A Tale of Camella: Part Three
Thursday morning, when I got home from work, and saw two full days off stretched out before me, I realized I was going to Wenatchee. No, I didn’t think I was going to do anything heroic. I knew there was nothing I could do, that she was making her own choices. I just thought that perhaps it would be some help for her to be around someone relatively calm and sane (I say relatively) who loved her; just to be some sort of support for her, and see what the situation really looked like.
Now, I knew that I was putting myself in a potentially dangerous situation. I think some people might say that it was just fucking stupid. Who knows what the real situation was, and who knows, her boyfriend could get out of jail, or I could meet up with the banditos. It was important to me to go and see what the situation was, and I had a kind of calm little sense of safety like I would just deal with whatever came up as best I could and it would be alright. The worst that could happen is I could get killed, right? I’m joking, of course, but I felt such a strong resolve that I called her.
She stammered and said she’d think about it. A few hours later she woke me up from a nap and said I was welcome to come over if I bought her dinner. I dragged my ass out of bed, threw a bag full of crap in my car and pointed it east.
to be continued…