10
“Great job today as always, Codi!”
I smiled to the deli manager for the compliment and waved to him on my way out of the deli. It was a year after leaving the homeless shelter and once my work was done for the night, I walked swiftly back to the apartment (walking, because my car had been towed just a week after I'd moved in to the new apartment, due to the fraudulent stickers. I didn't bother trying to get the car back, though, due to a lingering rebellious side. That, or a case of sour grapes. Screw them! They can take it! I didn’t want to be part of their whole car system anyway!).
As I walked, there was no dragging of the feet, no pretending to be hunched over, no averting my eyes if people happened to pass me on the sidewalk. I walked with a passive smile, looking around at the small town that helped rescue me.
As I approached the apartment, I smiled when I saw my cat, Jodi, in the window. She was barely recognizable when she'd come back to me several months after I'd left the shelter—an old couple had been feeding her; they lived on the edge of the forest where I'd lost her. They were able to scan the microchip in her, which led a trail back to me. The old couple even drove her over to my apartment and dropped her off, for me. Jodi's long maine coon fur was heavily matted and she was in desperate need of a bath. Yet, she still recognized me after many months apart. I took her to the vet the next day and got her groomed. Nowadays her fur was kept beautiful and brushed.
After I ate a vegetarian dinner (a simple meal, because I was still sometimes lazy about cooking!), I glanced at the front door from inside my quiet apartment. I smiled at a passing thought in the back of my mind: Yes, I have a door! I still have a door. It's not an opened space like at the shelter.
Simple things like having a door, having my own living space, taking a hot shower and using indoor toilets, were never again taken for granted, whether it was a year later or 10 years later.
I thought briefly to my refusal to update my car's license plates. Was I a rebel? Maybe. Perhaps my parents knew all along, because I distinctly remember back in my old high school year book, my mother had submitted the following quote to be shown next to one of my photos:
“You were once wild here. Don’t let them tame you.”
― Isadora Duncan
Was this a warning or a prediction, I wonder?
Well, even if they do tame me, it won't be for long, and I'll always rebel against a brain-dead fog.