Page 39 of We Drank the Dawn

Fifteen minutes into our drive, she said, “You’re quiet.”

I ran my thumb across the pages of the book in my lap.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in a few days. How was therapy?”

My weekly appointment on Thursday afternoon sucked. “It was like every other session.”

“Tough?”

“Yeah.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“No thanks.”

She grabbed the book off my lap and turned the cover around. “To Kill a Mockingbird? I’ve never read this one.”

“Yeah, I picked it because of the title.”

“Is it good?”

“I don’t know. I’m only a few chapters in.” Recently, I’d found myself browsing Comfort’s public library or Hollie’s bookshelves for lack of anything better to do with my time off. All my old hobbies were off limits, and because Hollie was a reader, she kind of forced me to be one, too. She expected me to treat her recommendations as prescriptive not suggestive. And, of course, we would have to discuss them after I finished, too.

I loved it.

Reading was one tiny slice of my life that didn’t amplify the terrible decisions I’d made, my awful parents, or the memories I tried to forget. I’d taken up her habit—having a book with me at all times. And it had served me well.

“Does this restaurant have a bar?” I asked. She knew why.

“Yeah, I think it does. I’m surprised Tag didn’t warn you.”

Honestly, I was surprised too.

I wasn’t the only one at Meadowbrook that struggled with demons. Jesse and Tag knew a thing or two about numbing the pain, so as a rule, Meadowbrook was alcohol free. Harlan, Cody, and Rudy got into trouble on their weekends off or at rodeos sometimes, but overall, everyone respected the policy.

That was one reason I’d never run rodeos for Tag—even the amateur ones. There was no way I could be in that scene and not make decisions I regretted.

TWELVE

Peter

Igripped my sweet tea, wishing it was something strong. Restlessness caused my knees to bounce beneath the table as indie musicians filtered on and off the stage. No offense, but all of them sucked. Bea was in a completely different league skill-wise. Bea was the third from last artist of the night and I pitied the singers who had to follow her.

The Kerrville restaurant was a typical burger joint—bar and grill. Based on the noise level and lack of space between the tables, it felt crowded. A little warm. Meadowbrook’s party squished around two glossy tables to eat our dinners while we listened to music and talked amongst ourselves. I smiled as much as I could and chimed in here and there, but every engagement sapped the life out of my bones.

I ran my fingers up and down the sides of my glass, allowing the condensation to pool between my fingers. When a new artist moved to the stage and addressed the crowd, we all fell silent again, giving her some respect.

“Howdy, y’all. My name’s Yasmine.” She strummed guitar chords, jabbering as she did. About her hometown. Her style. Her songs. Her lyrics.

My consciousness fluttered elsewhere.

No one talked about how hard it was to stay mentally tethered to the earth when you couldn’t see it anymore. The past couple years had taught me just how far and wide a mind could wander. Conversations, movies, podcasts, and music couldn’t hold me. Nothing hit my brain louder than my own thoughts.

And I always thought about Sarah.

Trying to prevent vivid pictures from entering my mind was a pointless waste of energy. Not like I could fight them off anyway. They came, bringing all their mixed feelings with them. Sometimes, I spent hours trying to turn off the current, but I couldn’t. Determined to suffer, my brain paddled through the sludge of my thoughts, looking for something new to torture my heart with.

And when I realized imaginations, memories, and dreams were the only sight I’d ever have again…I gave up. Just let go and let the current of thoughts sweep me away.