Chapter 19 #2
Her monologue gets cut short. She glances at me, we share those silent words, and she nods.
“What are you going to do, though? If you and Locke are together, and someone decides to open their mouth and criticize you for it?”
The heaviness of criticize you and not criticize you both hang in the air. It weighs down on my shoulders painfully.
“Nothing, I guess?”
“You’re not going to pursue things with Locke, then?”
Liliana’s mouth turns down into a frown, and I follow.
“Of course I am. I really like him.”
“Okay, great.” The corner of her mouth twitches, but it doesn’t raise. “There’s no issue then. You two become whatever it is you want to become, and all is well.”
My shoulders are still falling under the bulk of what my peers are going to inevitably say about me. So much so, I can’t be bothered wondering what it is I want to become with Locke.
I sigh. “I have every intention of being with Locke. The constant shit I’m going to get from the guys in my program will just be annoying to deal with, that’s all.”
My body falls back into my chair. Limbs weak, spirit down. I sip through my vanilla cappuccino for too long, waiting for something to lift me up, or Liliana to speak. I chug the entire thing in one-go before she breaks the silence.
“That’s it then?” I’ve slid halfway off my chair and have to tilt my head up to see her expression. When we make eye contact, her face scrunches.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“You guess?” Her drink makes contact with the table.
A wet spot forms on her sleeve where the condensation gets absorbed, but she’s too focused on me.
The fabric gets pushed into her chest when she crosses her arms. “If someone starts to badger you about your life—your own life—you’re just going to let them?
You’re not even going to try and push back? ”
I avoid eye contact with her, but I can feel the heat of her stare. “It’s not that easy. We’re adults. There’s no tattling to a teacher because my classmates are being mean. These guys are probably going to be in the same professional circle as me too. Maybe even my colleagues.” I wince.
Nearly a year of it has already been hell. The thought of seeing these people and being a subject of their bullying well into my career makes me want to puke.
“Standing up for myself would just provoke them.”
“Then provoke them!” Her foot kicks me under the table.
She should’ve hit my ankle, but my body lazily hanging of the side makes her foot connect with my calf instead.
“They’re afraid of you because you’re better than them.
They make you feel small because they don’t know any other way to get an upper hand on you. Don’t give them one.”
It stings. Not Liliana’s words necessarily—but the fact that she doesn’t need to say them. I know.
I tried to tell myself these things when the boys began souring my experience in the program. For a while, it helped. Once in a while, the same mantra gives me some relief.
It’s always temporary. The feeling of being beaten down repeatedly, no matter how hard I try to keep my chin up, has made me shrink. Sometimes, I think it’s to the point of undoing. I’m going to be small and shrunken as a woman in this industry forever.
Opening my heart is my fatal flaw, and letting myself be vulnerable to this point is the consequence. I feel too much, and too deeply, and this is where it’s gotten me.
I shimmy back onto the chair and find interest in my drink again. Anything but looking in Liliana’s eyes when I speak.
“This is just the way it is, Lil. If I stand up for myself, I’m too emotional. If I let it go, I’m a pushover. Either way, I’m wrong. I never win. At least, if I grit my teeth and wait it out, I can lose with my dream job. A consolation prize is better than nothing.”
It feels like acid on my tongue. The thing I’ve wanted for my entire life is now becoming my consolation prize.
Sometimes I wonder, if I realized a master’s program would be this tiring on my mental health, would I have even tried? With the knowledge that I would only be judged for the basics of who I am, and not at all for the skills I can provide?
My jaw clenches. I would hate every minute of it, but for the little girl who was always too excited in math class, I would grit my teeth and do it.
Liliana groans and drops her head onto her hand. “That’s completely unfair. And stupid. You’re better than them.”
“I know.”
My best friend continues to complain about how hard it is to simply exist as a woman, and I go through the motions of agreeing with her. There’s nothing else I’ve become more familiar with in the last year.
We have one more round of coffee, discuss the short story she’s turning into a novella, and rant again about the boys in my cohort before calling it a night. When I get home, there’s two slices of pizza left on the counter, and Locke sitting on the sofa.
We decide, for once, that instead of losing ourselves in films or video games, we’ll be productive and do homework. Finish some assignments that actually contribute to our degree.
I finish most of my tasks. Locke seems to get some of his done, before he lightly drops his laptop to the ground and kisses me into the couch cushions.
When it’s late into the night and we can’t sacrifice anymore sleep for a make out session, we brush our teeth side-by-side in the bathroom mirror and hug for too long in the hallway.
And while my head is comfortably placed on my pillow, eyes drifting off peacefully, I hold onto one thing: I’ve been dealt unfair cards, but I refuse to let them define the hand I play.
As frustrating as my situation is, I won’t let that stop me from accomplishing my goals or being with the man I’ve come to care about so deeply.