This
morning I arrived in Plymouth early before work. I know that the trip down
Route 3 only takes me about twenty-five minutes, and I still end up arrived
well before I’m supposed to be at my desk morning after morning. I could very
easily sit down on the couch, put my feet up, and watch the news for ten
minutes. But instead, I get into my car.
I
suppose I just don’t like waiting.
When
Grace sees me changing into my work clothes, she starts watching me like a
hawk. Her ears tuck back against the sides of her skull. Her eyes tilt upward,
and her head stays low to her body. She scampers after me whenever I walk out
of the room. And she finds her bed, curls into a ball, and pretends to be
sleeping.
I’m
never quite sure if she realizes that I can see her eyes are open.
I don’t like leaving her any more than she
likes me leaving. I know I have to go to work in Plymouth because it’s good money
and will pay for dog trainer school in the fall. The future coerces me to put
the key in the ignition every morning, even when I’d rather stay home in my
jeans and sweatshirt and with my puppy’s head in my lap.
Since
I never got a key to the office, I can’t head inside to start work early and
head off the inevitable flood of emails. I really have two options for how I
spend my time.
I could
park my car in the parking lot, scroll through Facebook on my phone, and listen
to the radio. I’d be glancing at my watch too often, and I’d quickly run out of
engaging features on my phone. Maybe that’s a sign I need more Facebook
friends.
Or
I could stop by the waterfront.
I
parked my car in a two-hour parking space in front of the Mayflower II gift
shop, closed now for the winter season. I tucked my wallet and phone into my
pocket, grabbed my keys and camera, and carefully avoided the ice on the ground
beneath my door.
No
wind rustled the bare trees at the shore; the gray sea lay flat and calm.
Sunrise already came and went, and the yellow ball of sun hung well over the
horizon. The Atlantic air didn’t feel as cold as the thermometer in my car
claimed. Sure it wasn’t t-shirt weather, but it wasn’t bad for the first day of
spring.
I
seemed to be the only one out on this little patch of land right now. That was
just fine with me.
Standing
next to Plymouth Bay, all of the tension dissipated from my chest. My shoulders
felt lighter. The wide open air and space over my head lifted me until I grew
another two inches. At least I’d swear that I did.
Waiting
for work didn’t feel a whole lot like waiting. It felt better than that.
Moments
like these happen infrequently. I’m always working, whether in Plymouth or
Hanover, and tension buzzes in across my muscles and beneath my skin. I walk
across a swaying tightrope above the chasm of complete exhaustion. Some days I’m
not sure how I stay on the rope.
But
this morning, as I walked along the edge of Plymouth Bay, I thought the wait
could be bearable. Soon enough the weather would be warm. Soon enough this job
would end and I’d start dog walking. Soon enough I’d be in Ohio at dog trainer
school.
Soon
enough my life would begin. Though, maybe it has already started.
