The Walk

It was 11 o'clock pm. The emotions hadn't slowed. The ativan hadn't kicked in.  I tried to distract, but I couldn't.  

I kept picturing her exhausted, drained and out walking in the negative degree weather to find the ponies that I'd accidentally set free.  

Why hadn't I checked the gate better? Yes, it was cold. But five more seconds of my time really wouldn't have hurt me. The book I was reading could have waited that infinitesimal amount of time.

She asked me to stop at the Amish house on the corner before heading into town.  They were there, safe in a barn with lots of hay and probably some oats.  I brought them home then carried on with my day.

Until now.  Until I read the Facebook posts.  Saw the picture of my friend with windburned cheeks and pants wet from the snow and swamp she wandered into following hoof prints.

  I put on a coat, my socks and shoes.  I headed toward the rail trail, the wind stinging my face. It wasn't cold enough.  It wasn't painful enough.  I took my coat off, waiting for the wind to cut through my hoodie and  t shirt.  I walked the path lit by the moonlight, cowering at every sound.  I paused when I reached the hill by the cabin, tempted to wade in until the water reached my hips. Tempted to lay back and allow the current to carry me away.  Instead, I took my shoes off and kept going.  

A deluge of memories of her mom hit me.  The tears fell, freezing almost instantly.  I was on the dirt road.  I removed my hoodie and socks.  I couldn't get cold enough. I couldn't feel enough.  

I arrived at the corner of our road.  I put the socks, soaked from the snow, back on. wincing at my burning toes.  I threw the coat over my shoulders.  

The lights were on in her living room, looking warm and inviting.  I walked up my driveway, my home just as welcoming.  The heat hurt when I entered it. No one knew I'd been gone.  

I hated my weakness, I couldn't walk as far as she could.