Summer Rain

XXXI ~ Open Arms

{Friends - Ed Sheeran}

...So I could take the back road, but your eyes will lead me straight back home, and if you know me like I know you, you should love me, you should know...

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July 14th

        We all have moments that determine our futures—pivotal, earth-shattering, life-altering moments like standing with your toes on the edge of a cliff. You're either going to fail or succeed. That day was one of those days.

        I clutched the small envelope, which was sealed and waiting to be sent. I stood at the postbox, lost in the moments between releasing the paper out of my grip and into the ether, leaving me to wait for my fate. The days and days I had spent preparing for this moment felt like an eternity. I felt like my life would never steer off in this direction—me, applying to a place like Juilliard. I wasn't good enough. I wasn't ready. I didn't care. I had to try.

           Deep breaths. With one final look down at the paper in my hand as I bent it with my fingers, clutching it like the holy grail, I felt a smile curve into my lips.

          Then, moments later, it was gone. It was one of many letters waiting to be delivered.

    "Now, all I have to do... Is wait," I spoke aloud.

          I had less than a month to receive my letter of response, which would only tip one way or the other. I had less than a month to file away the last of the cuffs I still felt chained to.

           My feet were aching by the time I walked back through the trees, my ankles weak, and my calves sore. I wanted to sit for a few centuries, but I still had to pass through the main building and make my way back to the cabin, a place I had barely seen the inner walls of for days with me preparing my audition application.

    "Hey, you okay?" Benjamin jumped out from one of the lawn chairs, his sunglasses now pressing into his head of golden hair. I rolled my eyes and continued walking but answered him.

    "I'm fine." He followed me, clearly not aware that I didn't want to speak to him. We had reached the height of civility, and I was not intent on us becoming 'friends'. Not after what he did.

            Still, I can't stop thinking about his conversation with Poppy that I overheard. The voices had played in my head night after night when I tossed and turned, sweat pouring into the bedsheets in the ever-growing, unbearable heat that the Summer was relentlessly blighting us with. I would have given anything for rain, some kind of wind, a cloud or two. It was a full-blown drought.

    "I'm glad." He nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets.

    "Are... Are you okay?" I asked him, feeling rude for not asking. It wasn't like me to be this cold, but I would feel gullible or stupid for completely forgiving him.

    "Do you actually want an answer, or are you just being polite?" He challenged. I couldn't help but trip over my words to respond. He wasn't stupid.

    "Well, a little bit of both." At this, he half-smiled.

    "Well, My parents and your parents are out golfing so I thought I'd come and ask if you knew when you guys are leaving for London?" Oh yeah. That.

             Dad had spoken to Tim, who had been in talks with other CEO's and boards of directors about Dad emigrating to the UK, dragging us with him kicking and screaming. It had led to nights of shouting from Mom and of me sleeping with a pillow wrapped around my ears like earmuffs.