I am brave. I am brave. I am brave.
But I cannot stop the tears. “I don’t want to live like this,” I say out loud over and over through my sobbing. I cry for who I have been, who I am, and who I could be. However, I also cry with an iota of relief, because a change is about to happen. I know this. A change that has the possibility of lifting me from the wreckage. What it will look like is very unclear, but I have to take a chance.
I am going to hope again.
I am brave. I am brave. I am brave.
Much later, when my tears subside, a degree of calm takes over. I crawl from my bed and take the coffeepot that Simon sent and start a very strong brew. I leave the box and packing material on the floor in an intentional effort to ease up on my strict sense of order. I head to the shower, and the hard waterfall against my skin refreshes me some, but my eyes are horribly puffy, so when I return to my room, I run an ice cube over them while I sip coffee from one of the red cups. I dry my hair and then attempt to replicate the curls that Steffi gave me the other night. I put on a sleeveless white mock turtleneck and a camel-beige open cardigan and pair those with jeans and brown boots. Then I put on some makeup. It’s less than Steffi would suggest but more than I usually do. I want to feel pretty today, because I need any boost I can get.
I open another one of Simon’s care packages. In this one, I find a fabric-covered journal, three kinds of new tea and a squeeze bottle of honey, microwave popcorn, two bars of dark chocolate, and—God bless him—a caffeine eye cream for reducing bags. I smear some on, say a little prayer, and then fish out the last item in the box.
I may start crying again.
Simon has sent a teddy bear. A floppy, long-limbed, chestnut-brown teddy bear with a polka-dot bow around its neck. I hug it close and shut my eyes. No one has ever given me a stuffed animal, and I am struck by what a devastating realization that is. How unforgivable and insurmountable it feels. Honestly, I don’t think it occurred to any of my foster families that I wouldn’t have a stuffed animal. I used to fall asleep hugging pillows, and today I have a teddy bear. The smile on my face when I take a selfie of me with the bear is genuine, and I text it to Simon. He replies almost immediately:Every kid should have a teddy bear. You’re too old for this, and you were too old when we met, but...a father has to give his daughter a teddy bear, so better late than never.
I close my eyes and hold the bear close. And I breathe. Better late than never, indeed.
Thirty minutes later, I am at the door to my Social Psych class. Stepping across the threshold feels like a monumental moment, but I remain calm as I take my usual seat and set my bag onto the seat next to mine. Intentionally, I am the first student to arrive, and I keep my eyes glued to the doorway, waiting for him. I do not put in my earbuds, and I do not bury myself in reading or pretend note taking.
Today, I just wait for him.
The room is nearly three-quarters full when he arrives.
I sit up taller in my seat.
Esben acts as if he cannot decide whether to look around the room or not, and I pray he’ll look my way. He starts up the stairs to my right, and just when I think he’s going to move into a row in front of me, he stops and very slowly raises his head. He’s apprehensive, presumably waiting to see what I’ll do.
I feel for him. I haven’t exactly been predictable.
I give him a small smile, and his face relaxes. Other students are trickling in, and I’m sure we are being watched, but I don’t mind. I take my bag from the seat beside mine and tip my head, asking him to sit with me. There’s an adorable bounce in his walk as he makes his way up, while other students brush past him to get seats. Today, he doesn’t respond when a few people greet him, and he has no reaction when his name is called from a few rows up. He just walks to me as if there is no one else in the room.
When he lowers himself into the seat beside mine, his arm grazes against me. “Hi,” he says softly.
“Hi.”
“How was the rest of your weekend?” he asks with a glint in his eye.
“Less drunk,” I reply.
In the sweetest voice I’ve ever heard, he says, “You’re cute drunk.”
I bite my lip to keep from smiling too much, and I’m glad that the lights suddenly cut out when our professor flashes a PowerPoint display on the classroom screen. We don’t speak or even look at each other again during class, and when the lights come back on, I fumble for an unnecessarily long time, packing up my things.
Esben stands. “Well...I’ll see you Wednesday, I guess, yeah?”
He turns to go, and I feel my heart begin to pound.
“Esben, wait. Wait.” I am panicked and frazzled and desperate. If I don’t do this now, I will never do it. “Please, wait.”
Fight or flight time.
“Do you...” I swallow hard. “Would you like to get a cup of coffee? Or something? Maybe you hate coffee. So we don’t have to do that. We could do anything.”
He’s got this outrageously charming look on his face, but he still isn’t saying anything.
“But if you want to, I love coffee,” I continue. “Like, a lot. Probably too much. We could just go to the student union. It isn’t exactly gourmet there, but...um...”
He takes my bag from my hand. “There’s a really fun coffeehouse not far from here. Sofas and cushy chairs everywhere. And the coffee is much better than the union’s.”
