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I nodded my reply.
Bridge started tearing up. “I’m afraid, Spence.”
“Bridge, it’s seriously going to be okay.”
“I hate being judged. What if everyone there judges me? I don’t think I can handle being judged...at least not without Mom there.”
I sighed.
“Did you know I wore glasses when I was younger?”
“Of course,” she told me quietly through tears.
“Okay, but listen. I was five years old, sitting in my assigned seat at the back of the classroom. My teacher called on me, asked me to read something she’d written on the board. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t see what she’d written and thought it was because of some insufficiency on my part that I couldn’t see the board. I thought I wasn’t as smart as the other kids. So I sat there, quiet, adrenaline pumping through my little body at a rapid rate, eyes burning, on the verge of tears. The class had turned to look at me by this point, fifty eyes studying me, waiting. She asked again, her tone laced with impatience, but I had nothing to tell her. A few kids started snickering around me, some accused me of being stupid; others giggled with each other. Although it was only a handful, an adrenaline-filled fear kicked into high gear and affected me more deeply than I had ever remembered feeling affected. My pulse strummed feverishly from the tips of my ears to the ends of my fingers. Hot tears betrayed me, spilling over onto my cheeks, making those who were laughing, laugh harder. I was humiliated.”
“How sad.”
“Yeah, but then my teacher did something I hadn’t expected. She stood up for me. Hushed the other children, came to my side, took my hand and whispered in my ear. She asked me if I could see the board and I answered her honestly.”
“What did she do?” Bridge asked.
“She picked me up, wrapped her arms around me, walked me closer to the board and just like that, the words appeared clearly to me, the judging sounds of the other children grew quiet, and I knew exactly what they were, could read them perfectly. Where once I had no answer, suddenly I had one, and that fear, that anxiety, that adrenaline turned to calm. I realized that all I had to do to solve my problem was to get close to it, approach it, to see it more clearly. I had nothing to fear after all.” Bridge’s tears fell harder. “I know the answer feels cloudy right now. I know we can’t read what our future is because we feel so far away from it, but I promise you, Bridge, we’re getting closer to the blackboard. And when we get there, all that fear, all that overwhelming fear of not knowing what lays ahead for us will dissipate. In the end, we’ll have a beautiful little soul to take care of, and we’ll discover that we had nothing really to fear. We’ll discover that our problem wasn’t genuinely a problem after all, not after we’ve seen it for what it actually is. In the light of day, when our adrenaline wears off, we’ll discover that all we truly feared was the unknown.”
“And the children who laughed? Judged you?” she asked. “What did they have to say?”
“By recess, they’d forgotten all about it, moved on to the next poor sap. You see, all my problem was for them was something to focus on simply because they enjoyed it. They relished scandal just as much as the girls you pal around with, just as much as a lot of people we’ll encounter on the way, but they forget, Bridge. They always do. They move on with fiery intensity, hungry to latch on to their next victim. They’re constantly searching to kick those who are already down. They make it impossible for you to make a clear-headed decision. We’re all so afraid of what everyone around us thinks that we risk ourselves to desperation. It’s utterly stupid. It’s utterly frightening. But it’s utterly human.”
“I hate being judged, though,” she said.
“Who doesn’t, Bridge? Who doesn’t? But I ask you this, huh? Why in the hell do we care what others think about us?”
“Because we’re human.”
“But as humans, we’re also capable of forward thinking. I consider myself fairly progressive. I’m choosing right now to rise above those self-righteous assholes. I’m choosing to live the life I want to live, splintered prying eyes be damned.”
She wiped the tears away and laughed. “Yeah. Screw ’em.”
And all the while I bolstered my little sister...I also found that I’d bolstered myself. Come on, Bitterroot.
Chapter Twelve
We pulled onto the little dirt road off the highway, the only indication we were in the right place was the little rickety sign, hanging off its side that read HUNT RANCH, which was difficult to read because of the snow piled so high against it. It took us a little longer than I’d anticipated to travel the five-mile trek to the ranch because I’d never driven in snow before, not this kind of snow anyway. It wasn’t an issue of traction but visibility.
“You weren’t lying. This place is incredible,” Bridge said, her face plastered to the frosted window.
Mountains capped with white glittered in the setting sun amongst cotton ball clouds. A million diamonds appeared to reflect in the surface of those caps before your gaze bled down to a dark ebony rock—a dichotomy of nature. It was pure magnificence. If you followed the mountain line to the base, a sea of powdered snow-covered pine trees meandered their way toward the road we were traveling.
“So beautiful,” Bridge breathed. A tad bit lighter of heart, I thought.
“Yeah, makes me want to drink a beer,” I teased.
Her head whipped my direction, she laughed and shook her head. “You’re an idiot,” she said before returning her eyes to the sights.
I laughed.
A song rang from the stereo, making our surroundings feel even more breathtaking, if possible.
“I’m suddenly not so scared,” Bridge said.
