjustments for PC use...

Oh cool...so that’s how you highlight text!

Alright Cara, NOW YOU’RE COOKING WITH GAS!

July 11, 2019.

Thursday 16:18

Dr. Hillier today:

“Excellent progress, Ms. Correia!”

So he’s pleased. Big whoop. Sign me off already.

I counted seconds between passing him my laptop and its return. Certain he didn’t read anything, just journaling verification.

Expecting calls from “Alliance” next week.

I didn’t think he’d be inflexible over this. All “Yaddah-yaddah at 23 yrs. old…your whole life ahead of you.”

Inside I scream. Don’t have an effing life and ain’t keeping whatever it is I got!

Biding time. Playing nice with everyone to get’em outta my hair.

Got ideas for when finally alone.

July 15, 2019.

Monday 10:44

Flashes on and off for hours last night. Head like someone hit it with a sledgehammer. I feel outside my body and a strong smell of something burnt. Farmers using fertiliser this morning? Wind sure is blowing the wrong way.

"Periorbital hemorrhage. Schedule neuroimaging from ophthalmology."

I close all the windows but still smell it. Ugh!

Then Hillier calls.

I’m like WHHYYYYYY???

I’m too close to my final appointment. I pull my best compliant optimistic voice.

Someone from "Alliance" visiting tomorrow and I’ll go to site the day after.

This complicates things.

July 17, 2019.

Wednesday 17:26

Well a Julie came yesterday and talked forever. Grateful it was after Donna cleaned.

People like normal. So I needed normal.

The living room set was a sweepstakes win for a contest I’d entered. Understandably preoccupied and easily overlooked until March this year when delivery came.

"Unit 2-1 requesting Resus for 3rd degree full facial burns, airway compromise…BP 70/ 51 and falling."

Fortunately, Donna was here and directed everything down to the removal of my trusty second-hands. The pastel blue John Lewis Barbican sectional with matching scoop chairs, nearly £3000 of elegance I couldn’t fully enjoy. Couldn’t see me entertaining. I was itching to get Julie out my house. She drove me to Alliance. Got nauseous on a 25min car ride. Julie Eveready. Had sick bags and everything. Coming back home I could have cared less where that sofa came from. I just collapsed on it.

July 18, 2019.

Thursday 09:15

Early slot with Hillier as he’s aware of my "delivery."

There’s discharge paperwork. Glad I can’t sign.

Goodbye counseling sessions!

Will need loads of Shiraz after Julie leaves.

July 19, 2019.

Friday 07:03

He’s given me space since arriving. Don Miguel. Smart one. Must know he got a dud. I know Donna reports back to the team. Taking him outside will prevent "accidents." I held open the door to the back garden and he came. Guess he knew. Sensible one. Sparrows and blue tits chirp urgent unspoken messages from yesterday. At grass edge I extend a hand. Swing across and feel coneflower. Velvety purple taken for granted since…since. Summers always brought butterflies. Really wish I could see them now.

14:09

Everybody and their grandma paraded through and called. I want to rip out the phone but don’t want suspicion raised and more follow-up. I crawl upstairs. He follows. Straddles somewhere while I face plant the double bed. I wish I could cry. But I can’t. Donna’s vacuuming stops. She hollers goodbye. The front door clicks.

17:38

Guess somebody needs to eat. He hasn’t made a sound. Like he’s waiting for me to make the first move. I like that.

I reminisce about who Dad brought home before he died. A black long-haired bundle of melt-your-eyes-love licking everyone and everything. Had to watch Chico like a hawk, the gobblebunny. My sister Candace and I readily entranced, waking from puppy dog dreams, each morning.

Five weeks later when Dad’s heart failed, Mom’s mind short-circuited. There were no relatives. The dog had to go and so did we.

Downstairs reeked pine furniture polish and linen scent carpet deodorizer. Julie placed dry and canned food by the pantry. Configurations of raised markings denoted different flavors. I think I grabbed beef. The bowl sits on a raised non skid rubber dog mat.

While the electric can opener whirrs, I ask Don Miguel if I’m worth it. He gives the first piercing bark ever made in my presence.

I sat beside him the whole time while he ate.

July 21, 2019.

Sunday 02:21

Awoke to bright white flashes and horrendous cursing. I hear sirens. The roof is being pulled off in a tornado scream.

"Neuro-ophthamologic examinations...irreversible optic nerve neuropathy."

Shaking I cover my ears trying to remember whose house this is.

Blank.

I hate everything about sleep.

Lie to Half-brain Hillier about sleep patterns?

To get out of his stupid chair—Yeah!

I chuckle when he says sleep loss can make people suicidal. I laugh because I was suicidal long before I met him.

