It was a strange sense of pride as I held that grade in my hands.
“Number of errors: 14/15” [/] Passing
Doing the things I had done before was never an encouraging feeling. Tests in school were never my preferred way of expressing knowledge, but the physical aspect of performing my practiced dexterity in order to earn a barely passing grade left me smiling ear to ear.
I looked back at the little red car I parked in the designated spot, an almost already forgotten learner’s permit sat on the hood. It’s a rather surprising place to be in. There’s a strange confidence filling my body I never felt before. Something I remember sharing with you, but finding the words hard. I don’t really know why.
I didn’t know what to really say about it. Hey, I got a car. I’m driving on my own. I’m finding a job I love and earning money. It felt like I was sharing the words I wished I could to my mother and father without their condescending gaze. The things I wanted praise for that they’d never get right. The steps I finally took for my independence to move away from teenage life and move into a new chapter. I found a path into the world—Open doors I could finally exit. I used to call school “Life’s tutorial,” but it’s really amazing to finally move out of it and properly experience what people called “living.” I kept wanting to share every little detail I could. I went through a drive-thru myself. I filled my car with gas for the first time. I got the job before the interview.
There wasn’t any sadness as we talked about it. Not then, and certainly not from you. I know you were happy for me. I was too. We both never really talked about the things that were being deprecated as my time was filled up. The lack of time for me to stream. My more responsible sleeping schedule. The time I spent away from friends. Away from you. It was a part of life I knew I needed to embrace, and there were parts of life I understood would fade away.
I know it took some time for it all to set in—I’m not sure how it felt for you. I know you were at least a little proud of me. But I could imagine you felt a bit worried. Sad about our time beginning to get shorter together. All the times I had to just pet your head softly and say, “Not now, sorry.” The increasing lengths of shifts and later times of returning home that left you waiting for a me that wasn’t responding.
I never got to sit down and tell you what was driving me to do it. The reason I felt so willing to leave my life behind and dive head first into this one. I don’t know how much of an excuse I have, but…
In truth, I did it for you. For us, I suppose.
Life felt so…short, for a teenager. Each year felt like the last one. The best one. There was no time to think about what came after while I dealt with what was assigned yesterday, or what I needed for tomorrow. Each day was only connected to the week, never the months or years. They were so far out, long jumps I found my brain unable to wrap around.
But with you, there was something past each month. A future I had past the years. A dream that appeared before me as I closed my eyes. Your hand in mine, sat together on a couch. A movie on a screen with the volume turned down, in a living space just for us. A dinner we cooked together, with nothing but you on my mind as we drifted off to sleep in each others’ arms. Something for us to have 5 years from now. 10. 20. Over and over with endless ways to pass the time with you.
But to get there. I needed to get out of school. Get a job. Make my own money. Find a way to support myself and you so I can leave behind the hometown I’d grown tired of and bring you along down the road to somewhere new. Somewhere special. Somewhere we could be accepted together. Though an open door where a future for me and you lies waiting.
I guess I’m still fighting for that too, just…not how I thought I would that summer. So while I curl up in bed, letting the hum of my computer lull me to sleep each night I spend writing out these stories, let me recall all those stories that led me back here. Let me put my head to a soft pillow, imagining the warmth of your body pulling me down into the depths of my dreams as I tell you how this all came to be yet again.
So please, join me. Lie peacefully in bed with me and let me share with you the stories of this summer. Let your eyes softly close with no need to speak or respond. Just relax, let your breathing slow with mine, and let me share with you the story of my first summer as an adult.
And when it’s all over, you can drift off to sleep with me.