Achilles Forjan by Baeli Kelli Jae

Author:Baeli, Kelli Jae [Baeli, Kelli Jae]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Indie Literati Press
Published: 2013-12-19T23:00:00+00:00

~ 14 ~

Absurd, like a monk in a brothel, the brindle greyhound had appeared, and fallen in step with her as easily as could be. Somewhere along the path that wound through the September Spruce, Fir and Hemlock of the Green Mountains, the thin, leonine animal had simply joined her on the journey. Amy looked down at him periodically, and he looked up at her, a calm, friendly demeanor about him, large soupy eyes below expressive brows. They continued—she, trudging along the trail with her pack, thankful for her Caribou boots—and the dog, beside her. Through the sometimes brief window of opportunity, she acknowledged that there were those peculiar little arrangements made by the universe.

When she was not thinking about the dog, she was engaged with heavy thoughts about those kids in the median a few weeks ago; about the breakup with Tony; how close she came to ending her own life. The wind was a howling incantation of her own black spirit. Her momentary elation had vanished. She had lost everything. Her career. The man she loved. Her home. And now she seemed to have been adopted by this dog. An odd, discrepant creature. A token from some unseen benevolent spirit, to remind her, perhaps, that all was not lost, and she must begin again. Start with dogs, move to people again.

The path snaked upward, toward a rocky hillside, and she followed it. Karma had to be on this loop somewhere, and if she continued to follow it, she was bound to find her. The two of them continued their trek up the path.

When she reached the crest, the temperature had dropped a few degrees. The leaves were already beginning to flare with bright Fall colors.

Amy stopped to remove her pack, untied the flannel shirt from her waist, and put it on. She also retrieved the bag of salsa flavored sunflower seeds, tore open a corner and dumped a bunch on her tongue, moving the wad of shells to one side of her mouth. Though it had been a while since she’d had them, she maintained an addiction to the snack, having begun the habit as a way of poking fun at the male paramedics who chewed tobacco or dipped Skoal. She was quite adept at cracking them open on the free side of her mouth, digging the seed out with her adroit tongue, and jettisoning the shells out like little black missiles. It was a skill she was absurdly proud of, and she enjoyed the game now—ignoring her depression, targeting the trees she passed.

Amy took a drink from the canteen, washing down some of the extra salt, enjoying the sting the seeds made on the inside of her cheek. Normally, she wouldn’t be seen in public spitting these seeds like some country bumpkin, but out here, she thought, who the hell would ever know? She could parade naked like Lady Godiva, and only scandalize the squirrels.

Minutes later, she breathed in the tree-speckled vista before her, the reds and oranges of Maple leaves, the verdant forest flanked by a nearby stream.

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