One Dyke Cozy
by Rhani D’Chae
Genre: YA Drama
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People come into our lives for a day, a season, or a reason…
“Shy taught me to fight like a champion, love like a poet, & live like it was my last day on earth.”
One Dyke Cozy touches on the lives of two girls, Gabby and Shy, from their first meeting as children to Shy’s untimely death.
This novel contains profanity and adult situations. Rated PG-13.
Rhani D’Chae is a visually disabled writer who was born and raised in Tacoma, WA. Because of her failing eyesight, she no longer reads as much as she used to, but she does enjoy falling into the worlds created by other Indie authors as often as hre vision will allow. Shadow of the Drill is her first published novel, and is the first in a series that revolves around an unrepentant enforcer and the violent life that he leads.
She enjoys chatting with readers and fellow writers via Social Media sites, and loves getting comments and other input from those who have read her work.
My mother used to say people come into our lives for a day, a season, or a reason. For the most part, I’ve always found her statement to be true. There were exceptions, but more often than not, the people who entered my life fit predominantly into one of those three categories.
And then there was Shy. My best friend, my pseudo-sister, and the person who was by my side through thick, thin, and everything in between.
I say was, because Shy’s been gone for quite a while. But her influence remains, and not a day goes by that I don’t hear her voice in my ear, guiding my steps as I meander through the years in search of some deep meaning for my life.
Shy was with me for a season. A long season, though not nearly long enough. More importantly, she was with me for a reason. Had we never met, I truly believe I would’ve lived, grown old, and died as a carbon copy of my mother. I would’ve married my high-school sweetheart, popped out a couple of kids and then spent the best years of my life as a stay-at-home mom. I’d have been an excellent cook, an immaculate housekeeper, and would’ve had no interests beyond the devoted care of my husband and children.
Eventually, I’d have woken up and climbed out of a bed my husband hadn’t been home to sleep in. I’d have looked in the mirror over the bathroom sink and seen a forty-something face from which beauty had long since vanished. Like my mother, I’d have wept bitter tears and wondered what I could’ve done differently. What I could’ve done to prevent distance from growing between us and to keep his love with me, as he’d promised in our vows. I’d have been one more pathetically hopeful divorcee at the SeaTac Hilton, sipping martinis at the bar while hoping some lonely businessman would take the empty stool to my right.
It’s even possible I’d have followed my mother a step farther. Unable to bear what she considered a personal failure, she’d gone to sleep one night with no intention of waking up. I don’t know where she got the pills, but it doesn’t really matter. What matters is that she had no life of her own and didn’t know how to find one. In that respect, she mirrored her own mother as much as I believe I’d have mirrored her.
Wise beyond her years, Shy saw my most likely future long before I did and made it her personal mission to send me in a different direction. It didn’t matter what direction, as long as it was different. She was a free spirit, what my mother had always called a wild child, and nothing was too scary – or too scandalous – for her. She colored outside the lines every chance she got, and I willingly followed her from one adventure to another. I can’t begin to count the significant moments we shared, but that’s probably because the number is uncountable.
From the backyard swingset to a quiet room where I sat alone and watched the candles flicker, Shy was always close at hand. We were joined at the hip, and neither one of us wanted it any other way.