“You have a boyfriend in jail?”
I spin around at the sound of Cierra’s voice. My first instinct is to lie to her because that’s what I’ve always done. Hide my truth from everyone around me. I don’t think that’s who I want to be anymore, though.
“No, he’s not my boyfriend. Just someone I care about.”
Cierra faces the mirror and holds a shirt up to her chest. “Good. Because there’s a party tonight and I want you to come. There will be so many guys there.” She tosses the shirt aside and holds up another one. “And girls too, if that’s what you prefer.”
I stare at Cierra as she watches herself in the mirror. There’s anticipation in her eyes and very little damage. She’s who I wish I could be right now. Someone excited for the fun parts of college life and not at all weighed down by the things she might have had to overcome to get here.
It hasn’t felt fair of me to have fun when Samson is stuck behind bars, so all I’ve done since I arrived on campus is study and play volleyball and research ways to break people out of prison.
No amount of moping is going to change Samson’s fate. And even though he’s cut off communication with me, I know exactly why he’s done it. He knows I’ll be too focused and worried about him if I stay in constant contact with him. I can’t be angry at him for that.
And when I can’t stay angry at him, how am I supposed to forget him?
No one will change Samson’s mind, though. I know that for a fact, because if the roles were reversed, I’d want the exact same things he wants for me.
I understand his intentions in every part of me. How would he react if he found out I spent my entire time in college as depressed and alone as I was in high school?
He would be so disappointed if I wasted these years.
I can either choose to stick to a lonely road of hope that may never be met, or I can figure out who I am while I’m in this setting.
What version of myself can I be while I’m here?
I run my index fingers under my eyes. I’m emotional for a lot of reasons, but mostly because I feel like I have to truly release myself of Samson in this moment or he’ll weigh me down for the next several years of my life. I don’t want that. And neither does he.
“Whoa,” Cierra says, spinning around to look at me. “I didn’t mean to upset you. You don’t have to go.”
I smile at her. “No, I want to. I want to go to a party with you. I think I might be a fun person.”
Cierra pushes her bottom lip out like my words just made her sad. “Of course you’re fun, Beyah. Here.” She tosses me the shirt she was holding. “This color will look better on you.”
I stand up and hold the shirt up to myself. I look at my reflection in the mirror. I can feel the sadness inside of me, but I don’t see it on my face. I’ve always been good at hiding what I’m feeling.
“Want me to do your makeup?” she asks.
I nod. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
Cierra walks back to the bathroom. I glance next to the bathroom door, at the picture of Mother Teresa I hung on the wall the day I arrived.
I wonder what version of herself my mother could have been if it weren’t for her addictions? I wish I could have known that version.
For her sake, that’s the version of her I’m going to choose to miss. The person she never had the chance to be.
I kiss my fingers and then press them against the picture as I walk past it and into the bathroom.
Cierra is sorting her makeup. I promised myself when I first met her that I wasn’t going to prejudge her by labeling her a locker room girl like I almost did with Sara. No matter who Cierra was in high school, or who I was, we’re all made up of more than our past behaviors, good or bad.
I no longer want to be the version of myself who judged people before accepting them. I was projecting all the behaviors I resented.
Cierra looks at my reflection in the mirror and smiles like she’s just as excited as Sara would be to glam me up.
I smile back at her and pretend to be excited, too.
If I have to pretend my way through this entire year, it’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to smile so much that my fake smile eventually becomes real.
THIRTY-ONE
Fall 2019
Today has the makings of being a perfect day. It’s October and the sun is out, but it’s cool enough that I’ve been sitting on the hood of my car for the last two hours and haven’t even broken a sweat.
But despite the potential for the day, things could still end in severe disappointment. I have no idea.