Closed Circuit

The chilly air bit at Desiree's cheeks as she ambled across the field. The temperature during Idaho summers fluctuated dramatically, with days rocketing to the 90s and nights often falling below 60 degrees. She loved it--loved sweating during the day and having the cool breeze envelop her at night. Potatoes loved that weather too--that's why her family's potato farm had thrived in southern Idaho for close to a century. 

She took a moment to breathe in the air, let the oxygen soak into her bloodstream. She let her eyes wander across the expanse of green leaves and rich, brown dirt. She hadn't been born on the farm, but from her first summer there at age six she'd called it home. Other than her memories of the land, she often tried to convince herself that she'd begun life at age nine, before "The Incident," that changed everything. 

She'd started life in Idaho's largest city. It had taken her Mamma years to convince Daddy to give up city life, not that they'd had much there anyway. Retail jobs, a rented apartment, and a ginger cat--at least, until her ninth birthday. After The Incident, as her father coined it, her parents had quickly escaped the bustle of the city. The doctors could only do so much, and the phone was always ringing off the hook with some new offer. Mamma assured Daddy that the more reliable pace of the ancestral farm would be good for Desiree, help her move on--help them move on.

And it had, mostly. They homeschooled her, rather than put the other children at risk. Everyone had loved how free little Desiree was with her hugs, until The Incident. After that, the people in the know tried to run away, unless they wanted to research her. Then they approached carefully, white rubber gloves rolled up to their elbows, beeping machines and scribbling pencils always in the background. 

They kept her isolated on the farm, away from all non-relatives. She threw fits until Jake taught her a lesson. He'd been the most beautiful old hound she'd ever seen, and the farm had more than a few. His brown coat always managed to look glossy, even as he spent countless hours rolling around in dirt. Usually, Mamma supervised her thoroughly, but that day Grandma was sick enough that Mamma had to manage the house. 

"Promise me, baby, stay away from everyone, okay? I know it's difficult to understand, but it's very important. Please, please?"

"Yes Mamma." She'd put on a dutiful face while keeping her fingers crossed behind her back. 

With her new freedom, she immediately ran down to where all the dogs roamed. She hadn't touched a pet since that ginger cat--or anyone else, actually, since The Incident. When she saw that handsome dog, her face lit up and she whistled for him to come. He ran right to her, and Desiree unreservedly threw her arms around his neck. 

Pain shot through her her bones, shoulders to palms, and Jake let loose an incredible, soul-wretching howl. Desiree let go, but it was too late. The smell of burning flesh scraped against her nostrils, and she ran to the bushes, regurgitating everything in her stomach even before she made it. Tears blinded her, and she stayed cowering in those shrubs for hours, the hot Idaho sun diffusing the grotesque scents of burned corpse and vomit. When Mamma found her much later, after the nightly temperature drop, she was shivering and exceptionally pale. She couldn't remember much about that day, after she fried poor Jake with her selfish hug, but she didn't need to. She never needed to be told to keep her hands to herself again.

Clearly, she'd learned her lesson, and her parents let her move freely in the nearest town, eventually the nearest city. She kept to herself, and everyone stayed safe. Eventually, she went off to college, studied agricultural studies at Iowa State, and made her parents prouder than ever. And still, she physically isolated herself. 

Back on the farm, this time for good, she wanted to begin the rest of her life at peace and as alone as possible. Talk was good, but the absence of touch in her life made her angry and wistful in turns, often to the detriment of friendships. At this point, she'd settled on being alone. And so, she took her nightly walk across the land.