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Subject: Your mom goes to college
How do I always forget how much I love your mom? That woman is the coolest person on the planet (and the best cook...how did you fall so far from that tree? Not judging, just wondering.). I can’t believe we stayed there until almost midnight. For what it’s worth, I felt bad when you had to get up and go to work this morning.
Also, what’s up with that? You worked three twelves and only got one day off? That’s bullshit. You’d better have a long stretch coming up to keep me company. And yes, I heard how selfish that made me sound.
I don’t care.
Anyway, back to your mom. Any chance she’d keep making those cookies on a weekly basis while I’m down? I may or may not have finished them off this morning.
That’s the first time I’ve been inside your house, right? It’s definitely the first time I’ve seen a picture of your dad. He was a handsome dude and you have his eyes. Can I ask why you don’t have a picture of him at the condo anywhere? (Of course I can ask, you’ll never see this.) Are you mad at him for what happened? Or for doing something so dangerous when he had a family at home? If you are, I get that. But at the same time I get his side, too, that people like us who find our passion, no matter how dangerous it is, can’t just give it up. It’s like asking us to stop breathing. I’ve tried to keep the darkness away since I got hurt but I can feel it creeping in. I’d go to a bad place if I had to stay here permanently, I think.
I love adventure more than anything else, and probably always will. I’ve been thinking about it all day and realized it’s one of the only places I feel things. Or maybe it’s the only place I acknowledge them. I don’t know. It’s like, I go about my day working, hanging out, doing whatever...and sure, there are times when I’m content. But when I’m riding or climbing or skiing, there’s so much more. Anticipation, joy, determination. I’m never more in awe of life than when I’m challenging it.
Does anything make you feel like that?
Want me to help you find what does? I feel like a damn expert therapist right now, with all that stuff I just realized about myself and helping you out, too. Therapists google, right? I just typed in “How to find your life passion.”
Here’s what it says:
Think about what you already love doing.
Well, after we have sex the answer will obviously be me, but we gotta go broader here. You love eating out. And dancing. Spending time with friends. You love binge-watching Netflix. I’m starting to think you love Gertrude, too. You didn’t notice me, but I saw you loving on her the other day. She seemed pretty content, too, which almost made me drop my crutches and give myself away. As it was, I just lurked in the hallway like a creeper with little hearts for eyes.
What makes you lose track of time?
What can you talk about for hours?
What did you love to do as a kid?
If you could be financially secure, what would you do with your time?
What do you want to be remembered for after you die?
Damn. Those are good questions and I don’t have a clue how you’d answer some of them (I want to, though. That’s weird, right?). I also sort of wonder what my answers would be. Some of them I know, like what I want to be remembered for. I want people to remember me as the guy who experienced everything life had to offer, and I’d go anywhere or do anything to do it. That I was an example of living and loving life, and hopefully passed that passion on to others.
I’d think what you want to be remembered for might be different than some of the other answers. And I think that’s okay, because most of us have separate parts of our lives—what we do for others and what we do for ourselves—and there are only a lucky few who can combine the two. You’ll be remembered for your role as a nurse, healing the sick and caring for the injured. You’ll be remembered as someone who laughed and loved her friends and lived life out loud.
But if you didn’t have to work, would you still want to heal people? What would you get lost in? What did you love doing as a kid?
I realize how ridiculous this seems, since I’m not actually asking you this stuff. But I just spent an hour writing this and searching the Internet for ideas. So while we’re not actually conversing through these emails, (1) I’m killing time, (2) I’m learning a little about myself (unfortunate side effect), and (3) I might find a way to be sneaky and bring some of this up in conversation.
You’re an interesting one, Claire. I’ve known you for a long time, but something tells me there’s more to you than meets the eye.
Graham
An hour before Claire’s shift ended, Graham texted her.
Graham: Want me to order in for dinner?
Claire: Nope. I already made plans.
Disappointment shot through him, which was startling, to say the least. He wasn’t supposed to be this attached to his roommate or care what plans she had for dinner.
Or with whom.
He was probably just in a weird state of dependency because of the injury and it would pass when things were back to normal. When Reagan was home, he was back at work, and he could get out and expend some of this overwhelming energy that built on itself each passing day.
Graham: Cool. I’ll find something for myself around here.
