It’s been a few weeks since we last spoke on the phone. It still pains me to be away from him for so long, like he’s moving further away from me with each day. But at least there’s been one silver lining from our distance. My mother and I have connected again. We’ve spent these last few weeks together, having dinner every night, watching TV in the living room, shopping, and taking weekend trips to the beach—things we used to do. She said she missed spending time with me. I didn’t realize how much I missed it, too.
Cars honk impatiently as my mother and I sit in traffic. We are on our way to the outlet mall in search of a graduation dress. Evergreen trees rise from the side of the road. We’ve been stuck on the highway for almost an hour. My mother has her meditation podcast on low volume as I stare out the window, watching clouds.
My mother glances over at me. She’s in her yoga clothes even though she didn’t have her class this morning. She says it helps her focus while driving. “So, have you looked at the course catalog for Central yet?” she asks. “They get filled pretty quickly.”
“I skimmed through it.”
“Looks like they have a writing course in the spring. You must be excited.”
“Over the moon.”
“No clichés in the car. Your own rules.”
I let out a breath. “I’m sorry. But it’s hard to be positive when you didn’t get in anywhere else.”
“You know, you only have to stay there for two years,” my mother says, lowering the volume. “And then you can transfer somewhere else. Lots of students do that, Julie.”
“I guess you’re right,” I say. “It just wasn’t part of the plan. None of this was…” Getting rejected from Reed. Having to stay in Ellensburg. Losing Sam.
“Plans don’t always work out how we expect them to.”
“I’m learning that…” I say, resting my head against the window. “Don’t put too much effort into things. You’ll only end up being disappointed.”
“That’s a bit pessimistic,” my mother says. “Sure, life ends up more complicated than we want. But you figure it out.”
I sigh. “You’d think at least one thing would work out, though,” I say. “Sometimes I wish I could skip a few years into the future to see where I end up. So I don’t waste all this time planning things out, only to have none of it go right.”
“That’s not a way to live life,” my mother says, her hands gripping the wheel. “Always worrying about what comes next, instead of living in the moment. I see this in a lot of my students. And I’m seeing it in you…” She looks at me. “You’re living ahead of yourself, Julie. Making decisions, and wanting things done, only to set up the future.”
“What’s so wrong with that?”
“Life will pass right by you,” she says, her eyes focused on the road. “And you end up missing the little things, the moments you don’t think matter—but they do. Moments that make you forget about everything else. Just like with your writing,” she adds out of nowhere. “You don’t write to get to the end. You write because you enjoy doing it. You write and don’t want it to end. Does that make some sense?”
“I guess so…” I think about this. But what if I don’t like the moment I’m living in?
When we finally pull into the parking lot, my mother shuts off the car and leans back in her seat. Her fingers tap against the wheel. “Is there anything else on your mind?” she asks after some silence. “You know you can always talk to me.”
I stare out the window again. It’s been a while since I opened up to her. About what’s really going on in my life. Maybe it’s time I change that. “It’s Sam…” I tell her. “I’m still thinking about him. About how he won’t get to finish school or graduate with us, you know? I mean, how am I supposed to think about college and the rest of my life, when his was cut so short? I know it’s not good for me. But I keep wishing he was still here.”
My mother turns to me, and runs a hand through my hair. “I do, too,” she says softly. “And I wish I knew what to say to make things better, or at least tell you how to go through this, Julie. But the truth is, no one experiences grief the same way, and we all come out of it differently. It’s okay to wish for those things, and even imagine him here with you. Because those moments inside our heads are just as real as anything else.” She taps her forehead. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise…”