The Death of Me

Chapter 4

I sat in the aisle with a stunned expression. I couldn't think straight, I heard another meow from the cat but I couldn't move. Tears welded in my eyes and I sat on the floor hopelessly, I counted the days over and over again, trying to make sure I got them right. And I did. Today was my birthday, I am 18 years old. I sat for a moment, glanced at the cat, then to the calendar, then it was over. I put my face into my hands and cried, gasping and wailing. I allowed all my pent up anger and sadness to flow through me harshly as my vision blurred from the tears. I cried softly, and yet harder than I'd cried in a long time. I reached over to try and grab the cat, something to comfort me, something soft to hold. Yet, there was nothing, only empty air. I looked over hopelessly, and realized I needed someone to be here for me. So I got up and traced my way back to were Patches lay, stumbling and sniffling through the aisles like a lost and sad wanderer. Which I suppose is what I've become. I have no home. My home is gone, because my family is gone, my mother is gone...my father... No. I can't think like that. Patches is my home now, we are our own home. 

As I thought about this, I passed a cake aisle. Perfect. I thought, and looked over the cakes, picking one that of course said "Happy Birthday" On it. The tears started to come back and I scooted along towards were Patches was. I stopped when I saw a cupcake with a candle on it. I blinked and put the cake down, taking the cupcake in it's place. I walked on through the store, it wasn't long until I found a lighter. After a few minutes I reached Patches resting stop, he was awake, but had not moved. He perked his ears and nickered at me. I smiled and sniffled, then lit the candle a little ways from him, not wanting to scare him from his comfy blankets. I watched the wax slide down onto the cupcake, making itself hard once it reached the coolness of the icing. As the wax pored and melted, my own type of wax streamed down my cheeks. I wept silently, and yet loudly.  Patches perked his ears and seemed concerned, yet I felt like he wasn't able to stand at the moment, perhaps his joints were sore. Yet I didn't really want him to get up, there was no need, I needed a moment to myself. Finally the candle burnt itself out and the cupcake was covered with wax. I sighed and set it on the ground to the side, then crawled in a blanket and snuggled next to Patches. He sighed and laid his huge head on a pillow. He must be really loving being spoiled like this. Even as we lay with one another, I cried silently into the clean and new fabrics. Until I cried myself into sleep.

I was nine again, and Patches was new to me. He was old even then, and gentle and easy-going, I remember how mother would encourage me every time I fell off to fix my helmet and get back on. "If you don't get back on, he'll know you're easy to throw!" She'd say to me with a smile, even though Patches never attempted to toss me on the ground. My father would scold and frown. "She'll get killed on that horse." He'd say bitterly. I would always listen to mother instead of father. Patches was more energetic back then, and the small jumps set up around the paddock were nothing to him. It was clear the painted gelding could handle more, but only a little bit more. I giggled and laughed, and when mom said that it was time to put Patches into the stables for rest, she carried me back to the house pretending she was a horse also. "I'm a better horse than him." She'd joke,  and that tickled  my little child-like sense of humor, because she certainly was not. 

When I went to school the next day I told everyone about Patches, and told my mother about how the class loved him and hadn't even met him. She used to tickle me, and laugh so loudly in public she'd get stares. I didn't care, and neither did she, she was so alive and brilliant back then. It seemed when I turned 14 she settled down. Father got more bitter everyday and she followed his example. I didn't like that. I was left with memories of  a beautiful vibrant young woman whom I called mother. Yet she wasn't there anymore. It seemed like she was a new person, a new person I wasn't excited to meet. They both grew bitter and mother stopped caring for Patches, I fed him myself, which wasn't hard. Yet that was our thing. Everyday we'd feed Patches and practice. Yet that one day she told me no. I didn't realize it until I went out to the barn and Patches searched for her also, but once he did that I couldn't help but cry. After  I turned 16 and it was like she completely shut everyone out. She'd have bruises hat didn't make sense, and she'd go to work all day while dad did the same. They both worked all the time. I remember on my 16th birthday, making myself a promise. I would never lose hope. I would never die down like my mother did. My laughter would light up the room, and I would ride horses until I was too old to get on top of one. 

When I woke up Patches was gone. I stood up, and tried to remain calm. The light of the sun shined through into the building, yet the emergency lights were still on. I whistled and waited for a bit, getting nervous that he had strolled off too far. Yet, before I knew it  he trotted calmly towards me from around a corner. I smiled brightly at him, I was relieved to see him still here. Before if he had run off I would have been at ease knowing he was living off the land peacefully. Yet, now it seemed if I were to lose him, I would lose more than just my best friend. I would lose myself too.

I searched the store all over for the black cat, but saw it no where. It seemed so desperate for love last night it seemed obvious that it would follow me to were Patches was. Yet, it was no where to be found. I looked to the sad cupcake, covered in wax and the candle was hardly there anymore.  I looked at the pathetic little cupcake until Patches walked to me and breathed warm air onto my face. The old gelding had scars on him from old battles, yet he always had those. He still had strong muscles despite his withered face. I patted him, his reddish brown patches upon his white coat were shiny and clean. I stroked his soft coat, and sighed deeply. Then I patted his neck and walked towards the door of the store, of course, just like a dog, Patches followed close behind. It took longer than I had thought to find the entrance, I grabbed some cereal and sniffed some milk. Of course it wasn't hard to find spoons and bowls as well. The milk was luckily still good, and I began to wonder how long it would take til' all the milk in the world would be sour. After I ate my fill and I gave patches whatever edible fruits and vegetables I could find for him, we made our way out of the store and into the warm morning. He snorted at the doors, but was a lot easier to get threw this time. I thought about finding a new car to drive, instead of this truck I found a long with the trailer. Yet, I wanted to keep Patches with me, and this was the best way to do it. I could try and ride him, but I know he'll get sore pretty quickly, and we don't exactly make good time that way.

I swung the door of the trailer open, and Patches seemed he already knew the drill. He must be feeling good today, because he jumped into the trailer pretty quickly. I closed the door and hopped into the truck, pulling out of the parking lot easily, as there were no cars in my way. I drove down the interstate, unfamiliar with most of this area, I saw a sign that read "Welcome to Georgia" And I sighed, I always wanted to travel.