Page 61 of Never Thought I'd End Up Here
There’s nothing for me.
I repeat the words in my head, and then out loud, sobbing them over and over to myself like I’m trying to build up immunity, but it cuts deep enough to bleed each time. Hurts in new, different ways.There’s nothing for me. There’s nothing for me anywhere. There’s nothing left.I wasn’t good enough at the only thing I’m good at. Everything I did was for nothing. Everything I gave up just landed me here, alone at the very bottom.
I wipe my eyes roughly with my sleeve, my ribs aching, the weeds tickling my bare ankles. I’m walking so fast that I almost don’t notice the cow crossing the road.
I stop, rub my eyes again, my surprise freezing my tears in place. The cow stares serenely back at me under a trickle of moonlight, its large brown eyes following me as I step forward. It occurs to me that I’ve never really seen a cow up close before, and there’s something majestic about the way it lifts its heavy head to the stars, the gloss of its deep brown fur. It’s chewing grass, its mouth moving in a slow rhythm, like it has all the time it needs.
And for a moment, I forget that my world is ending.
“Hello,” I say softly, through sniffles.
The cow’s ears flicker toward the sound of my voice. Another breeze ruffles the paddies, their surfaces darkening with movement, and the night air turns cooler, the scent of it sweet and laced with Osmanthus. The landscape flows around the creature like a poem, and I’m stunned by how readily my heart makes room for beauty, even at a time like this.
“Did my cow startle you?” An elderly woman walks over from the same place the cow had appeared, wisps of silvery-white hair floating around her bun. She has the sort of face you would stop to ask for directions in a foreign city: Her broad features are kind, her eyes crinkling when she says, “Don’t be afraid. She doesn’t like to bite people.”
“I—I know. I’m not afraid of her,” I say in Chinese, reaching out to the cow. She meets me halfway, bumping her nose gently against my hand, her fur so much softer than I expected, and warm, as if she had been lying down in a sunny orchard just before.
“Then why are you crying?” the woman asks.
My throat threatens to close up again. I could blame it on something else, anything: allergies, a sad movie I watched, a silly argument with a friend. But it’s like I’ve forgotten how to lie and act nonchalant, or maybe I’ve just never been good at indifference. The instinct—the impulse—to tell the truth is overwhelming. “Because I failed.”
“You failed?” she repeats, her voice free of judgment. There’s only concern and more patience than I deserve. “At what?”
“Everything,” I say tearily, not even bothering to hold together the last cracks in my composure anymore. I fumble for the right words in Chinese. “My life. I—I have no idea what to do or where to go. Everyone else has their own talents, like a sport or an instrument or a subject in school, and they’re all heading off to college with some idea of what they want, and it’s like they were all made for something. But I’m not smart enough, and I’m not athletic, and I’m not particularly likable, and I’m not that funny or interesting, and I don’t even have a five-day plan, let alone a five-year plan. Maybe I’ll never be better than this,” I whisper, still patting the cow. It’s the closest thing to comfort that I have right now. “Maybe I’m just not cut out for anything.”
If I were the woman, and a stranger had just given me this deeply depressing speech while using my cow as their emotional support animal, I would probably be fleeing into the distance.
But she smiles at me, and with a sharp pang, I remember how my nainai would smile across the dinner table at me while I ate the chicken soup noodles she’d cooked, like I was the most precious thing she had ever seen. Like the simple fact that I existed was a joy.
“It’ll work out,” she tells me.
My voice trembles. “But—what if it doesn’t?”
“Look at the sky,” she says.
“What?”
“Look at the sky,” she repeats steadily.
I do, and at first I have no idea what I’m meant to be looking at. There’s nothing. But then the sky opens up. The stars are brighter than I’ve ever seen them, like pinpricks in the velvet darkness, letting the light in. Entire constellations lie above me, endless, eternal, and there’s a feeling I can’t name stirring deep inside my chest, like reaching the bridge of your favorite song. The fresh gash of the memory doesn’t disappear from my mind, but it’s just one star of many, glistening in the night.
Slowly, I breathe out.
“Leah?”
I spin around at the sound of Daisy’s voice. She’s stopped a yard away from me, her arm half-outstretched, hesitant, like she’s not sure what to do next, but maybe that’s just because I’m standing next to a cow. Then she sees the tears dampening my face or maybe just the look in my eyes and she rushes forward.
The old woman steps politely to the side, leading the cow out of the way.
“Are you okay?” Daisy asks, squeezing my hand.
I’d been expecting plenty of questions, fromWhy didn’t you tell us you were a model?toWhat the hell were you thinking when you did that photo shoot?But not this one.
“Why—why are you here?” My voice catches.
“What?” She looks confused by my confusion.
“That photo shoot … you saw it, everyone saw it. And I’m not even a model anymore,” I babble, aware that I’m probably making zero sense. “You don’t gain anything out of being friends with me, so why did you follow me?”
