Three Eleven Thirteen

Epilogue

Epilogue

I sit in my car, the last several weeks are a blur to me. Late nights, only a few hours of sleep between spans of days, pot after pot of coffee, and yet, I still did not wake up this morning feeling confident.

I lean my head on the steering wheel. I am so damn tired. Weeks of study, and torture to take this fucking test, only to walk out of the exam room feeling like I completely bombed.

I manage to close my eyes for seconds before my cellphone rings. My heartbeat quickens because I know it's Rylee, and I know he's going to want to know how the nursing exam went. He has been quizzing me on it for weeks. It doesn't help that the text books are thicker than my arm.

Hesitantly, I reach over for my phone, and answer it.

I don't even get a word in before Rylee's voice greets me, "So how'd it go?" There is no doubt he's excited for me to pass. I know he likes me, but I think he and his wife are ready for me to get a job and move out.

I don't blame them.

I can't bring myself to tell the truth, so instead, I lie, "I think it went well." Even the words taste funny in my mouth.

"You know it went well not think it did. Confidence, Ripley."

"Right." I grip the steering wheel tight in front of me. There is no part of me that is confident about what I just did. 

I didn't plan on pursuing a career in nursing. I actually never wanted to insert myself into the medical world. I'd had enough of body parts and life's machinery growing up, watching my father work on life in the lab. It was never something I wanted to indulge myself in as an adult. In fact, it never crossed my mind.

Spending time with Rylee helped me realize that maybe art school wasn't my purpose. Maybe I was supposed to connect myself with my father in other ways. The human body is fascinating. 

I garnered my high school diploma within a few months, and began to apply for different art schools. When I didn't get accepted in any of them, I shut down. I decided school wasn't for me, and that I should stay in my own lane. I ended up spending three years in Rylee's attic, painting for profit, and feeling sorry for myself.

My motivation for nursing was a surprise, not to everyone else, but to me, because it wasn't I who had pursued it first. 

It was Ellie.

Ellie passed high school in weeks. Rylee had made him a false identity, and got him citizenship. It took several years for him to find a way to get the citizenship, but eventually, we found someone who could illegally produce the documents.

It's the best we could do.

On paper, Ellie was a Canadian immigrant. To get him a real citizenship he and I had to get married. At first I was ecstatic of the idea, but now I'm not too sure. What if he wanted to get married to someone else one day? Would he ever be bold enough to ask for a divorce? I never thought I'd ever fall in love with another man, but what if I do? Would I be able to ask him for a divorce? What if we grow up and grow apart?

My underlying fear of being distant from him emotionally, was slowly building a wall between us. I am the reason we barely speak anymore. My usual excuse to not talk to him is that I'm too busy studying, but, in reality, I have time, I just don't have spine. 

Rylee pressed for me to come home, and I did.  I drove the whole way with a growing rock of dread sitting in my chest. I tend to get more and more anxious to return to Rylee's the longer I'm away. 

Today, my fear was at it's worst.

I pull up the driveway to the simple brick home, and sit for a long moment hyping myself to enter the house.