Unsuspecting Blessing.

xxvii

 xxvii

The morning, instant dread followed my waking. Brian was out of bed already, with breakfast made and his bag packed ready for class. Unfortunately, education does not rest when the seekers of its truths are under siege; even if the fire is cast from their own embers. Classes that day were slow, but also somehow a blur. I wished for them all to be canceled, and for Brian and I to spend time with each other before another loathed round of embarrassment and disquietude is fired upon me with a second meeting with his Mother, but of course no time was spared in between the times. After class, he and I met up, and right away made a trek towards his house; in his bag were the papers from his Father; and admittedly the papers frightened me less than possible self-bullying from blundering 'what if' questions rising in turn from usual maternal inquiries.

Outside was starting to be hot, very hot, and I wore a light weight jacket over a dark tank top with light green shorts; appearance is a key to confidence, and confidence is a key to great impressions. I could feel my armpits filling up with sweat as they pressed on the tops of my crutches, and thought about how much longer I would be needing to use these dumb things—also if I smelled or not. Before we made the final stretch to Brian's house, I asked him if he could take a quick whiff of me and give me a point blank opinion.

"You smell fine," he said, "actually you smell good." He stood before me, and a wave of wind chilled the sweat hiding in my clothes, as well as moving his dark hair along his face. He leaned into me and placed his chin on top of my head with an ensuing embrace. "You will be okay, she seems to like you."

His reassurance did just as much good as bad, as I asked: "But what if I'm not doing good? What if she doesn't like me?" I spoke this into his chest, my words muffled and vibrating against my own lips as well as his breast.

"Those kinds of questions are self-destructive and only lead to those things really happening."

I felt a race start in my heart, and the fires in my leg seized and writhed like pulsing serpents underneath my flesh. "Don't say that!"

He backed away and looked at me. "I didn't mean that every 'what if' will come true," he said sternly, but with sincerity, "if that were to happen the world would end in a second. I mean that things that are thought about constantly are more likely to come true because it is almost like a calling for them to appear in reality."

"Like manifestation?" I asked, my heart starting to slow down.

"Yeah," he said, softly with a higher tone than usual, "so I think the best way to combat something like that—like recurring existential dread or anxiety—is to change the way you think. Change your cognitive process."

I chuckled, "Who knew you were such a psych major."

"Undecided, actually."

Silence came between us for a moment, and the only sounds that broke it were the swaying of the trees and the proprietorial wind. I heard a car pass us. "Sometimes," I said, burning my face back into his chest, "I feel alone."

Brian did not pull away from me, but instead clutched me tighter. "You won't have to feel that any longer, at least, not if I can help it."

"And you're not going to leave me once this is all over? When I'm better, and when the trial is over."

"I don't intend to."

I pushed away from him. "But you might?"

"No," he said, and his eyes looked at me with the most heartfelt, empowering vigor.

I felt my face smile, despite not choosing to do so, and we went on walking to his house...

Once there, it felt odd to not knock at the door but it is where he truly lives after all, the house smelled of an unexpected delicious meal that filled my nose with a moist heat that felt cleansing after walking through such dry air outside. An air conditioner droned in the background underneath the greeting from Grace as she yelled from the kitchen instructing us to take a seat and be ready for "hot soup!"