Stella and the Boxer

Chapter 1

Sometime during the ages of sixteen and seventeen, I decided that my most crippling fear was of being truly alone. That fear, more than any other on the long list of things that I found troubling, had to have caused me the most bother and the most distress - or so I thought.

The better part of two-years later, at the ever-wise and infinitely more seasoned age of eighteen - my current age - I realized my fears needed reevaluation.

While assessing my fears, I came to the conclusion that many diagnosed issues in the world are simply premature and insufficient resolve. I suppose it's in our nature as humans to reduce complex and dynamic matters until we can label each of them with medical terminology and prescribe either treatment or medication. Sometimes we need neither, and simply knowing that we've grasped and labeled what is wrong with us is enough to live at peace with our condition, with what troubles us.

Second to that, I discovered that my greatest fear was not in being alone, but in feeling like I couldn't be alone when I wanted or needed to be. The things that keep us from ourselves, those are the scary things. And I decided that being alone, truly and blissfully safe within myself, that is peace.

***

It's still dark outside when I arrive at the Lighthouse Café, last night's storm now continuing into morning. As per usual, I hold my breath from the moment I unlock the front door to the second I reach the light switch in the back of the building. It's the fear again, my thinking every morning that I will meet an unwanted guest on my way to the light. The café has never been broken into - I'd been assured. Still, my nerves persist.

Once I'm confident that I'm safe in the now brightly lit little building - a contrast to the dreary morning outside - I begin my usual tasks. I assume the café won't be busy, particularly not in the earlier hours of morning. Since it's Sunday, most people will be having their coffee and breakfast at home. The rain will probably keep more people away, too. So, I opt to take my time with opening.

As I sweep the floors, only the sound of falling rain and occasional thunder inturrupts the quiet. Until, that is, I begin to hum Elvis' "Suspicious Minds," a tune that has been stuck in my head since last night's phone call with my parents.

My parents - I miss them so much. I haven't seen them for over two months now. It's the longest I've ever been away from home, and counting. Though I'm only hours from my tiny hometown, my parents were convinced that I would adjust better to college if I made a "clean break." Until Thanksgiving, at least.

My mother does well to seem unaffected, always excited and enthusiastic to hear how I've spent the day, what I've learned, people I've met, etc. But my father is different. Some nights, his voice will crack when he tells me how much he misses me or that he loves me and is so proud. Those nights, I'm thankful for my fear of driving distances alone in the dark, because it's all that keeps me from making an impromptu trip home.

Last night was the first time in nearly three weeks that my father's voice cracked. I had just told him that I'd scored a ninety-eight on my first philosophy paper and he said, "I'm so proud of you, Stella Lou." Rather than acknowledge his nostalgia, I listened over the line to him shuffling about while I made one-sided small talk about the television show that I was passively watching.

He finally spoke, "Listen to this, baby. This is still your favorite, isn't it? It's like we're on our Saturday car rides together again, huh?" Elvis started to play in the background and by that time it was I who was starting to cry.

"Yes," I whispered, my voice weak, "My favorite."

I closed my eyes then and let my mind take me back to our car rides. After dinner, most Saturdays, my mother would excuse my father and I from washing dishes and we would drive into town, just the two of us. We listened to the same songs and drove past the same places - the tiny town lit up in its weekend glory - but it was special to us.