Love's a choice

Headaches and heartaches

Last night was the most enjoyable time I've had in ages, and I'm thankful Ellias and I are on good terms again—I've really missed him. Rolling out of bed, I habitually check my emails and notice one from the head of literary writing, stating that I must enroll in a mandatory Literary class as part of my break requirement. This baffles me; I'm an art student, not an English major. I hastily respond to the email to clarify this mix-up. Barely two minutes pass before my phone rings, and I pick up.

"Hello, this is Dean Michael Stew. Am I speaking with Claire?" he asks, and I take a deep breath before responding.

"This is she," I reply.

"Wonderful. I assume you've received an email about the mandatory literary classes. Your professor thought they would be a great opportunity to broaden your skills," he says, and I sigh.

"I'm not an English major; I don't see how this will aid in my art degree," I tell him.

"I'm not an art professor, but your case was discussed by all university faculties, and we've concluded that your artwork is incredible, yet something is missing. I believe you're an asset, Claire, and whatever personal problems you may be facing can be overcome. You just need to trust those leading you. The class is a requirement if you want to return," he says, and I bite my lip, pondering it all.

"I don't even like writing; I don't know how," I admit to him, and he chuckles.

"You'll figure it out," he assures me.

"Can I think about it?" I inquire.

"I'm afraid not; this is a requirement," he responds, and I sigh.

"Okay," I say.

"I'm glad we reached an agreement. I look forward to seeing you in six months. Good luck," he says, then the call ends.

A small part of me is relieved because I have something to occupy me for the next six months, but mostly, I'm afraid it will be just another thing I fail at. I should plan for the next six months, but I feel uninspired and uninterested. I throw myself onto my bed and scream into my pillow. I decide to spend my morning in bed. Around 4 pm, I take a quick shower and change into grey sweats and a black hoodie I borrowed from Milo, which is too big for me. I head downstairs and straight to the kitchen.

"You're up early," my mother remarks sarcastically. I smile in response, knowing it will annoy her if I remain silent. I walk to the fridge, grab a bottle of water, and take an apple.

"Where's Dad?" I inquire, and she gestures towards the backyard. I nod and head in that direction.

"Working in the garden, I see," I comment as he looks up with a warm smile.

"Hey, honey, you're up early," he remarks, and I roll my eyes while approaching him.

"It's only 4, cut me some slack," I respond as he stands and brushes the dirt off his hands.

"Any plans for today?" he inquires, and I affirm with a nod.

"I need to pick up some notepads for a mandatory class," I tell him, and he understands.

"Do you need a ride, or will you take the car?" he offers.

"I'll take the car; it won't take long since I've already made a list of what I need," I assure him.

"Okay, the keys are out front in the bowl near the door," he says, and I nod, walking back inside.

"I'm going to the store; do you need anything?" I ask Mom as she rinses the chicken and starts to season it.

"Could you get more bottled water and bread rolls? That would be great," she says, looking at me.

"Sure, no problem. I'll be back soon," I reply, walking to the front to grab the keys. Then I head to the car and drive to the store. It's a short drive, and fortunately, not much has changed; I still remember the way. I park the car, get out, and, grabbing my phone and purse, head inside. I pick up the bottled water first, then head to the bakery section for the rolls.