Beasts of Extraordinary Circumstance

by Ruth Emmie Lang

I could tell, even before he spoke, that he had drained his mind of his own sadness and replaced it with empathy for mine. “I’m really sorry,” he said, and meant it.

“Don’t cry over the same thing twice. Get it all out the first time, even if it’s loud and messy. Then it’s over.”

“Why do you do that?” “Do what?” “Take something beautiful and vandalize it with skepticism?”

I was pretty certain I was falling for Weylyn Grey, but the moment I realized it for sure was not when he saved me from drowning or when he lay in that hospital bed after being struck by lightning. It was in a little roadside diner in South Dakota. After a goopy plate of biscuits and gravy, Weylyn and I ordered two pieces of blackberry pie. “Someone worked really hard to make this,” he said, pointing to his slice with his fork. That’s what sealed it for me, that simple appreciation for something that most of us take for granted.

If country music has taught me anything, it’s that getting drunk probably isn’t the best method of dealing with heartbreak. But I’m a traditionalist.

I’ve always gotten along better with animals than people,” he said, eyeing Gus, who was now heckling a group of people playing darts. “Animals are more honest. You never have to second-guess their motives.”

I think the paranoia made him feel important in a world that said he wasn’t. Why do you have to believe that the government mistakenly put you on the terrorist watch list for you to feel good about yourself? I wanted to say. You’re important to me. Isn’t that enough?