Jaden fostered out. Miss him.
Hannah flipped me, ’cause she can. Gettin’ better at falling without breaking my butt. She says she’ll teach me.
Later, Kyle.
Some are chattier. I sent him some of my writing with the hopes he’d be proud of me. I don’t know if he even read them. I want someone to. To read them and say they’ve got merit. Say I have what it takes to be at Medill, to be a journalist.
Look, I’ll be honest here, Mr. Knightley. I’m rattled. I know I’m changing subjects, but this plays in the background of my every waking moment. Graduating college, I had a job and a life picked out. I earned it and it was mine. And I lost it—all of it. Now I’m on to my second dream. What if I lose that too? There’s no landing pad now. I can’t return to Grace House, and I don’t know where I’ll go or what I’ll do. And I can’t give up. But how long do I have before Johnson takes this from me? This is the only place in the world I want to be.
I tried explaining all this to Josh last night, but I think it went over his head. He has this enviable and somewhat simple view of how the world works. My striving and angst don’t register with him.
“Sam, why do you get so worked up? Just get it done and move on. How hard can it be?”
“Johnson’s recommendation means a ton, but so does his respect. I want him to believe in me.” I felt like I was pleading simultaneously with both of them.
“Do the job and move on. You’ll graduate next January and never see the man again. Get through the class and get your degree.”
“Of course, you’re right. I should ‘keep my breath to cool my porridge’,” I said archly.
“What?”
“Nothing. It means I need to stop thinking and get the job done.”
“That’s my girl.” Josh sounded pleased, finally.
I ended the conversation feeling totally misunderstood. Maybe it would have been better if I could’ve seen Josh’s face, felt his arms around me. Sometimes I wonder if he even hears me. I haven’t seen him in a week, and we do better with closer contact. I guess I just miss him.
Thanks for listening,
Sam
DECEMBER 20
Dear Mr. Knightley,
Christmas break has started, and I’m shredded. I’m killing myself fixing articles and working on the January feature, but it’s all crap. I handed in that review ofThe Merchant of Venice, but I couldn’t find an objective yet warm tone for the article. I liked the production, but I couldn’t get perspective. And between work for all my classes and Josh, there was no time to think it through.
Josh wants to go out practically every night and calls for me to meet him downtown with his friends, and then it’s late and hard to get home on the Metra. I feel wasteful paying for so many cabs, but the ‘L’ still scares me. Night still scares me. I can’t decide if I’m exhausted from the late nights or the stress.
Josh also seems put out with my worrying and early departures. He says I should just stay at his place, and I guess he’s right. We’ve been dating for a couple months now and it’s expected. I don’t know why I don’t agree, and I think he’s losing patience. Last night it almost came to a fight.
“Do you have to leave before even ordering dessert? You missed drinks out with Scott and Jessica last night, and it’s rude. I feel like a third wheel. What’s up with you?”
Ashley says I’m acting prudish. Debbie refuses to weigh in. There’s something very sensible and Midwestern about Debbie that I really appreciate. She’s like Jane Eyre; she doesn’t lose her way. She says I have good instincts and should trust them. I think that’s why she’s top in our class—she listens. No one absorbs the most important points and then draws them out as well as she does. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, that’s brilliant. But doesn’t she know that I have no instincts? That it’s impossible for me to draw my own conclusions?
I shouldn’t canvass my friends on this, but I don’t know what’s normal. That’s what I can’t tell Debbie or anyone. None of them know I haven’t slept with a guy. I gather everyone has. My reticence seems strange, even to myself. And I love Josh. At least I think I do. He loves me. At least I think he does. He’s never said the words, but it’s in his look and actions. Goodness, I sound exactly like Marianne Dashwood. She felt the same about Willoughby, and look where it got her—the poor girl almost died. Thank goodness, Josh is an honorable Colonel Brandon and not a villainous Willoughby.
But I have to admit that, while he makes me feel very attractive and cherished, I also feel uncomfortable with some of his ideas. I suspect that’s my issue, not his, and that I really am “two steps behind reality.” I try to share my reality with him, but he doesn’t hear me. Our conversation while running this morning is a perfect example.
“You can’t be that naive, Sam. It’s the way the world works. Everyone is like that.”
“Not everyone.”
“You’ve got the brains and certainly the determination, but it takes more than that to cut it at Medill and certainly in the newspaper biz. You have to take the next guy out, even if it’s Debbie or another friend. They’d do it to you. Get out of your head and your books, Sam.”
I ran silently a few minutes. Is that really how I need to think? Is that what living “normal” looks and feels like?
“I probably do spend too much time in my books. They saved me, you know?” I wanted to share my life and let him know how little I understand these new arenas.Ask about the real me. Can I trust you?
