“Hey…uhm, how are you?” I asked with hesitation. I had been hiding out in my dark room for so long, I no longer knew how to interact with people, and my conversation felt stilted and awkward.
“We’re good, we’re good,” Sean laughed a little. “We’re leaving a bit early to come home for break—on the road right now. Becks is driving…hey, don’t kill us, okay? Eyes on the road, you can talk to her later…Sorry, she misses you and wants to talk.”
Hearing Becky’s laugh and Sean’s voice was comforting. “That’s so exciting. I can’t get out of here until Tuesday; have to finish some work at the writing center. But maybe when I get into town, we can meet up for burgers or something at MicNic’s?” I asked, my mind imagining everyone piling into Reed’s Jeep, just like we used to—instantly making me sad as I realized the low probability of that happening.
“That’d be awesome…” he was waiting to say something more, I could tell. “So…are you going to the game Thursday?”
Reed’s game—against us: UofA and ASU squared off every Thanksgiving break. I wanted to be there desperately, especially knowing that it might be Reed’s last. But I wasn’t sure I was welcome.
“Uh…I don’t know Sean,” I started, but he cut me off.
“Noles, you have to go. You know he wants you there. Besides, Buck will insist on it,” he was acting as if nothing was wrong.
“Sean, you don’t know that. We…Reed and I…we haven’t talked. Not in a long time. I think he’s moved on,” I admitted it out loud, and it made me choke a little.
“Yeah, I’ve heard you both say that same shit. I’m not buying it. Look, it’s clear you two have some issues to work out…” he paused, thinking of how to say his next sentence. I appreciated that he was dancing around my miscarriage. “But look, you have to start somewhere. I think Thanksgiving will be good for you.”
I soaked in his words. I couldn’t see how me sitting in a football stadium—where Reed might not even know I was there—would be good for us, but I was a little comforted knowing that I could go without his even knowing, just hiding, blending in, and taking in his last rival college game for my own satisfaction.
“Noles? Are you there,” Sean asked.
“Oh, yeah…was just thinking. So…okay, yeah. I guess I’ll go to the game. Maybe I can go with you guys?” I asked, hoping.
“Of course! We’ll see you at Buck’s for Thanksgiving anyway,” he said, matter-of-factly.
“Uhm…what?” now I was confused.
“Yeah, so…Buck invited your parents, and since you and Reed both like to pretend nothing’s wrong, everyone thinks you’re together and lovey dovey, so we’re all having turkey at the Johnsons. Happy Thanksgiving! See you there!” Sean hung up as soon as he was done.
Fuck! How was I going to get through this? I started to fast forward to the day, envisioning Reed staring daggers through me, and then me breaking down in tears in front of everyone, him telling my parents how I kissed someone else…or worse, that I had been pregnant!
I let my head buzz with possibilities, ways I could get out of going, all the way to the writing center for a special Saturday session. My tutoring seemed to be the only thing that still held joy for me, so I went religiously—often spending more time working on the poems and essays that the kids were writing than my own projects and homework.
There was one girl, Kira, who reminded me so much of myself, and I found that I spent a lot of my time working with her. Kira had been struggling to come up with a topic for the winter showcase. She suffered from Tourette’s syndrome, her muscle spasms almost constant, and her stutter a continuous wall in her way. She was one of my older students, almost 18. She was a beautiful girl, but so trapped because of her disability. And for some reason—probably more than any of my other students—I wanted to help her find words that would chip away at her cage. I knew they wouldn’t completely break her free, but I thought if we could just come up with something together, that she could recite in front of a crowd…despite the pauses and stutters that would undoubtedly work against her, she might find a reason to keep trying.
But I wasn’t much help to Kira today. We read through sonnets together, and she practiced saying lines, sometimes actually getting one or two out before her body and brain betrayed her. And I was proud. But when we sat down to work on her topic, I wasn’t my usual glass-half-full self, spouting off options and ideas. Instead, I just sat there and tapped my pencil on my pad of paper, staring at the lines until they bled together.