He waited, perhaps how the moon waited for the sun.
And I chose to ask more of it-of the ceaseless hope we held in our palms. "Give me tonight, please."
"You've got tonight." It was an effortless sentence. A string of words spelling assurance, settl...
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WHENEVER CRISIS CALLED (AND OH, IT WAS OFTEN), THE GIRLS MET ME AT MY HOUSE WITH FRUIT DRINKS AND GARLIC BREAD. I was to arrange notes and create a study environment that seldom worked; Chloe brought juice (this time it was orange); Stella came through with handmade garlic bread since she loved to cook. It had started before our term exam, when Chloe had had an entire breakdown over our group chat and we'd studied less, comforted more. Once when I had lost my notes in a frenzy and panic called Stella, she'd automatically barged in through the door with her non-eligible handwritten ones, a can of soda in hand. Chloe had followed with five packets of Lays.
I couldn't say that the times we hung out like this were productive—when they really, desperately should've been. It was almost always on the verge of an important academic discussion, or worse, a mid-term, or worst: a breakdown. Most times, it was all of the above.
But I couldn't say they didn't help. My nervousness always tipped and poured out of my body in this sort of an infinitesimal way—I couldn't figure it out at first. But over hours, anxiety was in the air, horrific and domineering. Not only were my nerve endings zapping, the air crackled with intense negative momentum. Chemical reactions, the bad kind, both inside and outside.
But then Stella stepped in, and then Chloe, and for the first time the air had made space for them. Stella's excited nervousness was different than my lethal fear of failure. She knew if things didn't work out, they weren't supposed to. She lived life that way. And Chloe, more similar to me, yet so different, had this brightness to her nervousness, that despite the possibilities of doom, maybe something magical could come out of it.
The air was rounder around the edges now, nimble. It was such a revelation: that you could breathe alongside unease. It sat there in the room with you, and you could hold its hand—maybe tell it that it was going to be okay.
I couldn't believe such a difference was possible in the way I lived life. That such a difference could be realized through the mere presence of two people who'd chosen to be with me, through it, together.
It meant more to me than it made sense, probably. And when Stella sat on my bed, nudging my arm, I fell back into reality. "Hm?"
"I was wondering," she said, motioning towards Liza. "Who this pretty girl in your room is?"
Oh. I'd forgotten introductions, too busy reminiscing. Elizabeth was sat, legs criss-crossed, eyes gleaming. After having told Evan, it felt second-nature to trust Stella and Chloe—to let them know who I'd lost, and how Elizabeth and I had drifted apart. Once I'd thought letting my past meet my present would ruin any chance for a future. Now, the juncture of timelines had steadied the present for the best.
"Stop flirting with my best friend in my room, you sicko."
Liza grinned. Stella pushed her bangs out of her eyes, slumped on the bed, then sighed. "I was barely getting started."
