Not that I am here very often. Other than heading in for supplies, the only other place I usually frequent is Jack's. They make some really good coffee there. Coffee is something I drink a lot of now a days. I should probably switch to something else before I get addicted. But then again, at least it's not what I was drinking for the past eight years. Coffee won't cost me my job, my girlfriend, my life.
But there is something about Cougar Ridge that draws me to it. I have enough supplies in my cabin to last me six months. Working for the National Parks service has its perks, if you enjoy isolation. And I do. But for some reason, I find myself coming to town more often. Even though my cupboard is full, I find myself inventing reasons to drive down.
As I left Jack's with my tall cup of coffee (black, two sugars) I passed a boy handing out leaflets. I took one and pretended to read it. I guess I did it because I didn't want to hurt the kids feelings. But I dropped it in the passenger seat of my Subaru without reading it, and there it still sits. I'm sure it will sit there until the next time I clean out my car, at which point it will be thrown into the refuse, its message falling upon deaf ears, its mission, a glaring failure. But the fact that I took it means I am making advancements. Back in Hoboken, I might well have shoved the kid. More likely, I would not have even been awake at this time of day. But that's why I'm drinking the black stuff now.
I'm actually coming up on two years of stone sobriety. Two years, not a drop. It would normally be a happy anniversary, but this town has its own anniversary today, which is part of what's casting a funky aura over the people.
I didn't know Ana Lee. She was only fifteen when I moved here, and she seemed like a nice enough kid. Her death was a slap in the face to this quiet mountain town. Most people suspect it was suicide, a young girl too scared to live an uncertain life as a single mother. I met Dolores Lee once. I don't think that woman will ever rest on that conclusion. Not that I can blame her.
I look around the town and see something out of a movie. A town that is trying to pretend there isn't something that they are all thinking about. A town trying to go about its business, but with one eye on the sky. I knew the feeling. The guys in my unit got like this before they went into Wadi al Batin. It was a tension, a nervousness that something bad was about to happen, but it was tinted with an almost perverse excitement. Whatever dread the people of Cougar Ridge are feeling, there is more than one person who welcomes it.
Not that I am here very often. Other than heading in for supplies, the only other place I usually frequent is Jack's. They make some really good coffee there. Coffee is something I drink a lot of now a days. I should probably switch to something else before I get addicted. But then again, at least it's not what I was drinking for the past eight years. Coffee won't cost me my job, my girlfriend, my life.
But there is something about Cougar Ridge that draws me to it. I have enough supplies in my cabin to last me six months. Working for the National Parks service has its perks, if you enjoy isolation. And I do. But for some reason, I find myself coming to town more often. Even though my cupboard is full, I find myself inventing reasons to drive down.
As I left Jack's with my tall cup of coffee (black, two sugars) I passed a boy handing out leaflets. I took one and pretended to read it. I guess I did it because I didn't want to hurt the kids feelings. But I dropped it in the passenger seat of my Subaru without reading it, and there it still sits. I'm sure it will sit there until the next time I clean out my car, at which point it will be thrown into the refuse, its message falling upon deaf ears, its mission, a glaring failure. But the fact that I took it means I am making advancements. Back in Hoboken, I might well have shoved the kid. More likely, I would not have even been awake at this time of day. But that's why I'm drinking the black stuff now.
I'm actually coming up on two years of stone sobriety. Two years, not a drop. It would normally be a happy anniversary, but this town has its own anniversary today, which is part of what's casting a funky aura over the people.
I didn't know Ana Lee. She was only fifteen when I moved here, and she seemed like a nice enough kid. Her death was a slap in the face to this quiet mountain town. Most people suspect it was suicide, a young girl too scared to live an uncertain life as a single mother. I met Dolores Lee once. I don't think that woman will ever rest on that conclusion. Not that I can blame her.
I look around the town and see something out of a movie. A town that is trying to pretend there isn't something that they are all thinking about. A town trying to go about its business, but with one eye on the sky. I knew the feeling. The guys in my unit got like this before they went into Wadi al Batin. It was a tension, a nervousness that something bad was about to happen, but it was tinted with an almost perverse excitement. Whatever dread the people of Cougar Ridge are feeling, there is more than one person who welcomes it.
Weird.
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