When Your Whole World Starts to Shake

When Your Whole World Starts to Shake

What a beautiful day it was. We had just started to walk. The sky was blue, and the leaves had just turned a golden fall yellow. You, me, dad, and the dog. A horse and buggy just passed by with an older couple riding it. We weren’t that luxurious. We were just walking. I remember the exact road we were walking on, too, when it happened. I wish I could remember what we were taking about. Suddenly, I turn around, and you are walking in a circle, your head turning left, turning left, turning left. It looked like you admiring the leaves, but you did not stop turning left. What were you doing? I called your name, “Lizzie,” but you didn’t answer. That was when dad gave me the leash to hold biscuit and he carried you over to the side of the road and sat down with you on his lap. Like a baby. His eighteen year old baby. You started to shake. I started to cry. Your mouth started to foam. I hid behind the tree so you wouldn’t see me crying. You couldn’t see me anyway. You were far away, somewhere, not with me, dad, and the dog. You came back, and said, “Shit”. Dad picked you up and we walked home, you, me, dad, and the dog. I didn’t say anything. Neither did the dog.