My Heart's in Alabama

5 - Kiersten

I stare at the ceiling. And stare, and stare, and stare some more. I took a shower, did my laundry, made my bed, baked some cookies, and even wrote the entirety of an essay that's not due for another 3 weeks. But still, it's only 2:00. Barely half way through the day and 7 hours until I can reasonably go to bed.

Ugh.

Who knew life without Matt would be so boring.

One more minute ticks by. It's 2:01. 6 hours and 49 minutes until I can reasonably go to bed. As I now stare at the clock, I think to myself, is this really what my life has come to?

With a groan, I roll out of bed. I need to find something, anything to do. I look around my room for some inspiration, but I've exhausted all my options here. Sadly, my eyes draw towards my window and into Matt's empty bedroom. And when I say empty, I mean empty. Nothing but a bed, a sheet, and a pillow. My chest grows heavy with disappointment.

I miss him.

My gaze lingers on that empty bed and tears fill my eyes. Deep in my stomach, I feel it. Sadness, emptiness, boredom, and deep, deep down, resentment.

Why'd he have to go?

I force myself to look away and shake away the negative thoughts. Good changes only, remember? This is good. This is for the best. He'll meet new people, try new foods, explore the city, zip line through the Louisiana swamps, wrestle an alligator, have fake champagne in a swanky jazz club, hell, maybe even learn to dance!

And while he's doing that, I'll...I'll...uh...hmmm.I don't know what I'm going to do. I'll uh...I'll go for a walk!

Yeah, that's what I'll do. That's productive. I'll even track my mileage and time myself and everything.

Look at me go, a woman with a plan.

💚

Immediate regret. Well, not immediate. It was nice for about the first five minutes. Now though, 1.43 miles in and I'm really kind of over it. I check my watch for the time. 2:37. The perfect time for a mid-afternoon snack, I'd say.

I take a left at the corner and mozy on over to Peters Paradise. My eyes widen when I see Nana Peters refilling the bakery cabinet with a fresh tray of mini peaches n' cream crumbles. I was trying to stick to the side walks like a good American citizen, but as soon as I see those, all the decorum flies out the window.

I cut straight across the road, crosswalk be damned, and make a bee-line for those crumbles. Nana Peters must see the desperation in my eyes because she chuckles when she sees me coming.

"Looking for one of these, dear?"

"Omg, yes please!"

"All right, one second, hun."

Nana Peters keeps her concentration as she places each crumble gingerly and deliberately in a perfect row. I tell her 'no rush,' even though  I am very much extremely impatient. They're bubbling at the corners and the smell of vanilla and brown sugar is overpoweringly tempting. My mouth is watering so much, I'm practically drooling.

After an agonizing 30 seconds, she's finally done placing them all. But just when I think she's done, she spends another minute and a half carefully nudging them millimeter by millimeter until they're pristine and proper.

Now normally, I love Nana Peters, but ugh, come on lady!

"There," she says with a smile.

She says it so sweetly, like she's completely unaware of the torture she inflicted, but she knows. Oh, she knows.

"Great!" I say, maybe a little too eagerly. "I'll take one please."

"Of course, dear."

As Nana Peters gets to work boxing up my crumble, very slowly I might add, I reach for my wallet. But...I don't have my wallet.

Shoot.

I can't pay.

Nana Peters finishes up my box of crumble with a silk ribbon. She gently pulls it into a bow and presents it to me with a smile.

"I'm sorry, Nana Peters," I say, feeling guiltier than ever. "I don't have any cash."

"Oh, that's all right," she says.

Again, she says it so sweetly that to the untrained eye, you would think, "hey, free crumble!" But I know her better than that. And if there's one thing you should know about the Peters family, nothing ever comes for free. Not even a $5 piece of crumble. If you want something, you better be willing to work for it. In this case, literally.

"You can settle up with Teddy."

Her smile doesn't waver as she holds the crumble out to me, waiting for me to accept it. I'm hesitant, but I know I don't have a choice. I may not have cash, but I'm going to have to pay for it in one way or another. Blood, sweat, tears, hard labor, my first born, whatever the currency may be. I'm indebted to the Peters family now.

All I can hope for is that Teddy goes easy on me.