Hoover be Damned. It’s a 6.

Link to last installment

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My mind, racing like a bunch of 10 year olds on bumper cars at the local amusement park, was ready to go super nova, my last bit of patience wearing as thin as “the thin ice of a new day” (your music was pretty cool, dad).

Seated at the orphaned picnic table canopied by moss laced branches of an enormous live oak, Ryan sat transfixed, Cezanne still life, bathing in rivers of angst and emotional turmoil. I’d tried, yet couldn’t loose the chains he’d wrapped himself; sanity screamed to get away from him and fast.

As earth orbits sun; moon around earth, I sensed Seven’s presence; moments later felt the familiar pressure against my thigh; instinctively I reached down to stroke Seven’s upturned head, his golden fur a balm for the dissonance swiftly creeping through my body like kudzu – “yeah.. I know, boy, let’s give Ryan time alone“.

My first instinct was to take the Humvee and Seven and drive – the road, my confessional, my escape, the road…blank and thirsty canvas at the ready to absorb my pent up energy, imprisoned emotions – the road, once friend, now foe in a world gone mad.

I squatted down, hazel eyes locking with golden brown, man’s best friend, my best friend, my protector; wrapping my arms around him, I buried my face in Seven’s fur, an 80lb blanket of love and comfort… “what say we walk a little boy, figure things out…”.