By Meagan Frank
She sways nervously near the curb; shivering involuntarily, and hoping there is more heat in the next breeze that rushes by. The sun is shining, but it just can’t seem to catch the wind long enough to warm it up. She curses herself for setting her sweatshirt on the table in her dorm room, and she contemplates, for the tenth time, whether she’ll have time to run back up to get it.
Had she gone with the arrival of the goosebumps, she would have been down at the curb for the last twenty minutes. She hadn’t gone, and now, if she went back in, she would surely run the risk of missing him.
Another car turns the corner and she inhales expectantly. The car only accelerates, and she lets herself exhale only after the car is clearly past the entrance to the dormitory.
“He’ll come,” she whispers to herself. “He has to.”
She glances at her watch for something to do, but she knows better than to expect the minute hand has stalled. Each time she sneaks a peek, she’s increasingly disappointed about how far the hands have moved past noon.
She knew he would be late, but she expected he’d be there by one, at least, and with each watch-check she has to consider that he just might not be coming at all.
She has ten minutes to decide to make a dash for the dining hall so that she can eat, or she’ll have to forego lunch for the day.
It’s the tireless hope she has in him that keeps her shivering on the curb for fifteen more minutes, and she finally resigns.
No need to head to the dining hall. She knows it’s closed. Instead she heads back into the dorm, holding herself from breaking down to dust as she walks.
She battles with her shaking hands to work the key into the door and she gets herself inside just before the tears overwhelm her.
Her shoulders silently heave with her sobs as she sits herself on the bed and hides herself in her hands. She wants to punch holes in the wall, like she used to, but these stupid dorm walls are made of concrete.
The room is the last place she can stand to be, and she rummages through her closet for some track pants, a long-sleeved shirt and her running shoes.
With purpose she can control, she heads down the stairs and out the door. She runs from the dorm, and the parking lot, and the campus and she chases the falling leaves to the four-mile trail to pound out her anger, her hurt and her disappointment with every step.
At the turn in the trail she slows her run to a walk. The endorphins have done their work, and she sees past her rage. It helps she is at the one quiet place she’s found since arriving for her freshman year. The curtain of overgrown vines hides the entrance, but she knows what waits for her behind those leaves.
She hadn’t walked a labyrinth before a high school counselor had suggested it to her, and it has since become the most valuable tool for recovery she knows. She marks her steps with controlled, meditative breathing, and she walks herself to a serene center. She concentrates on her presence in that physical circle, and she prays for a better idea than what she instinctually wants to do with the anger clawing away at her.
Her eyebrows soften, her heart rate slows and she knows what she will have to do. Mostly she wants to fight against the serene guidance, but she has seen how futile it has been to follow her own emotional instincts.
She walks herself back out of the labyrinth and starts her jogging feet to move herself back to the dorm. The pace is slower and she finds she notices much more about the changing trees, and the fading manicured lawns. She had missed it all on her way out.
Back at the dorm, and glistening with the recent sweat from her run, she drags herself back up to her room. She is grateful her roommate is still gone, and she is going to be able to make this phone call without an audience.
She dials the number with anxious fingers and she braces herself for both the answer, and the answering machine. The rings continue, and she is relieved she can start this conversation in a message.
The message on the other end finishes, “Please leave a message after the tone.”
“Hi….um… Dad? I am not sure what happened today, but I’m sad we didn’t get to have our lunch. “ She pauses, unsure how to best word the next part. “I’m disappointed, and I don’t really understand why this sort of stuff keeps happening,” She pauses again, feeling herself move away from the direction she wants to force herself to go. “I hope you’re okay dad….I do miss you and I just, um, want you to know that I love you, and I forgive you for hurting me today. I don’t know when you might be able to make it to visit me, but I just want you to know, I’ll be here waiting for you when you do. I love you, Dad. Really…I do.”
She sways nervously near the curb; shivering involuntarily, and hoping there is more heat in the next breeze that rushes by. The sun is shining, but it just can’t seem to catch the wind long enough to warm it up. She curses herself for setting her sweatshirt on the table in her dorm room, and she contemplates, for the tenth time, whether she’ll have time to run back up to get it.
Had she gone with the arrival of the goosebumps, she would have been down at the curb for the last twenty minutes. She hadn’t gone, and now, if she went back in, she would surely run the risk of missing him.
Another car turns the corner and she inhales expectantly. The car only accelerates, and she lets herself exhale only after the car is clearly past the entrance to the dormitory.
“He’ll come,” she whispers to herself. “He has to.”
She glances at her watch for something to do, but she knows better than to expect the minute hand has stalled. Each time she sneaks a peek, she’s increasingly disappointed about how far the hands have moved past noon.
She knew he would be late, but she expected he’d be there by one, at least, and with each watch-check she has to consider that he just might not be coming at all.
She has ten minutes to decide to make a dash for the dining hall so that she can eat, or she’ll have to forego lunch for the day.
It’s the tireless hope she has in him that keeps her shivering on the curb for fifteen more minutes, and she finally resigns.
No need to head to the dining hall. She knows it’s closed. Instead she heads back into the dorm, holding herself from breaking down to dust as she walks.
She battles with her shaking hands to work the key into the door and she gets herself inside just before the tears overwhelm her.
Her shoulders silently heave with her sobs as she sits herself on the bed and hides herself in her hands. She wants to punch holes in the wall, like she used to, but these stupid dorm walls are made of concrete.
The room is the last place she can stand to be, and she rummages through her closet for some track pants, a long-sleeved shirt and her running shoes.
With purpose she can control, she heads down the stairs and out the door. She runs from the dorm, and the parking lot, and the campus and she chases the falling leaves to the four-mile trail to pound out her anger, her hurt and her disappointment with every step.
At the turn in the trail she slows her run to a walk. The endorphins have done their work, and she sees past her rage. It helps she is at the one quiet place she’s found since arriving for her freshman year. The curtain of overgrown vines hides the entrance, but she knows what waits for her behind those leaves.
She hadn’t walked a labyrinth before a high school counselor had suggested it to her, and it has since become the most valuable tool for recovery she knows. She marks her steps with controlled, meditative breathing, and she walks herself to a serene center. She concentrates on her presence in that physical circle, and she prays for a better idea than what she instinctually wants to do with the anger clawing away at her.
Her eyebrows soften, her heart rate slows and she knows what she will have to do. Mostly she wants to fight against the serene guidance, but she has seen how futile it has been to follow her own emotional instincts.
She walks herself back out of the labyrinth and starts her jogging feet to move herself back to the dorm. The pace is slower and she finds she notices much more about the changing trees, and the fading manicured lawns. She had missed it all on her way out.
Back at the dorm, and glistening with the recent sweat from her run, she drags herself back up to her room. She is grateful her roommate is still gone, and she is going to be able to make this phone call without an audience.
She dials the number with anxious fingers and she braces herself for both the answer, and the answering machine. The rings continue, and she is relieved she can start this conversation in a message.
The message on the other end finishes, “Please leave a message after the tone.”
“Hi….um… Dad? I am not sure what happened today, but I’m sad we didn’t get to have our lunch. “ She pauses, unsure how to best word the next part. “I’m disappointed, and I don’t really understand why this sort of stuff keeps happening,” She pauses again, feeling herself move away from the direction she wants to force herself to go. “I hope you’re okay dad….I do miss you and I just, um, want you to know that I love you, and I forgive you for hurting me today. I don’t know when you might be able to make it to visit me, but I just want you to know, I’ll be here waiting for you when you do. I love you, Dad. Really…I do.”