Good Night

TAYLOR | STRANGER

As I slid between my mom and grandma in the church pew we always sat in, a sense of relief came over me. We always sat in the same seat, the smooth paint reassuring me. Our pastor, smiling as ever, unfolded her paper outline for this Sunday and laid it out on the front of her podium. It all called me back to the Sunday right after I broke up with Nancy. I knew I was the one who cut the string, but I prayed that she would come back to me. All I felt was regret as my words were interrupted by strings of former times. The realization that I was the problem and she was gone. When my mascara started to run and my vision blurred I had to excuse myself to the bathroom.

The sprint of shame down the carpet and toward the bathroom made everything worse.
Sorrow turned to anger in the stall and I cried, feeling alone. Ashamed, I held my face with my palms. Nobody else experienced the night I had before and I was the only 17-year-old girl in the building. It was a normal Sunday, nothing special, and I embarrassed myself. Memories flowed through my mind and out through my tears. I didn't think about how much she hurt me and the fact I cried through the whole sermon pained me.

My body yearned to feel resentment towards her for all the things she had done to make me break up with her, but I couldn't. Over that summer we hung out almost every day to the point where we shared a wardrobe and she could direct herself around my new house better than I could. When I moved a few streets away from my old house she helped me pack up my entire room and even aided me in decorating. She held me as I cried over leaving childhood memories in the house, wiping my tears with her thumb.

After my tears dried I left the stall and stopped at my reflection. I didn't see me. Who I saw was a girlfriend who bent over backward and was still single. It hurt—Knowing you did so much for so little. Not doing or being enough. I had to leave when I heard someone yelling for me, likely looking for me. Groggily, I pushed the door open and saw my mom in front of the bathroom door. I couldn't help but tear up again, hugging my mom for the first time in forever. Tears stained her flower-printed dress and she wrapped her arms around me. It felt as if only she knew how I felt.

The idea of going back to church the next Sunday made me want to die, and as I entered, beyond flustered, I sat between my mom and grandma. My leg shook beneath my palms and I couldn't even look up to see my pastor lighting the candles and laying out the outline for the day. But when nobody acknowledged the week before and we joined hands like normal. Afterward, we ate oatmeal cookies and drank the same bitter drinks as every Sunday.

The verse we spoke about stuck as well. It aided me and has aided me since I heard it. Romans 8:28; "And we know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose for him." Without the fall of our relationship, I'd still be horrible to myself. During our relationship I'd stress too hard about what to wear, and how to speak, I was entirely just afraid of things I shouldn't have been. I spent too much time putting people like her over God's plan for my future, and I was just acknowledging that it was for the best. She was carrot-headed anyway.

The comfort of consistency of church never came to me until I came to the realization. The realization that I was over Nancy. It was like the rainbow finally revealed itself after the storm. I didn't know why, but I figured it out by the time I left the building. There was a new light in my mind, a brand new person of interest. Unconsciously, he was all I was thinking about. The way he effortlessly cheered me up in a second just from the sight of his face. I wanted to know more about him. Texting Zoey, I exclaimed. "Good news!" I had a crush, and his name was Intratcher Davis.