Under Jason's watch, I was released, and I walked back to my residence. The air diffuses outward from the sidewalk, and it is as hot as a sauna. It feels good on my skin and warms my cold hands and feet. The thoughts of emptiness began to disappear. I felt a bit like my previous self. It is undeniable that this feeling has not improved much, but at least I am familiar with it.
Good negative self-talk, I think. I stepped on a broken sidewalk that was pushed up by the roots of a tree that was too large, and the roots were confined to a parking lot that was too small. I tripped, fell down, took off my pants and scratched my knees, like a five-year-old child. Damn it.
When I got home, I checked my voice mail and email. I arranged a wedding photography this weekend. Thank goodness I didn't sleep. I have a lot of things to prepare because I didn't prepare at all.
I replied to the nervous bride's phone call and told her that we were all ready and I would meet with her at 1 o'clock in the afternoon to prepare for the wedding. Then I started to count and pack my equipment and charge all the batteries and spare parts. I take my photography very seriously, even if it's just a wedding, not a fancy art exhibition; every photo I take is about myself and the people in it.
I printed out a checklist of preparations before shooting from my computer, and didn’t stop until every item was checked. Even though I didn’t feel ready, my complete checklist told me that it was ready, so this It's good enough.
After the last check, I sat down on the sofa and rested for a while. As soon as I was packed, I was out of breath, sweat gleaming on my face and arms. I was too tired to eat, but I still heated a frozen bean and cheese burrito in the microwave and stared at it.
Later, when I was about to go to bed, I tried not to think too much about the dream I had last night, I can still clearly remember and feel, or the dream I had the other night, no matter how hard I tried, I can't recall it completely. I just remember that they are also for this. Good old people. Bad old book.
I lay down on the fuck, looking at the ceiling. I installed an old-fashioned swinging fan on the open window to blow me. The night is very hot, almost as hot as the day, the fan blades are spinning loudly, reminding me of my mother's nagging, nagging, nagging, breathing, nagging, nagging, nagging, breathing. Sweat dripped on my forehead, running down my cheeks. I stood up and turned off the fan.
Back to **, I recited a self-help mantra, which I often said when I couldn't sleep for a few months after leaving the book. "You are smart. You are capable. You are complete and completely dependent on yourself. I love you." I try not to think about other things.
It did not help. Thinking about it, it didn't help much at the time, but I stubbornly persevered. You are very smart. You are capable. You are complete and completely dependent on yourself. The moon is beautiful tonight.
You are very smart.
You are capable.
You are...
"Yes, yes, I heard, Abby. It was a waste of words," Ben said. "You are smart, you are capable, wait, it's endless."
I looked around. We are in a certain room. It was empty inside, and it was getting worse. The weathered paint on the wall peeled off into plate-sized flakes.
"Where are we?" I said.
"How do I know," Ben said.
We sat on the floor back to back. The floor is made of old wood that creaks when I stand. I took a step forward, feeling something heavy on my ankle. I looked down. chain. There is a fetter around my ankle, the fetter is connected to a chain, and the chain is connected to Ben's fetter.
"What's this?" I reached out and pulled the zipper. It is legal, powerful, and will not give up easily.
He said, "I guess we escaped."
"Where did you escape from?"
"Shhh," he said, pulling me down and squatting down. He whispered, "They are outside. Did you hear it?"
I can hear their voices, some people are running, some people are barking, some dogs are barking, and white spotlights shone in through the windows, running around along the wall of the room where we are hiding.
"Why are they following us?" I whispered. "What did we do?"
Ben glared at me, no matter what we did, it was my fault.
The dog barked louder and louder until it surrounded us. The walls were shaking, and the plaster on the ceiling shattered. I cover my ears.
"They are going to drive us out," Ben called out in a harsh voice. As soon as he spoke, a fire ignited in the room where the floor and the wall were connected, and began to climb up. Within a few seconds, the city wall was engulfed by flames. The weather immediately became very hot, unbearably hot. I can feel the moisture in my lungs turning into steam.
"We have to go!" I yelled to Ben.
"What's the point?" he said. "As soon as we run out, they will come to catch us. There is nowhere to escape."
"Ben, hurry up!" I begged him, pushing him to try to make him move, but he refused to give in. He sat on the floor and waited, unaffected by the fire.
"Ben!" The fire spread to us. Once, I pulled the fetters on my ankle and tried to pry it away. It's useless. I crawled to the only door in the room. I tried to drag the book by the chain, but he was too heavy.
"Please," I pleaded. "Ben, for me. I can't get out without you. Please."
I cough and cough again. I can't breathe. All I can do is cough. The black smoke pressed us to the floor.
I pulled the chain and struggled.
I can't see Ben through the smoke now, but I guess he is still sitting on the floor Zhōng Yāng like a fool.
I can't breathe.
I curled up into a ball and buried my face in my arms. I could finally feel Ben moving, but he didn't run away or save us, but curled up beside me. I pushed him away.
"What's the point? We don't have time," Ben said. His voice overwhelmed the roar of the fire, the noise of the dog group and the shouting of the crowd. He covered my mouth and nose with his hands and completely blocked my airway. I shook my head. He put his hand on my face.
"This is better. This is a kind of goodwill," this is the last thing I heard.
