Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 119212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
I hit decline and turned it on airplane mode.
Switching back to my music, I noticed Hendrix had been paying attention, but he didn’t say a word. He stuck his headphones back in his ears and we flew to Seattle just like that.
21
Cheyenne
I was doing a bunch of self-reflection lately.
I had my job, and I loved working at Come Our Way. I loved everything about it. The guys. The workers. The volunteers. The mission. And I had my girls. I saw them almost every day. We were family. That’s how it was, but I hadn’t thought about my love life. I hadn’t had to, to be honest.
I was fulfilled.
Or I thought I had been, but with my stuff, a person goes through a situation where they really question things at a deeper level. Like, would it be fair to bring someone else in on the struggle you endure every day? If you did, was it fair to bring a child into the world who had a mother with the struggles I had? On the surface, she would seem to be just a mom who’s distracted or disorganized.
But follow down the line, and it’s a mom who’s not listening to you. It’s a mom who forgets to pick you up. It’s a mom who forgot to pay your meal plan for a year, for the second year, for a third year. It’s a mom who forgets to pick you up not once, but twice, three, four, five… The intent is there. The love is always there, but the struggles are there, and they are often greater than the whole, and they can chip away at a person, at a child, at a husband, at a wife. If something gets chipped away at enough, holes get created and those holes get bigger and bigger over the years.
Did I want to do that? God no.
But would I struggle at some point? Without a doubt.
I was still young. I wasn’t a virgin. I hadn’t been waiting for Cut, but I had been at the same time.
There were a few boyfriends, but no one serious. They never lasted long and again, never serious. These questions and self-doubts didn’t come into play because those guys weren’t my forever guy.
Cut was.
Cut could be.
Or, Cut could’ve been.
And now I was thinking myself into circles.
Actually, I was torturing myself into circles.
I was at work. There was a meeting going on. Dean’s voice was droning on, and I was doodling. I could do that. Sometimes it helped me channel so I could focus better, but I had to be honest with myself.
I was hurting, and I wanted Cut. I missed Cut.
I didn’t know what I was doing anymore, why I wasn’t calling him, texting him. Then I’d have to remind myself and here we were again, once more around the pass about how I couldn’t do to him what my mother had done to me. Not the same struggle, but a struggle nonetheless.
I was trying to justify all the reasons why I ran from him.
The reason was real. What I had, no one I loved should go through it with me. Sasha and Melanie were different. They had their own issues, and I was there for them. It was the same with me, but I also pulled back with them. They got it. They understood. I had my stuff, and I never wanted to burden anyone else with it, not too much. It’s not their problem to deal with. It’s mine.
I tried not to watch his away games. I hadn’t lasted on that. The puck dropped and I was scrambling to turn my television on.
My chest was burning because they were playing at home tonight, and I was trying to tell myself that I wasn’t going. But I was going. I already knew I was going. Why was I trying to lie to myself?
“—what do you think, Cheyenne?”
“Huh?” My pen dropped and I looked up.
Dean, Reba, and Boomer were all waiting for my answer.
I blinked, trying to remember. I had no clue. “What’d you say?”
Dean frowned, his eyebrows pinching together. “You okay?”
Reba grunted. “You get distracted at times, but you’ve been more the last few weeks.”
Reba was our other full-time worker, the one who worked, and went home to actually Netflix and chill. She was built like a trucker (her words) with the curliest hair I’d ever seen on someone before. She had dark auburn hair, and her curls were the type that had curls within the curls themselves. Getting a comb through them with product must be a nightmare for Reba, so she let it flow. She came to work and her hair was bouncing every which way. I loved it. The freer, the better, but today she had it pulled back under a red bandana.
I was missing the usual fray wildness. I connected with it in my core. Her hair was like all the things going on inside my own head.