A couple who were holding hands and giggling when they first emerged are now gasping and apologizing profusely. The smell of alcohol and sex is heavy on them, and I move quickly to pick up my box and scramble inside, telling them not to worry.
I get back to my room and glare at my now-topless and half-empty coffee. I shouldn’t be surprised because at this point I understand that I am not allowed to have caffeine without some kind of major incident. Very carefully, I set down the cup on the small table, treating it like liquid gold.
“Stay,” I command it.
I open the door to the second bedroom and set the latest care package on top of the other four boxes from Simon. It’s very wrong of me, I know, but I cannot get myself to open the boxes. Seeing what’s inside them, understanding how much thought he gave into putting these together would make me feel guiltier than not opening them. Something catches my eye, though. The return label is slightly different than usual. I lean down and squint. Instead of the usual peony by his name on the return address label, there is now a leopard seal. He has a messed-up sense of humor, but I like it. Still, I leave the box where it is.
The door shuts behind me, and I have to laugh: I am rooming with care packages.
My shoulder is aching pretty good, my hand is stinging, and the cuff of my sleeve is soaked with coffee. I yank my sweatshirt over my head, grumbling over what is becoming an annoying routine, and replace it with a loose-fitting printed top. As I’m washing out the sweatshirt, I can’t help but feel around in the rest of the jersey. Clearly, there is no silly motivational button, but I look anyway. Just in case. I could use one today. The disappointment I feel at not finding one is embarrassing, but I keep grabbing at the fabric just to be sure I didn’t miss one. Why? Because there may be a motivational-button angel watching over me, right?
No.
I’m being nuts.
I finish up with my sweatshirt, then take what’s left of my coffee and sit on my bed. After I text a polite thank-you to Simon, I don’t know what to do with myself. My room is ridiculously clean, as always—overly organized, truth be told. My closet is only half-full and already arranged, with my clothes hanging by color and other items stacked neatly on the high shelf, so there’s no excuse for a Saturday cleaning spree. The supposed common room in this suite is empty, save for the furniture supplied with the room, so there’s nothing to be done in there. I could ice my shoulder, but that’s hardly an activity. Although, given my options, it’s not a bad one, so I pull a cold pack from the minifridge next to my bed and stare at the wall for fifteen minutes until the cold becomes more painful than the injury.
My clock might as well be shouting at me that it’s early, and I have a full day to get through.
Well, there’s always studying.
For hours, I read and reread textbooks and class notes and then jump ahead to next week’s work. Statistics are delightfully dry and unemotional, and I spend extra time drowning in numbers and graphs until my growling stomach makes it impossible to keep my eyes glued to the page. I could call for a delivery, but . . . the walls are closing in on me. It’s unlike me to feel unsettled when alone in my room, but I am. I’m unsettled. And it’s disturbing.
The short walk I had this morning was nice enough to make me decide that I could tolerate leaving the dorm again. Something about that air this morning got to me. I can’t stay on campus, though. I’ll walk into downtown Landon, which is not exactly a metropolis, but it’s as much of a city as we’ve got around here.
A block from school, I pick up a veggie pocket at an organic café and eat as I walk. I’m not exactly sure where I’m going, but I know that I’m at least walking in the direction of downtown. When I’m done eating, I try to video call Steffi, but she doesn’t pick up. Probably still asleep after a late night, if I know her. I guarantee that she was out dancing until three in the morning, surrounded by adoring guys who paid for her drinks all night. There’s a good chance one of them is with her now, and I’ll dig for details later.
My earbuds are in, and I switch on my usual white-noise app. I let the whirling sound infiltrate my being, and I walk. And I refuse to think. About anything. I’ve felt restless and antsy, unable to fall into my usual routine, since I returned to school, and I’ve about had it. I need to get back to being satisfied by schoolwork and schoolwork alone. School and Steffi, those are my saving forces. Those are what keep me steady.
After a much longer walk than anticipated, I find myself at the outskirts of Landon, on a wide street lined with small shops, restaurants, and bars. This is an old town, and the sidewalks are cobbled brick, with lampposts evenly spaced down the street and lots of vintage-style signs calling out store names. It’s cute. Yet immediately I wonder what in the world possessed me to come downtown, because I don’t want to shop or sit in a café and converse with the locals. But I’m tired from my hour-plus walk, and my shoes are rubbing against my heels, so I’ve got to rest for a few minutes before I turn around. I think I remember a park at the end of this street, so I keep my head down and dodge pedestrians until I pass all the shops.
Sure enough, there is a park. Not only that, there is an enormous lake. I frown. How did I not know there was a lake here? God, I’m so oblivious. I take a seat on one of many benches and stare out at the water. The sun is high, casting sharp rays onto subtle ripples in the water. I turn up the volume on the background noise in my ear and watch the bits of white light fluttering before me. It is such an expansive circle of water I can barely make out the houses on the opposite side. Dark-blue water beckons only feet from where I sit, and I think how much more enticing the water is than the stringy blades of grass that meet it. The lake has a tranquility that I envy. How deep is it? I wonder. Deep enough to swim? Deep enough to disappear? Deep enough to drown?
But I do nothing but watch. I do not think.
I do not remember.
I do not plan.
I empty my mind until I am barren, until I don’t feel like me, until I don’t feel like anyone.
I just exist. Barely.
At some point, I close my eyes and drift further into myself. This may not be peace, this mind-set I’m in, but it’s stable, and so I stay, refusing to leave even when my hands begin to chill. Eventually, though, the light filtering through my eyelids fades, and that pulls me back.
When I open my eyes, I realize that it’s close to sunset. I have evidently been on this bench for hours. Not that it matters, really. Shadows are falling over the water, making the blue closer to black. I turn away as my vision begins to refocus on the real world.