The You I've Never Known(21)
is interesting for a change, and psychology is fascinating.
I took psych as an elective.
Syrah says I’m dumb, that art would be easier, and I guess she’s right. But dissecting the human mind is something I might choose as a career path.
God knows, just checking out the people in the halls, mental health issues are everywhere.
Substance abuse. Eating disorders.
Depression. Thoughts of suicide.
It’s a bottomless bowl of nuts.
Okay, I know a health-care
professional wouldn’t use
the term “nuts,” but right now, picturing Hillary as a pecan makes me smile. Usually when I see her I want to run for cover.
Hillary Grantham
Is one of those girls
everyone pretends to like,
though actually liking her
would be extremely hard.
Hillary’s parents own a huge ranch. Thoroughbred horses
and black Angus cattle dot
the rolling hillsides, requiring the oversight of a decent-size crew of laborers. Local kids sometimes get jobs out there, mucking stalls and tossing hay.
Hillary would never stoop so low, despite her love of all things equine. The girl defines arrogance, which isn’t totally her fault.
Not only is she privileged, but she also happens to be smart, talented, and a decent athlete.
The all-around rich American girl.
I’m not nearly as intelligent, have no real talents to speak of.
The only place I’ve got her beat is on the basketball court.
Today, However
She holds her own in practice,
which makes me work that much
harder, not that I have one damn thing to prove, except to myself.
Coach loves me just as I am,
and so do my teammates (especially one of them, who I’m dangerously close to loving back). And honestly, even Hillary treats me with respect on the court, though she ignores me anywhere else, other than to maybe nod slightly, the way she might reward the hired help. Regardless, we play together on a team, and our shared goals matter there. Guess you don’t have to like someone to appreciate their ability. I do admire Hillary’s.
But I have to admit I’m glad mine is at least marginally better. If that makes me immature, sticks and stones.
After Practice
I take the time to shower off the sweat and wash my hair. Sometimes I’ll wait until I get home to clean up, knowing Syrah smells just as bad as I do, but I don’t think Zelda would appreciate me showing up scented like effort.
Or Gabe, either, not that I care
what he thinks. I’m not dressing to impress some random guy, though
it’s only polite to show up clean.
On the way over to Zelda’s, Syrah
comments, So, you’ve never met this Gabe guy, right? When I agree that I haven’t, she actually asks, What if he’s a knockout? You swing both ways?
“I don’t ‘swing’ at all. If you mean have I ever been attracted to a guy, well, yeah. But I’ve never acted
on it, or on any attraction, for that matter.” The statement rings
true, and when she asks why
not, I’m straightforward. “Before Sonora, we never lived one place long enough for me to hook up with anyone.
And now, I guess, I’m a little scared.”
Afraid
Of lust, its recent bloom inside of me. Powerful.
How do I control it?
Do I even want to try?
Anxious
about the mechanics,
seventeen and never
been kissed, at least not in the context of romance.
Nervous
I’ll make an improper move.
Choose the wrong person and not be able to correct a dire mistake of the heart.
Uncertain
of outcomes. The future, and my place in it, with little to zero ability to take charge of its direction.
Petrified
of falling all the way in love.
Lacking anything like a role model, commitment isn’t something I understand.
Beyond This Fear
Exists bone-deep trepidation about my dad’s reaction
if he finds out I’ve fallen for anyone at all.
Sharing isn’t his best thing, and I’m pretty sure the idea of divvying my affection with someone else would
drive him totally crazy.
A guy would present a certain kind of threat, of course.
But a girl? How can I ever confess that? It would push him all the way over the edge, and that’s a shadowy, perilous place I’d rather not revisit.
There’s teeth-rattling pain there, wrapped in the skin of my father’s hands.
I’m sure the vast majority of parents expect their kids to partner up eventually, but Dad isn’t like most people.
The topic is off-limits.
Inaccessible. And I’m a whole lot safer keeping it that way.
I Don’t Share
These intimate details
about my hesitant psyche
with Syrah. I’m not sure
I could confess them
to Monica, and probably
shouldn’t. The last thing I want to do is hurt her.
Besides, as I recently read in a book, Taking no chances means wasting your dreams.