Rootbound

by Tarah DeWitt

I work out to keep the demons at bay which usually means I work out five days a week, sometimes twice a day.

“Stay close to nature, and nature will stay close to you,”

We get so clouded by our reliance on our devices and convenience now, that as a species we’ve lost some of our wilder intuition.

“Don’t you dare leave. I am,” she says quietly without turning my way. Shit, how do women do that?

I don’t sweat cute, and the combination of the heat and the desire to run the anxiety out have resulted in a good mess.

Even know a few big words and how to spell them, too.” “Nerd,” I deadpan.

“I’ll have you know, I don’t do bugs. I am not prissy, typically.”

“You stomp your feet like the ground pissed in your Cheerios.

Hoooooboy, I’ve got the hots for a farmer. Farmer? Cowboy? I don’t know which, or both, but I’ll bet he’s one of the few men on planet Earth who could rock the hell out of a pair of overalls.

Have you ever thought about just how terrifying it is to ride an animal? First off, who had that thought initially and just went for

Autocorrect and “ducking” (it is NEVER ducking).

“When you buy a new plant, you often have to cut the roots when it comes out of the pot.

His beard/scruff combo looks like it’s been trimmed, but I thank Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and all their carpenter buddies that he didn’t cut it entirely.

“Honey, they’ve all been dates to me. I’ve just been waiting for you to catch up.”

Grump he may be, but I’d love for him to be my grump.

hiking, I went—2.7 seconds—in a pond with Cowboy Thor,’”

It only takes me that hour, in that house that used to hold the smallest pieces of me, to realize what a complete, utter, total fucking idiot I am.

This is a creature from a 1980’s movie. I hope you know not to feed it after midnight, or let it near water.”

I blast my music as loud as humanly possible for hours on end, and I don’t even make playlists when I do. I just hit shuffle on all my songs. Which means there will be Christmas songs that come up in the rotation, Henry, regardless of the month.

Even in the best-case scenario, where I get to be with you until we are incredibly old, and then one of us gets tagged and bagged, baby. That’s the best-case scenario, and it’s still shit.

“Oh my god. Henry, her name … Gemma Nola.” “Oh.” I see it in his face when he realizes it, too. “It’s fucking Emma Logan with the letters rearranged! She goddamn Tom Riddled me!” “She goddamn Tom Riddled you.”