𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐄 𝐁𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄 - 𝐁.𝐄

seven - pilot

•
billie.
•

july 20th.

i finally got around to posting a few pictures from the fourth of july—pictures of my friends just simply having a blast as we had fun at the pool in my backyard. every image is a little piece of that night, a memory captured in pixels that feels like a dream now.

but today isn't about reminiscing. today, i spent quite an excessive amount of time carefully packing for a trip that stretches out like a long road ahead—a whole month in a small, tucked-away town in the northern state. the kind of place where the trees tower over you like ancient sentinels and the air is crisp and clear, whispering secrets only the wind knows. my suitcase is a puzzle, each item a piece that has to fit just right, and there's a strange satisfaction in getting it all to fit, like solving a riddle only i know the answer to.

tonight, my flight is a red-eye, one of those late-night journeys that feels more like slipping into another world than simply traveling from point a to point b. i'm hoping, almost desperately, to catch some sleep on the plane, though i know myself well enough to doubt it'll happen. sleep on planes always feels just out of reach, like chasing shadows. i can't get asleep when i'm comfortable in my own bed, how am i supposed to get it in a floating tube where everything is out of my control?

finneas, shot me a text and reminded me that check-in is by 9:45 tomorrow—at the crack of dawn, no less. who the hell even starts their day before then? not me, that's for fucking sure. it's like the world is fully awake all the time, and i'm being dragged into it before i'm ready.

anyways, i drag my stow-away suitcase to the front door, the wheels dragging softly against the wood as it falls into line next to my carry-on. everything's lined up perfectly, waiting for the moment i'll grab the handles and head out into the warm evening air.

but before we go to the airport, there's one last stop to make—finneas' house. we're all meeting there, gathering in the dim, hushed light of his place before piling into an uber that will carry us to the airport, where the night will blur into the beginning of relaxation.

but before i can even think about heading out, there's one more task on my list: packing shark's go-bag. though i've packed for myself, i gotta pack for my lil baby too. my heart tugs a little at the thought of leaving him, my sweet pitbull with those big, soulful eyes that always seem to know exactly what i'm feeling.

shark's go-bag is more than just his necessities—it's like i'm packing up a piece of home for him, something to hold onto while i'm gone. laura will be looking after him. shark loves her like she's his second mom, and laura loves shark just as much. it's never a burden to leave him with her—if anything, it feels like i'm giving him a little vacation of his own. laura would probably insist on taking him even if i had other options; she doesn't trust anyone else with my bully baby, and honestly, neither do i.

finneas and claudia had already dropped off peaches and mousse at laura's earlier. her house is like a sanctuary for our pups, the unofficial doggy hangout where the scent of treats lingers in the air and the sound of paws on hardwood floors is as familiar as breathing. i can almost picture shark there now, settling in, ready for his own vacation while i'm off on mine.

i know laura already has a stash of things for shark because of items from the last few times he stayed with her, so i don't need to overpack for him. i find myself in the laundry room, carefully scooping some of shark's treats into small containers. each one clicks shut with a small popping sound.

i pack his favorite toy next—a well-worn, chewed-up pink stuffed octopus that's been his comfort since he was a pup. as a matter of fact he's swallowed it once before. it's seen better days, but i know he won't settle without it. i fold his small blanket, the one that still carries the scent of my detergent into the bag as well, along with his toothbrush and toothpaste.