Page 105 of Things I Read About
There goes my bottom lip. Falling down. And trembling, too.
I have no idea what to say. Or maybe, I have too much to say.
You boggle my mind too. I think I love you. You looked up auditions for me? Why? Why won’t you just let us try this? Try us, for real?
“L-let’s go,” I say softly, while walking away. Tears are about to fall down my face.
“I’m sorry, Sally. I didn’t mean to upset you. Sally!”
But I make quick work of reaching the car. It’s locked.
“Sally,” he says behind me.
“I’m just overwhelmed. The house, the apartments, the audition idea, I just need to go home and think. Can we go?” I say over my shoulder.
“All right.” He unlocks the car and I climb in.
I put my sunglasses back in place, though I don’t intend on crying all the way home.
And I don’t.
We reach the gates of the county-sized torture chamber relatively quickly. I head to my room, straight to the shower.
I cry. I growl in frustration because I’m crying in the shower. Again.
But this time there are too many thoughts and feelings.
I’m not sure which of them I’m crying about.
I just know I have to get a handle on this. Tomorrow, Nate and I face my family.
No.
Tomorrow, Icelebrate with my family.
Nate will just be there, guarding in the background.
And I will be fine.
It will all be fine.
27
“About yesterday—” he starts.
“It’s fine. You’ll see today, what I mean about my family.”I cut Nate off. We’ve been driving in silence for a couple hours. We stopped for gas and the restroom, meaning both of us took our headphones out for a moment.
“I’m off tonight after I touch base with Dean and Fergus, but this is a birthday party for your dad, right?” Nate asks, though I’m sure he must already know the occasion.
“It’s a joint party, for that and for my MCAT score and starting med school.” He nods and opens his mouth like he has more questions, but I put my new ear buds in.
My mind has been reeling since our last conversation and I would like to refrain from piling more stuff into the thought tornado I’ve got going on. I have a physical headache in response to psychological turmoil, which is interesting. I read about it for hours, but my thoughts looped back around to why I was reading a huge medical textbook and not sitting at the piano.
Is one more fun or fulfilling than the other? Did I really choose medicine? If my mom hadn’t died, would I have chosen music? Am I even good enough? My teachers always said I was too robotic, too focused on precision and perfection, that I lacked emotion. I can’t possibly compete for a spot in a symphony. Can I?
Buzz
Buzz
