Simone coos. “You know, I really like him. He’s good for you. And that’s a lot coming from me because I am very,veryprotective of you,” she sighs. “But he’s sweet and kind andveryattractive…and he adores the hell outta you.”
Lani perks up. “Has he asked you to be his girlfriend yet? God, I wouldkillto find someone that tall and that handsome…who’s alsonotan asshole to women.”
I roll my eyes at both of them. “We haven’t taken that step…”
I don’t think we ever will.
I go to walk out, and Lani pretends to go open one of the drawers, looking for something. “Do you need any condoms?” she asks, teasingly.
Simone slaps her leg, and Lani winces. “Ow, geez. What? I’m just making sure she’s being safe,” she says, pretending to be defensive. “I don’t even have any. I was looking inyourdrawer, Simone.”
Simone gasps at her.
“Y’all are a mess. I’ll text you if it gets late so you know I’m okay.”
“Have fun, Sweetie,” Lani sing-songs.
On the walk over, I practice a hundred versions of “It’s not you, it’s me. You deserve better. I know we aren’t officially a couple or anything, but we probably shouldn’t go down that path because I’ll just end up hurting you.We don’t have to be friends either. I have a lot of baggage to still work through right now.”The words all feel like glass in my mouth.
I haven’t stopped thinking about what the right thing to do was since field day. Bash istoogood for me…and I’ll never be good enough to give that back to himthe way he deserves.
When I walk up to the building, people are already walking out. I know he always has to stay behind for a little while, so I sit on one of the benches near the door. I tip my head back against the brick wall and stare up at the night sky. I squint a little to see the stars through all of the light pollution and get stuck in the trance of it all—how endless the sky is, how big, and how beautiful it all is up there, how the stars are always moving and finding new places to go, but to us, they’re just standing still, stuck in the same spot.
I guess sometimes what we perceive isn’t always what’s actually happening. We miss the movement, the change, the growth, all because it’s too far away for us to see it happening. We just assume it’s…not.
Is that how we are?Do we miss our own growth because it’s just slowly always happening, so we don’t even realize we’re changing? Not until we look back and see how far we’ve drifted from where we started.
I’m still looking up when I hear him say my name. I turn, and there he is, tall, beautiful, kind eyes, the softest, sweetest smile, and the most perfect face. My stupid heart launches itself at the sight of him. He pulls me into a hug, and I feel that same ridiculous warmth and safety I get every single time I’m around him. I wish I could live here. I wish I could keep this feeling. I wish this could be the whole story.
We start walking, and I just let him lead, not asking where the destination is. I don’t really want to get there if I’m being honest.
“How was group?” I ask, quietly.
He smiles over at me. It’s that smile he has whenever someone brings up a topic he’s excited to talk about. It’s so cute and childlike in the best way.
“It was good…really good,” he says, and then his voice turns that alive shade I’m addictedto. “Actually, I got to talking to my facilitator about an idea I had…”
I’ll never not want to hear him speak, so I ask, “What idea?”
He gets a little shy, and I hate how attractive it is to me when I see him get nervous.
“Um, well…I had this idea for on campus…where we’d put small stickers everywhere with the instruction to text something like “stay” to the number. That would then hit a 24/7 campus line, which could be staffed by a clinician and trained peers who stay on call and rotate. Maybe even for a class assignment.”
I’m already listening intently to everything he’s saying.
“As soon as someone texts,” he goes on, “one of the peers would call and ask if they want someone to come sit with them. If they say yes, they drop a pin, and what we would call a ‘Sitter’goes to them within ten minutes. The quicker the better in these situations.”
He glances at me to see if I’m tracking, and I nod.
“Sitters aren’t security guards or anything,” he says. “They can just bring them water, a blanket maybe, a granola bar, and a safety-plan card. They’d stay for that ninety-minute danger window and help the person talk or just be there, lock away meds if the student wants, and make a basic plan with them. No cops unless there’s any real safety issue, no paperwork. Just…their presence.”
Something tightens in my chest. I feel this pride for the boy I’m listening to, and also a little envy for something I wish I had when I needed it at my lowest moment.
He shifts, suddenly a little self-conscious about what he’s saying. “It’s not flashy or anything, but I think just having someone who doesn’t need to know or judge you, be there and know what to do that will help, could maybe save a life or two.”
My throat goes glassy. I swallow, and it doesn’t move.
“That’s…beautiful,” I manage to get out, and my voice wobbles a little. “It sounds like…theperfect place to land.”
