Lessons Learned, Healing Hearts

I Will Love You Forever (Chapter 23)

The classroom was more than half-empty when the teaching assistant announced, "Times up. Leave your test and answer booklet on the corner of my desk. Final marks will be posted on the bulletin board outside my office after 3:00 p.m."

Marlow set her pencil down. Glancing at her exam, her body felt hollowed out—like the inside of her brain had been scraped clean. Packing up her things in silence, she reluctantly stood. Her fingers trembled as she carried her test, the pages suddenly weightier than they had any right to be, down the stairs. She felt oddly outside of herself—like her legs belonged to someone else, like they'd already accepted what her mind hadn't. Her future was being handed over, signed, and sealed in graphite and eraser-smeared markings. Leaving the exam on the desk, Marlow's hand remained on the top page a second longer. This is it.

Before exiting the room, she took one last look over her shoulder at the rows of empty desks, the whiteboard wiped clean of scribbled formulas and previous days' teaching.

Hopefully, I'll never see you again, she prayed.

In dire need of a big distraction, Marlow debated whether to go to work or just hang around campus. Though office work would keep her busy, it was the least appealing. Earbuds in, Il Volo sounding in her ears, she started down a favourite path through the groomed campus grounds. Eventually, she arrived at a popular lookout point. From there, the view stretched wide: an inlet beach, sun-lit blue water, and snow-capped mountains in the distance. Without hesitation, she descended the 500 wooden steps down to the sand.

Beads of sweat prickled her skin, but the ocean breeze cooled her almost immediately. At the bottom, she kicked off her sandals and let the warm sand slide between her toes, grounding her.

Walking along the water's edge, Marlow took her time. She didn't need to be anywhere. She just needed to be here.

Eventually, she settled in front of a sun-bleached, salt-weathered log, and leaned back, inhaling deeply as sea air filled her lungs. Unpacking her lunch, she nibbled while flipping between a fantasy novel and people-watching. When a couple passed by, hand in hand, laughter trailing behind them, she smiled softly. This would have been a great beach to have taken Piero to.

Marlow closed her eyes and imagined him there beside her, listening as she told him everything—seeing the exam for the first time, the panic midway through, the taking time to breathe after a tough question. She had nearly quit. But then she imagined him coaxing her through it. You got this!

She let the fantasy play out. Not because she needed rescuing, but because the idea of him being proud of her—really proud—made her feel stronger than her fears, a calm presence under pressure.

A quiet laugh escaped her lips. Dropping to her knees in the sand, she began to scoop away the granules, placing them elsewhere. Scavenging anything the tide had left behind; she purposefully placed each item with care. Twenty minutes later, Marlow stood and dusted the sand off her legs. Stepping back, she admired her creation. Slipping her sandals back on, she grabbed her bag and headed for the stairs.

In sharp contrast to going down, the arduous climb up required a slower pace. Around step 450, her legs burned, and she could feel sweat trickling down her spine and pooling at her waistband. Stopping to catch her breath and drink some water, she turned to look behind her... and then back to where she was headed.

"Keepa goinga," she whispered, mimicking his voice with a grin. A laugh burst out of her, and she blushed when a few strangers on their way down chuckled at her. With one final deep inhale, she sprinted the last fifty steps like the world was hers again.

At the top, Marlow again looked down to where she had come from. From this height, the heart she'd made from pieces of driftwood and seashells was barely visible—but her distorted seaweed outline of Italy looked perfect. Taking a selfie, maybe she would share it with Piero, or maybe... she wouldn't.