My mother used to say that people come into our lives for a minute, a season, or a reason. For the most part, I've always found that statement to be accurate. There were exceptions, but for the most part, the people who entered my life did fit predominantly into one of those three categories.
And then there was Shy. My best friend, my pseudo sister, and the person who was by my side through thick, thin, and everything in between.
I say was, because Shy's been gone for almost a decade. But her influence remains, and not a day goes by that I don't hear her voice in my ear, guiding my steps as I meander through the years in search of some deep meaning for my life.
Shy was with me for a season. A long season, though not nearly long enough. More importantly, she was with me for a reason. Had we never met, I truly believe that I would have grown old and died as a carbon copy of my mother. I would have married my high-school sweetheart, popped out a couple of kids, and then spent the best years of my life as a stay-at-home mom, with no interests beyond the devoted care of my husband and children. At some point, I would have woken up and climbed out of a bed that my husband had not been home to sleep in. I would have seen a 40-something face in the mirror over the bathroom sink, and I would have wondered what I could have done differently. What I could have done to prevent distance from growing between us and to keep his love with me, as he had promised in our vows. I would have been one more divorcee at the SeaTac Hilton, sipping martinis at the bar while hoping that some lonely businessman would take the empty stool to my right.
It's even possible that I would have followed my mother a step further. Unable to bear what she considered both a hopeless situation and a personal failure, she had gone to sleep one night with no intention of waking up. I don't know where she got the pills, but it really doesn't matter. What matters is that she had no life of her own, and did not know how to find one. In that respect, she mirrored her own mother as much as I believe I would have mirrored her.
Wise beyond her years, Shy saw my most likely future long before I did, and made it her personal mission to send me in a different direction. It didn't matter what direction, as long as it was different. She was a free spirit, what my mother had always called a wild child, and I willingly followed her from one adventure to another. I can't begin to count the significant moments that we shared, but that's probably because the number is uncountable.
From the backyard swingset to a quiet room where I sat alone and watched the candles flicker, Shy was always close at hand. We were joined at the hip, and neither one of us wanted it to be any other way.
Rhani D'Chae is a visually disabled writer who was born and raised in Tacoma, WA. Because of her failing eyesight, she no longer reads as much as she used to, but she does enjoy falling into the worlds created by other Indie authors as often as hre vision will allow. Shadow of the Drill is her first published novel, and is the first in a series that revolves around an unrepentant enforcer and the violent life that he leads.
She enjoys chatting with readers and fellow writers via Social Media sites, and loves getting comments and other input from those who have read her work.