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Back Black Ambrosia Save as PDF
Chapters (46)
  1. CoverImage
  2. Introduction by Grady Hendrix
  3. Acknowledgments
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. About the Author
  46. About the Cover

I took off my boots and climbed into the ham­mock, stretched out as best I could, and pulled up my lightweight Salvation Army blanket.

The shadows stretched long, and I was suddenly very tired. Discouraged. I hadn’t seen my face in anything but a rearview mirror for three days. I had only a dollar and fourteen cents left and I hadn’t had anything to eat since an apple that morning.

Winter was approaching. All the animals of the woods were beginning to grow their winter coats, hoard their food, and prepare for hibernation. I felt the call, but knew not what to do. I began to wonder about my choice in life. Or my lack of choice.

For over twelve months I had been traveling, experiencing, growing in knowledge, but to what end? As I lay there in that swayback hammock, I felt as if I’d been observing, not participating. I couldn’t think of a single thing I had contributed, other than a little atmosphere, to the lives of all the people who had touched me. I felt that my life had been put on hold, that a real life was a normal life—with family and responsibilities—and until I had that, I had no life. I had nothing. Nothing but the thread of a haunting echo that led me onward.

I was treading dangerous ground here. I could be free from responsibility forever, on the move forever, addicted to lack—and for the first time, it frightened me.

I pulled the blanket closer around my neck.

Yes, Angelina, I thought. It’s time to settle in somewhere.

A memory of Rolf’s face passed before my mind’s eye, and the back of my throat burned for a moment, but that was not the direction my path lay. Time had passed. I had changed. Surely he had a new life by now.

A breeze came up and I set the hammock rocking just a little, while I looked up into the trees with their autumn color.

Find a place and settle down. Find a place and settle down. Even the phrase sounded comfortable, warm, delicious. It sounded safe and secure, and I thought of looking out through crystal-­clear windows at snow-­covered trees from a comfortable chair in front of the fire. I would find a place and settle down. Money would come my way, I was not concerned about that—I always had the account in Wilton if I needed it. I’d get an apartment and a job and a boyfriend. Soon, before my travels turned sour and became a blot on the history of my life. My time on the road needed to be a good memory, a pleasant memory. A memory of happiness and education, of laughter and comfortable aloneness.