Read the first part of the story here.
That was yesterday. Now it is today. The sun is sinking below the limpid waters of the lake and my sweaty skin quivers at the prospect of cooler temperatures. What I would not give for an ice cream cone at this exact moment. I briefly envision the cops luring me with a huge heap of ice cream, sprinkles and whipped cream included. My mouth waters and my stomach rumbles, reminding me that the almost expired can of spam I had found -- abandoned and alone in the cabinet corner -- and eaten this morning was not enough to sate me. I need food.
"You need a plan," my mouth says aloud, startling me and the one remaining bird. "A plan," I repeat as the mild water lapped at my ankles.
I stop and strip to the skin, barely self conscious. Someone seeing me butt-naked is the least of my worries. I need a plan. I can just see people's reactions once -- if -- I get caught: the judgement, the rumors, the pity. I cringe at the last one and dive into the shallow water. It is almost the same temperature as the air but still a relief. With the sun dropping, I won't have to worry about a burn.
I resurface and float limply, face up, until stars speckle the sky and the heat falls to a bearable 110 degrees. The drought will break soon. Surely.
"Or you could leave," my voice said again, and I nod slowly in agreement and let my feet drop as I turn upright.
"I'll leave. I'll make a new life," I whisper to the moon, and the moon shines benevolently down on me, unconcerned by my sins.
A smile touches my lips. I've always wanted to travel anyway. Somewhere cold. I hear Canada is nice, or Alaska. Anywhere but here.
I mull over my new-born plan as I swim to shore, the ground rough under my unconditioned feet as I limp up the shore. I hop from grassy patch to grassy patch and leap the last few feet onto the steps. The television is still humming and I pad over to switch it off, the metal knob warm on my pruned fingers.
"Tomorrow," I mumble, leaving a water trail on my way to the bedroom. "Tomorrow I'll go. Drive the truck to Canada." I snort, knowing the truck won't make it to Canada. I'll have to find another.
I strip the comforter off the bed and sprawl naked across the sheets, my hair soaking the pillow.
"Tomorrow," I sigh, and sleep.
