She's Waking Up, by Miss. Emily Klarer

She’s waking up; considering the day ahead, the bullshit she’ll have to deal with, the phone calls, the questions, the e-mails and meetings. At the faucet filling their tea kettle, a thrift store-find, she’s brewing coffee. He’s still sleeping. She can hear his heavy breath on their pillow, she can smell him on her skin. Mug in hand, she’s biking; past the construction workers in their Carhartts and ripped t-shirts that are now the color only white can become after days soaked in sweat, beaten by the Utah sun. The men sit on the stone benches in front of Dave’s, their Fords and Dodges parked at their feet. The sun is shining, the mountains are only a silhouette. She’s at her desk. There are notes from the previous day, asking something of her, requesting her time, her knowledge, her hands. She’s working, calling, giving. She’s deciding and answering. The requests are kind enough but she can’t ignore the unsettling feeling that follows her around. It tags behind her like a shadow that she can only see when she looks away. It’s behind her eyes, in her hands, she can taste it in her mouth, bitter and metallic like a paperclip, like a nail.

But she’s smiling. She’s smiling as she walks out the door, done for the day. Bicycling home she thinks of the world outside this place, this town. She thinks of the city, of the throngs of people, strangers, faces she will see only once in her lifetime. The anonymity intrigues her. Which is worse: to feel lost in a sea of unfamiliar faces or to feel alone surrounded by your closest friends? She is wondering. Doesn’t anyone else know what this feels like? Doesn’t anyone else feel the dull, nagging sensation that everything has fallen completely out of balance? The helplessness consumes her.

But, she loves. The beauty of this life sustains her. She loves the wild places that
surround her, the rivers that are the definition of time - moving, winding, and pushing through canyons and valleys, mountains and gullies. She loves the smell of the desert after it rains, when, if you listen closely, you can hear the plants breathing a long-awaited sigh of relief.

She loves. And that is all one needs.