I woke up. The clock points to 11:45 in the evening.
I rolled over, coughing and coughing. I grabbed the bed with my hands. I struggled to catch my breath. Until I can breathe properly, it seems forever. When I can, the air feels sweet and clean in my lungs.
I got up, drank a large glass of water, and walked around in the kitchen, living room, and bathroom until I could calm down. I took four big sips from the vodka bottle in the refrigerator, then curled up on the sofa. I watched cooking shows on TV, vodka made me feel numb, and the bottle nestled in my arms just in case, until I fell asleep again.
I woke up very early the next day.
I still haven't adapted to getting up at early in the morning. I suspect I will never, even if I have been doing this for three years. It sounds like gunfire. I panted and my heart beat faster. every day. every day. Today was worse than usual because I had a nightmare, drank vodka, and slept on the sofa.
Fortunately, I live alone. I can't be cute and likable in the wee hours. How about breakfast? Forget breakfast, there is no time. Taste my baked goods at breakfast. I cannot sell things that I have not personally promised to be delicious and meet the good standards of the coffee shop; can I now
I was sleepy, not awake from a hangover, and rode to the coffee shop. Everything is quiet and peaceful. The only activities I can see are some bars that close in the morning. There are dim lights everywhere. I can see one or two people cleaning or taking out the trash inside.
I opened the old lock on the door of the coffee shop and pushed the bike in. The table was pushed against a wall. I leaned the bicycle against the wall next to the storage room.
I lit the old gas stove with a long match, started pouring coffee, and then started work. This work calms people. Watching them expand into cinnamon buns, Italian shortbread, biscuits, muffins, pies, sandwiches, and bread, I find comfort in the mixed ingredients. I drink coffee, listen to music, and try not to think about things that are usually easy to do.
Today, however, my thoughts began to drift, and I became its unwilling companion. My mind is full of dreams and books. I hate thinking about Ben. I think this is my personal failure, because for the past seven years, I have been systematically erasing him from my memory. Ben made me feel very weak. When I think of Ben, I feel weak.
Really, I have had enough of this role in my life. If I can do it again, or if the current Abigail can tell Abigail seven years ago anything, I will tell her to leave as soon as possible. I will tell her to shut up and get out. She will survive. Regarding love, there is no real or rational thing, especially first love. Assuming that Ben and I have been in love, but after seven years I feel good, she will feel good too.
In thought, I burnt my first loaf of bread.
Damn it.
Burning things is the worst, I burn very well. Damn pork chops smelled like burnt bread. No food at all. People should be attracted by the smell of freshly baked food. This will not attract anyone. The smoke alarm rang. I used a flat cardboard box to fan it until it gave up. I dragged this huge industrial fan out of the storage room and pushed the burnt error into the alley behind the store.
It's still early. I still have time to make another batch. I hope that the burnt smell will disappear before Jason appears.
This time I tried to only think about the bread, the ingredients of the bread, and feel their formation in my hands. I was kneading the dough, hurriedly **; when I heard a cough behind me, I went all out.
I turned around. Standing at the door of the alley was a tall, hairy, unclean, unshaven man.
I screamed. He screamed.
"Jesus Christ, Jeb blue pants! You scared me to death."
"I'm sorry, Miss Abby." I'm sorry," he stammered. He began to tear, stepped out of the door, and stepped on the fan.
"Jeb blue pants, it's okay. Come back. You scared me, what can I do for you?"
"Clean up, Miss Abby?" he said swinging his furry head up and down.
"Of course, we can use the scan. It's clean, Jeb."
"Oh, yes," he said, and then he waited. I grabbed the broom from the clean room and handed it to him.
He leaned out the door, his shoulders bent forward, and a broom in his hand. Twenty seconds later, I saw him sweeping the sidewalk in front. He frowned. He swept it vigorously and cautiously.
When he sweeps the floor, I make the dough and let it rise. Next cookie.
After Jeb finished sweeping the floor, he set up the outside cafe table. This means he is hungry. This is our daily conversation-Jeb and me.
Jeb is one of the homeless people nearby. When I first started working here, I asked him what his name was, and he told me I could call him Jeb blue pants, no, he didn't wear blue pants at the time. Jeb is not in his right mind, but he does what he asks for, working in the best way he knows.
I don't know his story, but somewhere, Jeb's blue pants fell during a difficult time and couldn't stand up.
As long as Jeb doesn’t hang around asking customers for money or become a nuisance, Jason agrees to give him a cup of drip coffee to clean up. I knew that Jeb Blue Pants would not do such a thing. He considers himself an entrepreneur in his own way. He exchanged services for goods. Today I can tell when he set up the coffee table, one of his goods, he was looking for breakfast. Today, Jeb is hungry.
When he looked like he was about to finish eating, I packed the cinnamon buns for the day and the sandwiches for the day. I filled a large paper cup with drip coffee.
He knocked on the alley door before entering. The fan is too loud, I can't hear it, but I'm waiting for him this time.
"I'm finished, Miss Abby."
I looked at the front window, mainly for his benefit. He likes people to appreciate his outstanding work.
"It looks good, Jeb blue pants. Looks like you have the coffee table set up too? I put something in the bag for you."
"You don't have to do this, madam." He looked at the bag greedily. (To be continued) (End of this chapter)