The old lady down the street had the biggest hair in all of Pullalley Lane. It bobbed up and down the sidewalks as she walked, her grey and black pomsky showing off it's pink bedazzled leash and matching collar.
Mrs. Avalos usually wore leotards with a robe the the exact same shade as the dog's hand-knitted sweater, no matter what color. Blue, green, yellow, cheetah print and rainbow, it didn't matter. People stared. People judged. But she still went on a walk every morning, 7 o'clock sharp down that shadowed trail and around the curve, always passing by the house on the corner of the street, coincidentally the same time I exit that house and go for a morning run.
I expected her, by all the hate she got, to be a little sad or even self conscious; I couldn't be farther from the truth. Each morning, she would have a little smile, a bright light in her eyes set in a determined, wrinkled face that seemed to glow from within. And when she saw me, her eyes would somehow brighten even more, if that was possible, and she would grin. Her two front teeth were gone, but her smile didn't dim down because of it.
"On a morning run, yes?" She would say as if she didn't realize she'd ask the day before, and the day before that.
I'd smile at her, a rare smile, one that I don't normally use. Just being around her made everyone happier and say "Yes, ma'am, it's a beautiful day for a run," as I stretched out my legs.
She'd stop right in front of me as her dog sniffed the tree and peed on the exact same spot it had the day before.
"You remind me just like my boy. Always out and about...I don't know how you young things do it," and she'd shake her head, that floof of her hair shaking along with her.
I would shrug and laugh, lean down to pet her dog, say our goodbyes and then we would go our separate ways.
The path I ran on was the same one everyday, 5.3 miles to the Westridge Barn, a mostly secluded trail shaded by overhanging trees that cleared into a street that curved into the dirt road 1.4 miles away. Once there, I would splash water on my face in the washroom and go into the barn to find Jax.
Jax was the biggest horse on the farm, and by far my favorite. Standing at 17 hands, the Thoroughbred was a powerhouse of muscle and endurance, earning plenty of medals in shows and dressage. In all of my seventeen years of life, he was the most understanding and compassionate being I'd ever known.
Other than Mrs. Avalos, that is, but she most likely had Alzheimers so I doubted that she knew my name, just that she inexplicably followed the same trail, said hello to the same person... for the last eight years.
And at eight years old, I had quit school. Not exactly "quit", but left not because of academics or drama or rule-breaking, but my own social inadequacy that didn't allow me to create relationships between people like others could. I was distant, always too-honest, and I understood that well enough. The kids were nice there, but they quickly learned my incompetency to build friendships and eventually gave up trying. I ignored the birthday party invitations and the neighborhood children coming to my door asking to play. As I got older, the opportunities for possible friendships dimmed to none.
My mom knew of my being unable to form friendship and hired a friend, a retired teacher, to school me three times a week, 9 hours a day. It was a difficult routine in the beginning, but as I slowly adjusted, the regime became second nature and I followed every plan, every step to success to the best of my ability.
It was part OCD, part sociopath tendencies and anti-social symptoms that allowed me to split my life into groups and numbers, into places where I thought they belonged. They had to belong there. I didn't know what would happen if something was amiss, if something was out of place.
I had to wake up at six o'clock, brew some green tea and honey, make oats with banana and almond butter for breakfast, go running at seven sharp. Then I would shower, read a chapter of a book, and either head to the studies. If I was not at studies, it was drawing studio at twelve to four, archery at six, or culinary class any off day I chose. I had to see Jax. I had to smile at my parents and say what I did that day.
Mrs. Avalos had to be there, in those silly outfits and with that toothless grin.
Until the day she wasn't.
And everything changed.
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start date: July 25, 2016
YOU ARE READING
Don't Cage the Foxe
Teen Fiction"He had a way with words and the air around him seemed to make people trip over themselves to love him. Like a moth to a flame, a flame of charm and beauty and something else. He had that smile and those eyes that could lure anyone to their demise...
