LIFE HAS a way of knocking you down and then laughing at you as you sit there on the ground with bloody hands and knees. It finds enjoyment in your discomfort, like a sick masochist. Like right now, I swear, I hear the joyous cackling in the branches of the tree I sit under in the quad.
The unease I’ve felt since stepping foot back in this town—this state—only gets worse the longer I spend on campus.
I never intended on moving back to Washington, but the other thing about life is it enjoys fucking up your best-laid plans. There was a set course I was steadily on. I’d been working toward it for as long as I can remember, and things were really looking like they’d turn out my way.
My first life-altering event almost knocked me off track, but with some fighting and a shit-ton of therapy, I regained whatever remained of my balance. I wasn’t so lucky the second time life decided to fuck shit up for me.
The events of last fall had me completely reeling, and no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t recover. My path changed and my options became limited, and that’s ultimately how I ended up in the state I literally fled from nearly six years ago.
I simply had nowhere else to go if I still wanted to earn my degree.
Not getting a diploma isn’t an option. Never has been. The importance of a college education has been engraved into me since I was too young to understand what an undergrad was. I should be thankful for the opportunity to finish my degree at Olympic Sound University but being here feels like I’m constantly teetering on the edge of disaster. It’s only a matter of time before my judgment day is before me. I can only outrun it for so long.
The mocking wind blows the corner of my stationary up off the textbook I’m using to write on. It’s the same pale-yellow paper that I write on every time. Sending handwritten letters is such a thing of the past, but I enjoy writing one to him every week. Even though I never get one in return.
I miss you every day and wish I could be with you. -Love, Posie.
I sign the letters the same every week, and each time I scribble those words across the yellow paper, my chest constricts painfully and my eyes burn. Many times, I’ve sent a letter to him with the black ink smudged from my tears. In my heart, I know we’re doing the right thing, but it still hurts like hell, and I miss him more than anything. It hurts more knowing how close to him I am now. Yet, we must be kept apart.
Like I said, life loves to revel in your misery.
Neatly folding the paper, I put it in the matching envelope and scribble the address that is forever committed to my memory.
“Writing a letter under a tree? I feel like I’m intruding on your Disney princess moment.” The voice comes from behind me, making me fly off the ground and to my feet. Zadie’s pixie-like features twist in confusion and green eyes scan around us for danger. “What the hell? You’ve been jumpy all week. Are you sure you’re doing alright? It’s like you’re hiding from the boogeyman or expecting him to come around the corner at any given moment.”
“I’m not hiding,” I correct. It’s true. I’m not hiding from him, but I’m sure as hell not going to go out of my way to announce my presence. Though, I’d bet money he already knows I’m back. Before I left town, he had an uncanny ability of knowing everyone’s business. I’m sure he’s only found new and more clever ways at obtaining secrets. “I told you, I like to keep a low profile.”
The irony that I went from thriving in the spotlight on a stage to whatever this new cagey behavior of mine is, isn’t lost on me.
“Yeah … I know that’s what you said, but I’ll be honest, I’m not sure that’s going to work for me.” Zadie exaggerates a fake grimace to match her teasing tone. “There are so many places to go and things to do around here, and I’m going to feel bad going to all of them while you’re hiding away in the apartment like a hermit.”
When I got the notification about the apartment listing on an Olympic Sound Student Facebook group, I thought it was too good to be true. Zadie was desperate for a new roommate after her original one transferred schools at the last minute. The rent she was asking was just in range of what I can afford with my part-time job at the dance studio, and since I’m without a car, the location was ideal. It’s within walking distance of all the places I’ll need to be. I responded to it immediately, and before I knew it, I was signing the lease agreement.
Moving back here is arguably one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, and everything about it has been rushed. I’ve been incredibly fortunate so many of the pieces have fallen into place with surprising ease.
In the five days that I’ve lived with her, I’ve discovered Zadie Hill is the epitome of a social butterfly. There hasn’t been one person we’ve passed on campus she hasn’t known, or at the very least, known through someone else. She’s doing her best to tell me everyone’s names and she gives me bits of information on each of them. I’m trying to retain the information as best I can, but it’s all going in one ear and out the other.
Every night this week, Zadie’s dolled herself up and left to go to different parties. She gets back just before sunrise and crawls into bed. I’m not sure how she does it, but she’s always up before ten a.m. and looks completely refreshed. For all I know, she’s made a deal with the devil to avoid hangovers. If that’s the case, I need her to give me his contact information because I’m in need of his services.
“Again, I’m not hiding,” I stress, tucking the textbook and envelope into my bag. “I’ve just been busy with moving in and starting my job this week, I haven’t had time to go out with you. Plus, I’m not a huge party person anymore.”
There was a time that I was at a party every weekend. I enjoyed every second of them, soaking up the energy of the loud music and flowing alcohol, but a lot has changed since then.
