Waving Not Drowning

It's been two weeks now. Fourteen days. No word, no signs of other life. She's rationed whatever supplies she could scrounge but is worried about water more than anything; the iodine tablets are disappearing and her biggest fear is dissentry, some sort of water borne illness that ravages her system, explosively and painfully. The art of being alone has somehow transformed into an extreme sport with life and death consequences. Time is paramount. Never has Teresa felt so ephemeral as a human being. Helpless. Stranded on this island of her own volition, lost somewhere between her original coordinates and god knows where. If she's being honest with herself, this is a choice. She didn't have to set out alone. The thrill and damn it all to hell of independence quickly tires when the day to day realities of complete autonomy weigh heavily on her entire being. What to eat, how to dress, what direction to move forward in; at what cost to not only herself but those interdependen...

In the pit of her stomach it sits, like a half baked potato, starchy and raw, undigested, heavy. Today's the day, she can feel it. A big ol' ball of anxiety has made her digestive tract it's home which can only mean one thing. Something bad is coming. Or something good. She can't differentiate anymore, all she knows is change is a comin'. Her life is like a bad country song, cheatin and lyin and boots a knockin with bad boys and pickup trucks with gun racks and bourbon mash and whiskey sours. From eastern seaboard Ivy League to middle of America; small town, red neck, Christian small c Conservative, lost somewhere between the Blue Mountains and Pensacola. After three days of riding, winding through $29 Dutch Inns, skirting hurricanes in the Carolinas, she turns her phone back on and waits. The apple appears, the circle spins, then she enters her passcode. Searching for a signal. She's in. Roaming for sure, eating up data she can 't begin to fathom how she...