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A truck stills in front of me, and I hear the door open and shut. I stare at the sleek black body and feel Zeke’s warmth as he sits next to me.
He doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, just sits.
“Nice day?” he asked, squinting up into the thick, dense layer of dirty clouds.
“Mmmm.”
“Seems especially nice down here on exhaust fumes level.”
“Mmmm.”
A bus squelches past, illustrating his point and we both cough around the pollution.
“Wanna tell me what happened?” he asks, leaning over his knees.
I swallow and keep rocking. “I quit.”
He squeezes my knee, and the rocking stops. It’s too much without the motion. I can’t concentrate. I feel my shoulders start to shake and I grip the backpack tighter, but it doesn’t help.
He’s quiet for a moment, and then he takes my backpack from me, but I can’t seem to move off the curb. How did I get here anyway? There are at least twelve perfectly good benches down here, and I chose the crumbling stretch of curb next to the hospital bus stop. I don’t know what he does with my backpack, but it’s gone, and then he’s squatting in front of me. His hands press into my knees and he tilts his head until I have to meet his gaze.
“You quit school?”
“Yeah.”
“Like, you walked out in a blaze of glory?”
“Like, I never made it to my lecture because instead I went to the registrar and told her that I hated everything about my life from my toenail polish to my split ends and that included med school and that I wanted to be gone. The school counselor made me drink a cup of tea and talked to me until she believed I wasn’t going to jump off the tram. And then she said I would have to return the rest of my stipend for the semester. I said good riddance to this blood money and now I have thirty-two dollars in my wallet and a bag full of books that will be obsolete in a month.”
“Books will be obsolete?” He frowns.
“Textbooks are constantly updated. I won’t be able to sell them. It’s a scam and I refuse to perpetuate this pyramid scheme any longer.”
“Well, at least you won’t have to carry around that back spasm in the making.”
I laugh. Hard. And loud. The crows across the street scatter. But then my chin wobbles as reality sinks in and I clutch my backpack like it’s going to float away.
“The only thing I truly love in this world is this backpack.” I feel my resolve slipping and I can’t keep the tears back as I stroke the purple canvas.
“Alright, come on you little freak,” he says, pulling me off the sidewalk and scooting me into his truck. He locks the door before he shuts it, as if I’m a flight risk.
Pfft. I’m too tired to be a flight risk. Although… I’m also oddly energized.
He steers out into traffic and turns the classic rock station he prefers down as low I’ve ever heard it.
“Are you okay?”
Am I okay? I don’t know what to do with that question. I don’t know if I’m okay. On the one hand, I never have to go to another med school class again. I could practically squeal with joy over how good that feels. On the other hand, I have no future. It’s literally done. Toast. I mean, I have my trust fund, so I’m not destitute. But I don’t have a job lined up, much less a plan. I’ve never not had a plan. What does one even do without a plan? Are there people who don’t have plans who also pay rent and utilities?
“Say something, babe?” Zeke’s voice is almost as soft as the brush of his thumb along the curve of my neck. It’s so soft and soothing that I melt back into the seat, leaning into his touch. It’s not too warm and not too soft, it’s just right. I think I could melt into nothing very happily right now with the way he’s touching me.
“Faye?”
I startle at his more insistent tone. “Yeah,” I say. “Yeah, sorry. What did you say?”
He pulls the truck over into a parallel parking spot on a block near Portland State’s campus. Students pass on the sidewalk, eating burritos and drinking bubble tea as we sit in the quiet comfort of the cab of his truck.
“I want to understand,” Zeke says. “Can you tell me what happened?”