Zadie doesn’t believe me and instantly calls my bluff.
“Didn’t you say you’re off this Friday?” she asks, leading me across the concrete walkway toward the coffee cart we’d agreed to meet at before our next classes. “There’s a party that night and you’re coming with me.”
“What? No, absolutely not.”
We stand in line at the cart, and I bounce nervously on my toes while searching the surrounding area. The clock is running out, and sooner or later, I’ll come face-to-face with one of them. Or worst-case scenario, both of them at the same time. Part of me wants to get it over with, like ripping off a Band-Aid, but the wound the bandage is covering isn’t small or healed. It’s a fatal stab wound, and I’m fairly certain I’d bleed out immediately. And if by some miracle I survive that, he’ll find another way to kill me.
I’ve done the best I can to keep those ugly memories at bay, but I know the second I look into those blue eyes, there will be no containing them. They’ll tear apart all the repair work I’ve done on myself these past years.
Zadie ignores my comment and sidles up to the coffee cart. She knows my order because she was appalled when she learned I only drink black coffee. I had to explain that I don’t drink coffee for the taste. To me, it’s the magical elixir that will get me through the rest of my day. After drinking it like this for five years, I no longer notice the bitterness of it. Meanwhile, she gets the sugary drink filled to the brim with whipped cream.
“Look,” she starts, spinning back to me after paying for our caffeinated beverages. “I know we’re not really at a place in our friendship yet where we’re divulging deep dark secrets. I get it. We’re still at the peeing with the door closed phase. But I’m going to real-talk you a little bit because I think we’re on a high-speed train to best-friend-ville, and I want to give you a little taste of what it’s like to be my friend.”
This should be good.
“I don’t have deep dark secrets.” Pausing to think over everything else she said, I quickly add, “And I get stage fright. So, I don’t know if we’ll ever have an open-door policy. I can’t even go when someone is in the stall next to me.”
Silently, she gestures for me to move to the other side of the cart with her so we can wait out of everyone’s way.
“I don’t know who the monster under your bed is, but I know they’re here. I wouldn’t need to be a psychology major to notice your weird-ass behavior.”
The fact Zadie speaks softer than her usual “look at me” volume shows how sincere she’s trying to be. She’s not trying to point out my flaws, but in her own way, she’s trying to help. She just hasn’t figured out there isn’t any helping me with this. The damage was done long ago. There wasn’t any coming back from it when I made that choice. I knew it then and I know it now.
“You mentioned that you used to live in Seattle, so my guess is you have some lingering history here that you’re still trying to outrun.”
Unable to help myself, I shift anxiously on my feet and push my long hair behind my ear when the wind blows it forward. “Zadie, it’s a really long story and I—”
She holds her hand up, cutting me off. “I’m not asking you to tell me about your demons, Posie. Like I said, I haven’t earned the privilege of hearing about those yet. We’ll get there, but for now, I’ll keep shutting the bathroom door and not pry for information you’re not ready to give.” Zadie gives my forearm a reassuring squeeze. “What I will tell you is you shouldn’t allow your past to ruin the opportunities you could have here. You only go to college once. I don’t want you to look back on these days and regret hanging out at home when you could be having fun.”
I already live with so much regret—like a suffocating amount. Adding more sounds unbearable, so I relent. “I’ll think about it, okay?”
“Posie, that’s not the answer I was looking for.”
“Yeah, well, it’s the best I can do for you right now.”
Zadie’s face scrunches before she huffs out a breath. “Fine, but no promises I won’t have Lark help me drag your ass out of the apartment.”
Within the first three minutes of meeting Zadie, she was talking to me about Lark like I knew her myself. With a little bit of patience and a few key questions, I finally pieced together Lark is a senator’s daughter and they’ve been friends since freshman year.
Their friendship makes me long for the ones I’d made in New York. Having to leave Juilliard like that was humiliating. The fact I fucked up my dream is embarrassing. While my aunt tries to argue that it’s not my fault, I know it is. I shut down and couldn’t handle everything. It would be hard to face those people again knowing they know I tossed away a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
“Okay, well, it’s only Tuesday, so that means I have a couple days to think it over.”
“Will you actually think it over?”
“Of course.”
The barista calls out our orders and I scurry over to collect them before she can try to guilt me anymore.
She takes the cup from me and narrows her eyes at me in suspicion. “I can’t tell if you’re lying to me or not.”
Bringing my coffee to my lips, I conceal my sly smirk. “And you never will.” I bump her with my shoulder playfully before starting to walk toward the building my next class is held in.
I get about five feet when she calls after me. “Don’t walk away like you’re all proud of yourself. Lying is a very bad skill to excel at.”
Turning, I walk backward a few paces while shrugging nonchalantly. “We all have to be good at something, right?”