A wet nose kisses my ankle, right where the bone pokes out. It’s cool. Insistent. A sensation that hasn’t examined, prescribed, investigated, referred, or analyzed me. He jumps on the bed, uncertain. Like a drowning soul in raging seas, I cling to anything that can save. Don Miguel can’t be my light, but hugging his silken frame, there’s less alone. Less afraid.

July 21, 2019.

Sunday 18:00

Late sleeps. Drifting, dozing. A four-legged protector…I think. I get my protector food and water. Give back garden doggy breaks.

Peace hasn’t lived here.

Dogs have keen sense of smell. Could Don Miguel sniff out peace? If not, I can still bleed out in the bathtub next weekend as planned.

July 23, 2019.

Tuesday 09:32

Actual conversation with Don Miguel:

Me: So… guess I’ll hafta walk you or people will suspect.

Don Miguel: Ya think?

Me: Were you this clever before or was it the training?

Don Miguel: Asking questions you know the answer to. We going or staying?

Me: I’m thinking.

Don Miguel: Cool. Ima just go lie down.

Me: How you get so chill?

Don Miguel: Years of practice.

Me: But you’re still a puppy.

Don Miguel: Dog years, Sweetheart. More punch per month.

Me: Yeah, right…*BIG SIGH* (Reaching for the harness) Well, better justify that £20,000 spent training you.

Don Miguel: Whatever you say, Beautiful.

Me: *Gasp* You think I’m beautiful?

19:37

Such a smooth one! And so patient. He’s all “Let’s just walk to your gate...to the corner and back.” My heart pounding chest so loud, I’m sure he heard it. He ignored trembling, fumbling hands, and hesitant steps. Told a joke about Little Red Riding Hood and a Pole Dance Instructor. Gut busting guffaws poured out of me.

Don Miguel putting up a fight.

July 26, 2019.

Friday 12:52

Regular walks. Don Miguel has a strategy: Roll up to fear’s edge then turn around, act like you ain’t interested. Then come back strutting all badass. Repeat ‘til you bypass line of sight and fear’s trippin’ in your rear view like a bitch ass sissy.

So we’d saunter to the end of the street and return. Then turn the corner. Circle the block. A great conversationalist. No ish. Just straight up, almost making me forget.

July 27, 2019.

Saturday 19:03

I’m out of weekend.

I blurt out, asking him how he knew. Knows. And how long.

He’s nonchalant.

Don Miguel: I smell it, Gorgeous.

Me: How you smell…(Lord Almighty, he just called me gorgeous!)

Don Miguel: Biochemistry. I smell what hormones and neurotransmitters you throw off. It’s how seizure dog companions alert owners.

Me: Hmmm.

Don Miguel: Let’s catch a bus tomorrow. Ride to Bournemouth or just walk to the edge and throw stuff.

Me: Dunno.

Don Miguel: We could hang our heads out the window when the driver’s not looking.

We both snorted with laughter at the same time.

Nearly gagged on my wine spritzer.

July 28, 2019.

Sunday 20:37

August 2, 2019.

Friday 15:46

Donna: Any time you need a ride Caralyn—I mean it!

Me: Thanks Donna. Appreciate that. Bye!

Ready to roll with the Don and he asks about my family. I’m blindsided (Sheesh!) and flip the question.

“Sure. You.”

My smile is easy.

“Eight brothers and sisters,” he says.

Silence heavy and stifling.

“We got separated in foster care after Mom was sectioned. Nobody cares what you want when five,” I said. “Mom died a year later. I can't remember much.”

His paws stay on me ‘til I stop dry heaving. Asks if I searched for her.

“Trauma buried her memory along with everything else.”

He’s quiet a long time.

“Trauma’s just larger accommodation to hide fear. Give it the finger and go find your sister.”

“I’ll consider it.”

“ Ain’t going nowhere, Acegirl. But chances are, you’ll outlive me. You need your sister.”

August 3, 2109.

Saturday 11:02

Ready at 7:00am for our walk. Tying laces when the Don drops a small leather case by me. It’s so thin I can quickly ascertain.

And freeze.

Just to the front gate and back. Could even do nights so nobody’ll see.

His thoughts tunnel through to mine.

Just seven measly steps Cara. Seven! Need line of sight for Candace.

Before standing I kiss-plant whatever Don Miguel part is closest.

I unzip the bag then assemble the red and white cane like I’ve been instructed. I tap the floor moving from left to right as I reach the front door.

Lucky for you that wasn’t my ass.

I’m laughing hysterically, picturing him standing in the doorway as I ease down to the edge. Knowing that secure comforting feeling when in someone’s line of sight who cares.

Even when you can’t see.

By Ali Kircchinbauer on Unsplash

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About the Creator

The Dani Writer

Explores words to create worlds with poetry, nonfiction, and fiction. Writes content that permeates then revises and edits the heck out of it. Interests: Freelance, consultations, networking, rulebook-ripping. UK-based

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