Brown Mountain Lights

A Day in the Life

Eight months later
Columbus, Georgia

I was making love to someone, sweet and gentle, but I couldn't quite see his face. His features were blurry, but his body wasn't, and I ran my hands over a smooth muscular back that flexed with his movements. I felt myself moving closer and closer to climax, and I threw my head back and moaned as he leaned down and whispered, "Come for me, kitten..."

A harsh beeping woke me up, and I sat bolt upright and shook my head hard to clear the remnants of the dream. When I looked blearily at the alarm clock, the glowing green numbers read '6:00' and I groaned and turned the damn thing off. I enjoyed the warmth of my covers for just a few more seconds before sighing heavily and throwing the blankets back, putting my feet on the floor and rubbing my hands over my face.

I showered and pulled my wet hair into a bun, not bothering to even dry it, and dabbed on some basic makeup. When I went back into my room, I pulled a pair of dark grey slacks and a pale pink blouse out of the closet, quickly slipping into them and a pair of black flats. I went over to my dresser and put on a pair of silver earrings and my ever-present charm bracelet (which carried charms engraved with angel warding sigils...stop thinking about it)

I opened the door and narrowly avoided stepping on Emmy, who meowed plaintively and wound around my ankles. I nudged her to the side with my foot and went into the kitchen, where I poured kibble into her bowl and set about eating my own bowl of cereal.

I dropped my dishes into the sink and checked the clock on the wall, which read '7:30.' Shit. I quickly grabbed my purse and clattered down the two flights of stairs, emerging onto the street where I'd parked my car (not the one I'd taken from the bunker, the one I'd bought in Arkansas, to make sure the boys...stop thinking about it) and hopping into the driver's seat.

I flew through the streets of downtown, managing to park and get into the office at record speed. When I finally made it through the door of my office, the clock on my desk read '7:59.' I breathed a sigh of relief and sat down, opening my email and beginning to go through the flood I'd received overnight. It was remarkable how many people wanted to talk to the curator of a tiny museum on local history; I was sure I'd have at least five new voicemails as well.

I spent my morning dealing with a load of new acquisitions we'd just received from the city government. Apparently, Columbus' city council thought that every document ever produced by the city deserved a shrine of its own, and I ended up going through a year of meeting minutes to find even a few pages that could be included in our "City Government In Action" display.

I had two assistant curators, and it seemed as though every few minutes one or the other was popping their head in to ask a question. At one point, I heard a car drive by outside blasting Kansas' "Carry On My Wayward Son" (Dean used to sing that song out loud in the car...stop thinking about it) loud enough that the windows rattled. I ate lunch at my desk, if you could call picking at a salad "eating lunch," and resumed dealing with the papers immediately after.

At 2:00, I had a school tour, and I knew it was going to take at least two people to corral the kids. At 1:45, I surrendered to the inevitable and ventured outside my office to the main display room, which was at least seventy-five feet wide and ringed with numerous displays on state history. There were two additional smaller rooms as well, one that held our aforementioned "City Government in Action" display and one which held a collection of artifacts dating back to before the Civil War. One of those artifacts I had always found particularly fascinating, a small revolver from the thirties with engraving on the wooden handle (it looked like something one of the boys might carry...stop thinking about it).

The kids were just as awful as imagined; even with the four teachers accompanying the group, Juanita and I had a terrible time controlling them. Fortunately, the only thing broken on this educational tour was one of our crowd control ropes, and I silently thanked whatever deity was looking down on me.

When I got home at six, I pulled into my parking space and trudged up the stairs, unlocking my door to be greeted by a hungry cat. I fed her quickly, then changed into my sweats, warmed up some leftover chicken parmesan (the first meal I ever cooked in the bunker...stop thinking about it), and ate it in front of the television.

I ended up sitting in front of the TV for two hours, staring blankly at whatever trashy reality show was one, until I caught myself nodding off. I yawned and stretched, then got off the couch and padded into my bedroom. I changed into my pajamas, then placed Emmy in the hallway and firmly closed the door on her yowls (apparently real cats were not as easy to sleep in the same bed with as skinwalker cats...stop thinking about it).

I slid under the covers, sighing as the soft cotton sheets embraced me, then turned my attention to the book on my nightstand. It was kind of trashy too, the latest Philippa Gregory novel, but I wasn't reading much academic material these days. When I couldn't keep my eyes open anymore, I put the book down and turned off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness.

I pulled the covers over my head, buried my face in the pillow, and said to myself...now, you can think about it.

I cried myself to sleep that night, just like I'd done every night since leaving Kansas.