Little Long Road

By Sage Groves

Light poured through the open window, bathing everything in hues of morning rose and glistening gold. Billie brushed her fingers, calloused as they were, along the sheets between her and the window, disturbed to find them cool to the touch and absent from their usual tenant. 

She mumbled something that could have resembled the name of her girlfriend, but her voice was scratched with sleep stolen too soon, though there was no response either way. Billie opened her eyes, blinked twice to wipe the glossiness away, and scanned the space in the bed where Etta surely must have been. There was only a stark sheet, bare except for the morning light that rested where Etta should have been. 

Billie sat up, her feet hitting the floor and her mind three steps ahead of her body, already out the door. Brisk air filled Billie’s lungs, the breath of relief she always took in when her eyes landed upon Etta. She was sitting atop the kitchen counter, hands hugging a mug of what Billie assumed was the Café de olla Etta made every day. Billie breathed in the girl’s pose upon the countertop, relaxed yet dreary, the puffiness around her dark eyes and the haphazardly tied scarf around her frizzy coils told a story of a sleepless night. 

“Didn’t catch the sleep again?” Billie ambled to the blue pot steaming on the stovetop and helped herself to a mug of the spiced drink. Etta shook her head.

“I dunno what’s goin on.” The gunslinger sipped, breathed heavily, and closed her eyes. They didn’t stay closed long, and their dark amber glow dimmed in their sleepy glossiness. Billie’s mug clinked on the countertop as she set it down, using her now free hands to fold Etta’s waist into an embrace. With her sitting on the counter, Etta was almost taller than the wrangler, and her bare feet swung slowly on either side of Billie’s knees. 

“You’ve been thinking too much,” Billie said before plopping a brief kiss upon the girl’s brown nose. “Yer mama’s retiring, you’ve gotta step up. There’s a million things you gotta do.”

Etta rolled her eyes. “Is this supposed to be helping?”

“Point being,” Billing continued, “yer tryna get through it all without looping me in. I value your need to be independent, I really do, but I do know a good deal about being marshal, you know. I could help”

“I know.”

“Yer moving too fast, lovebug. It’s a little but long road. Road is longer than it is hard treading all by yourself.”

Etta leaned into the girl, head resting on her shoulder, eyes closed. 

Little long road

And two pairs of rattling spurs,

Dust coated throat

But your hand remains in hers.

Her fingers were molded with sun

Created to intertwine by a star smith.

By speckled sky you have someone 

From fate to ride the river with.