Golden Hour

9: Running on Hope, Caffeine, and You

Maybe time running out is a gift
I'll work hard 'til the end of my shift
And give you every second I can find
And hope it isn't me who's left behind

(If We Were Vampires, Jason Isbell)

WEDNESDAY
JASPER

It's instantaneous. Our lips meet in the back of some dusty dive bar, and I'm sure - I'm absolutely positive - that this woman will be forever cemented in my mind. Alice is unforgettable. Alice is inevitable. Alice is the direction I'm headed. I know it in that split second that our mouths first touch, and I'm even more certain of it with every second that passes after we part. She's on my mind all through the night. I don't sleep. I don't settle. I toss and turn and stare at the measly wall separating Alice's bedroom from mine. She runs through my mind like a dripping faucet, just there every few seconds, an unrelenting - Alice, Alice, Alice.

Even the squawking beep of my alarm clock seems to say her name.

As distracted as I am, I'm equally tired. It's a chore to drag my body out of bed and across the room, to undress myself, to even consider getting in the shower. I move on auto-pilot, propelled forward by one thought, and one thought alone: I'll see her today. If I can just get through a monotonous morning of feeding livestock and answering emails, I'll see her.

That promise gets me in the shower. Warm water splashes against my head and down my back, lulling me into a space where sleep - - the very same sleep that evaded me minutes and hours before - settles heavy around me. I'm tired. So tired. I lean my forehead against the cool tile of the shower and close my eyes, hoping to find rest for one uninterrupted moment.

We tumble out the front doors — Alice first, and me right behind. She's particularly giggly, her breath coming out in quick, eager pants between the glorious sound of her laughter. Cool night air swirls around us both and Alice stops dead in her tracks to breathe it in, eyes fluttering shut.

She steps further into the darkness and tilts her face up towards the sky. "I think it's raining," she announces, finally catching her breath. Alice's pale white skin is stark against the pitch-black night, like a sliver of the moon stuck here on earth. She lifts her hands from her sides, palms up, and stretches out her fingers like she's trying to catch a raindrop.

I follow suit, moving out from under the cover of Lonely's awning. She's right — it's spitting rain, just barely, a fine mist settling over everything.

"Come on," I insist, reaching out to hold onto one of Alice's hands. "The taxi won't be here for a few minutes. We can wait under here, where it's dry."

Alice curls her fingers around mine, but instead of following my lead, she tugs me back in her direction. "No," she says gently. "Stay here with me."

I come up to stand beside Alice, unable to say no to her sweet demand. Our hands keep clasped tightly between us.

"I've always liked the rain," Alice mumbles, right before tilting her head to lean it against my arm.

I stand there long enough for the water to start running cool. When I open my eyes, morning light is pouring in through the fogged shower door. I'm behind schedule already - a theme I expect to continue throughout the day - and the sun growing bigger in the sky taunts me, reminding me that last night is over. Last night is gone. I have to focus on today, on what's right in front of me.

On days like today, when I feel almost too tired to move, I am entirely resentful of this Goddamn place. I hate the ranch. Bitterly. I hate that I can't take a sick day. I can't show up late. Living, breathing people are relying on me. Animals are relying on me. An entire ecosystem survives at my hand. I can't lie in bed nursing a hangover, or play a hookie on a whim. I've got to do what I do every single day, and so does everyone else here. Like the inner workings of any machine - one part goes missing and the whole thing collapses.