Page 125 of Dock

Takes me back to when she’d blare it through the house.

Lecture me between pie stirs that sometimes life isn’t so much about what’s directly in front of you, but about what you do with it.

How attitude is everything.

It’s a lesson I give to my students each year.

One that by the end of it, they thank me for.

One that…H…has helped me actually implement into my own life the way I know Gam Gam would applaud him for.

I’ve spent so much time with a defeatist attitude outside of the classroom that there’s no need to wonder why I feel most comfortable there.

Why taking chances and risks and anything remotely dangerous remained a far-off reverie rather than any sort of real-life possibility until H came along and challenged otherwise.

Just like Gam Gam.

She wouldn’t want me to simply sit here and wallow over the idea of how all this could end.

And neither would he.

Fuckthat.

Neither do I.

I don’t wanna believe that this is the end and see my very sad and – until recently – very boring life flash before my eyes.

I need a new attitude.

I need to channel that fight versus flight response because honestly?

I’ve got nowhere to run.

Plus, chances are, fighting to survive will work in my benefit in the long run in comparison to trying to flee.

I can fight to stay in one piece until H finds me.

And he will find me.

I know it.

I know it like I know every word of Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

Having my hands bound is what prompts me to check if my feet are in the same condition. The discovery that they’re not has me cautiously moving them around to investigate my current surroundings. One boot covered foot inches back and back and back until it finally runs into what I assume is a wall not too far from me. I move the other to meet it before worming my way to the structure that I then use to wiggle myself up into a sitting positioning.

Being upright beats lying down.

It allows me to be more alert in spite of the fact most of my senses are shielded.

Most.

Not all.

Pressing my face against the wall – doing my best not to let my smushed glasses cut into my skin – exposes that it’s more likely a door and given the sound of a horn blaring – people love to use those in traffic – I’m guessing it’s a vehicle door.

Meaning I’m still on the move.

In transport.