I fake a vomiting noise but I'm laughing as we hurry towards the bus stop. "Okay," I continue, "Number two, please don't clip your toenails in bed. I prefer not to get a clippings shower when I shake out your comforter and then have to go around on my hands and knees attempting to collect them all off the floor."
"Oh God! Truly? Animals!" But she's laughing too.
Her bus is just pulling up to her stop so I give her a quick hug goodbye saying, "See you Wednesday night!" as I start walking across the street to my stop going in the other direction.
Nicole never ceases to make me smile with her carefree attitude and funny sense of humor. She's married to a really great guy named Mike and has a three year old daughter, Kaylee. Mike is an electrician and makes good money but Nicole works housekeeping a couple days a week to bring in a little extra and she'd tell you, to enhance her shoe budget. She's got a thing for shoes, the higher the better. I don't know how she walks in some of those things.
Nicole and I hit it off quickly when I met her at work three years ago. She and Mike have me over for dinner at least once a week and I love spending time with them and Kaylee, soaking in the joy and comfort that is a loving family, doing nothing more special than having a meal together and sharing their evening. What they don't fully get is that, to me, a loving family dinner isn't just special, it's everything. Everything I never had.
Nicole and Mike know that I grew up in foster care but not too much beyond that. They're kind, hardworking people who live in a cute little two bedroom house in a decent neighborhood and I don't want to bring stories of drug abuse, pimps, and molestation into their world. Not that they're naive about the fact that all of that stuff goes on, but in a lot of ways, they're my bubble, my safe place away from that world and I want to keep it that way.
I pull out my novel and start reading as the bus begins its journey across town to my apartment. I'm so engrossed I almost miss my stop, jumping up just in time to make it through the closing door. I walk the five blocks to my apartment and let myself in through the front door, shaking my head at the broken, again, lock. Okay, so security isn't exactly high but it's decently clean and it has a sunny balcony off the back where I can grow a few fruit trees in containers and several pots of flowers. Sometimes I sit out there in the evenings with a good book, feeling content. And it's enough.
I'm slightly disappointed that my stalker is obviously off duty this evening. It is not lost on me that this is not the healthiest of thoughts. I smile anyway.
I take a shower, standing under the spray longer than I know I should. Hot water doesn't come for free. But I allow myself this little luxury today as I shed the tears I knew would come for Willow. "Rest in peace, princess," I whisper as the warm spray washes over me, mixing with my tears. After not too long, I get out and towel off.
I pull on a pair of black yoga pants, a purple tank top and a big dark gray sweatshirt that falls off my shoulders and trudge into the kitchen to make myself some dinner. I heat up some of the homemade vegetable soup I made a couple days ago, and toast some bread. There is enough soup left to put in a small tupperware container so I ladle it in and then walk down the hall to Mrs. Jenner's apartment, knocking lightly. When she answers, I smile and say, "Have you eaten yet? I have some homemade veggie soup if you haven't."
She smiles big and says, "Oh dear, you're always so sweet. Thank you so much."
I smile back, saying, "You're welcome. Night, Mrs. Jenner."
Back in my kitchen, I put my own dinner on a tray and take it back into the only other small room. I sit on the floor and lean against my loveseat as I eat. A studio apartment doesn't allow for a lot of furniture, but that's okay because it's not like I entertain. I put The Shawshank Redemption, one of my favorite movies, into the dvd player and push play. I don't spend the extra money on cable, so I rely on the dvd's I've picked up at garage sales, but I'd usually rather read anyway, so it's fine by me.
After I clean up my dishes, I end up falling asleep in front of the movie and when I finally drag myself into bed, it's after midnight.
My alarm goes off at seven a.m. and I pull myself out of bed and put on my running gear. It's a chilly morning and so I pull on ear muffs and a fleece jacket. I take a minute or two to stretch outside my apartment, my breath coming out in white puffs in front of me as I take off down the street. I tighten my fist around the door key I have in my pocket, like the self-defense instructor taught us to do in the course I took at the community college. It gives me comfort. I hold onto it until I jog into the semi populated running track of the park and then I zip my pocket closed with the key inside and take out my ear buds and push play on my iPod. I run my usual three miles and return home, feeling strong and energized.