Goodbye to a World | shane walsh

08 | the last goodbye

Morning arrived gently, slipping through the cracks of the Shanty with soft light. Nola, always an early riser, had fallen into a routine—one that started with the sun and ended only when daylight gave out. By now, she'd unpacked Shane's SUV, taking inventory of his scant supplies: a few cans, some ammo, and clothes. It wasn't much, but it was enough to get by.

Shane had been at the Shanty for a few days, mostly resting because of his wound. Nola worked around the place, changing his gauze and cooking meals that Shane deeply appreciated—especially after months of living off whatever he could scrounge.

By late afternoon, Nola was outside, tending to the garden and checking her fish traps. After smoking some of her catch out back, she passed by Mr. Bojangles, the giant plastic flamingo she had grown oddly fond of. She stopped, rolling her eyes before addressing it directly.

"Look, I know what Sir Wobblebottom told you sounds bad, but Shane's changed since then!" She argued with the plastic bird, locking eyes with its yellow beady ones. "I mean hell, it's been what... six months since that stupid argument? He's been through a lot on his own, and so have I before I picked you up."

Mr. Bojangles offered no reply, just his usual silent stare. Nola sighed, rubbing her temples.

"I know you're just worried, but... I think he needs this. I think I do too." She said, gently patting Mr. Bojangles' beak. But then she gasped quietly.

"Bo, you can't say that out loud!" She whispered in annoyance, hitting the inflatable flamingo's beak which made a rather goofy sound as the air shifted through it. "Yes, he called me pipsqueak once. But I barely knew him! And it was a stupid insult, he was just frustrated. I've called him much worse than that." She grumbled. Mr. Bojangles only stared in return.

Nola shook her head as she began to step away. "You're wrong, Mr. Bojangles. You'll see." She muttered, turning to head back to the Shanty. She jolted when she saw Shane leaning against one of the wooden beams of the porch.

He had been watching her, his brow raised and a faint smile playing on his lips. She glanced back at Mr. Bojangles, praying to god Shane didn't hear the heated argument that just took place.

"What?" She asked as if it were nothing, climbing the porch steps. He chuckled softly.

"I noticed you've got some... interesting decorations," he remarked, nodding toward Mr. Bojangles and then at Sir Wobblebottom.

"They are prized members of the Swamp Shanty, I'll have you know." She declared with a smirk as she brushed past him to go inside. He trailed behind her, shaking his head in amusement.

"You know, the only reason I found my way back here was because I saw that giant damn pink disaster peeking over your walls." He laughed. Nola snickered as she looked up at him.

"I bet Mr. Bojangles would say the same about you." She grumbled under her breath, though she couldn't keep the smile off her face. Shane's laughter filled the room, contagious enough to make her giggle as well.

Once they regained their composure, he shook his head with a grin. "Man, you've really lost it since I last saw you, girl."

She rolled her eyes, settling at the table to fix the rope she had torn apart for his bandages a few days ago.

"Just made my life a little more vibrant." She replied softly, looking up at him as he joined her at the table. A comfortable silence fell over them, the only sound being the soft rustle of the rope as she worked on it.

Shane noticed the eclectic assortment of oddities that adorned the Shanty—the wall of glass bottles, the fortress of books, Sir Wobblebottom, Mr. Bojangles, and every other weird knickknack. His mind wandered as he took it all in, realizing just how lonely and bored she must have been in this place. He wondered why she hadn't left yet.