I’m also addicted to spending rime with Abby, and spending time with Scout and Archie. I think it’s possible to be addicted to things that are good for you, and for that in turn, to be good for you.
Today while I was up on a ladder fixing my internet Archie kept running off down into the forest. I’d be up there, sorting out the satellite, and he’d be off galavanting around. When I got down I’d call him, and he’d take his sweet time getting back, but he’d come back.
It was after doing that twice that I called for him...and called for him again, and he didn’t come, the woods were silent. I walked down into the forest, increasingly grumpy with the boy, and he still didn’t come. I thought maybe he had followed me inside, so I went inside, even grumpier. He was not inside, so I went further into the forest shouting his name.
By this time I wasn’t grumpy, I was a scared.
I walked the loop a few times, my voice hoarse from shouting after him.
I called my neighbor.
I called my other neighbor.
I talked to the mailman.
I drafted a front porch forum post.
I called Abby just because I couldn’t stand to be alone in my fear.
It lasted about an hour and a half.
When I drove back from checking my neighbor’s place Archie was sitting in the driveway, soaking wet and shivering. God only knows what he was up to for so long. He seemed apologetic, and a bit pathetic. He hadn’t wanted to be away for so long, and he knew I didn’t like it much better.
The relief of the internet returning felt greasy.
The relief or Archie returning felt like Grace.