24 You Can Get Everything You Want in Life If You Can Handle a Little Fear
24
You Can Get Everything You Want in Life If You Can Handle a Little Fear
I barely saw Trey the next two days. He was busy with clients and had to dash down to Syracuse to give a talk on bioclimatic architecture. I spent the whole week buried in books I had to shelve and manuscripts I had to correct.
Late one Saturday afternoon, Mr. Norris, my grandmother’s lawyer, came to see me at the bookstore to sign some documents. He was a nice man with elegant manners who reminded me of a movie star in the fifties. And that made me think of Adele, whom I’d almost forgotten since I’d come back.
On Sunday, I got a message from Hayley. They had just landed in Florence, where they’d be spending a couple of days. Then they’d continue on to Paris, and would fly back home from there on Thursday. I was dying to see her. I had a million things to tell her, and I wanted to share all the new things I was feeling. Until then, I’d have to content myself with a four-legged furry friend who liked to climb on the sofa and stare at me.
I don’t know what I was thinking when I told Trey I’d take care of Sisuei while he was away. I didn’t know the first thing about dogs, and I could hardly take care of myself. Trey must have realized this, because his expression was skeptical when he said yes.
I looked over at Sisuei, and his ears stiffened. He was a pleasant creature, and after just a few hours together and one walk around the block, I felt like we were the best of friends. When he saw I wasn’t taking him anywhere, he groaned softly, and I chuckled. I got it. I was starting to get bored, too.
“You know what, Sisuei? Today we’re going to have lunch outside. That way you’ll get your ass off the couch for a while.”
He followed me into the kitchen as I looked out the window. The day was sunny, and it was hot for that time of year. I made a salad and a couple of sandwiches and tossed them into my backpack with a blanket before rolling my bicycle outside.
It took me a moment to feel comfortable pedaling with Sisuei’s leash around my wrist. I was too scared of falling to relax. But Sisuei was a good companion: he stayed beside the bike and was attentive to my movements, and he knew what I was going to do before I did. I was supposed to take care of him, but he was taking care of me, and I could have hugged him, I was so grateful.
We went to the Montreal Botanic Garden, one of the prettiest places in the city. Nearly two hundred acres of plants, flowers, and greenhouses. After paying, I walked straight to the Chinese Garden, which was my favorite. I found a peaceful spot and sat down to eat. Sisuei didn’t even blink as he observed me, mouth watering.
Have I ever told you I can’t say no to anyone?
I tore off pieces of the sandwich for him, hearing Trey shouting at me in my head that I was only supposed to give him dog food. But those little pellets were disgusting-looking and they smelled like liver. According to him, they had all the nutrients a dog needed, and the sugar and fats in human food was bad for dogs. But what was the harm in a little chicken and tomato? They were natural, plus I always bought organic. And they must have tasted way better than his food, which looked like rabbit droppings.
“If you don’t tell him, I won’t,” I said to the dog as he devoured one last bite and almost swallowed one of my fingers. I stroked him behind the ears, and he licked my cheek.
It was a little gross, that trail of saliva on my face, but it didn’t keep me from loving him more and more with every second that passed.
When we were done, we both lay down on the grass, and when we got up, we walked beneath the trees. Sisuei kept pressing his nose into my hand, trying to get me to pet him. I didn’t know why he needed my attention all the time, but I liked it. I could get used to having a dog, walking him, the constant companionship. Even Trey didn’t make me feel as necessary or important as Sisuei did when he gave me one of those looks full of longing. I’d never had an experience like that before.
We returned home at dusk. When we turned the corner for our street, Sisuei became frantic, and soon I realized why: Trey was waiting for us in the doorway, sitting on his suitcase. He stood as soon as he noticed our presence.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“I can’t tell you how much I love such a passionate welcome-home,” he said, and I laughed, letting him embrace me and relishing his scent. I closed my eyes, feeling an almost unbearable throbbing beneath my skin. “I came back early. I couldn’t stand spending another night away from home. I missed you too much.”
He kissed me slowly while Sisuei walked around us in circles groaning like a puppy. Trey let me go to give him some attention. He barked and jumped around, and when he finally calmed down, we entered the house.
We had dinner and wound up on the floor on a pile of cushions watching a movie. Then we went for a walk so Sisuei could do his business before bed.
We went to La Fontaine, and in the park, Trey took Sisuei off his leash so he could run around. We walked the path, not talking, as if words no longer had a point. The only sound was the rustle of leaves in the wind and the water in a nearby fountain. Now and then, Trey would look over at me or kiss me for no reason, first soft, then so passionately that I would writhe with frustration when he pulled away.
I sighed and looked up into the black, empty sky.
“It’s so empty. It’s nothing like Petit Prince,” I whispered.
“It is, though. It just looks different.” He wove his fingers through mine and spun me around to face him. “Do you miss the island?”
“A little, yeah. I miss the freedom I felt there. The…feeling of home.”
“But you can be just as free here. You can be happy, you can have everything you want if you try.”
Curious, I asked him, “Do you?”
“I feel like I do. Sometimes.” He shrugged. “I want them, at least.”
“Having and wanting aren’t the same thing. They’re not even close to the same thing.”
He shook his head. I could tell there was something he was trying to say, but he couldn’t find the way.
“I know, you’re right, but I know what I want, and I know I’ll always fight for it, and in a way, that’s much more important than having it.” He pulled my hand until we were standing under a tree whose leafy branches fell like curtains, concealing us. He held my face and stared at me. “I know I want to enjoy my life. That every minute of it counts. That I need to do what I love, what moves me. Be free. Choose. Choose how, when, where, why, with whom. But I already know the answer to that last one. It’s with you.”
Knowing he wanted me like that made me feel sure of myself. Knowing he needed me—that was a new feeling, and it was addictive.
“Why do we always end up having these serious, intense conversations?” he asked. I shrugged, and he shook his head. “Just so you know, I’m not usually like this.”
“Oh, you aren’t? What are you usually like?”
“A dumb jerk.”
I giggled. “I doubt that. I see you as a deep, sensitive, romantic man.”
“Romantic? My idea of romance used to be telling a girl I liked her tits and ass. I thought that was the best compliment you could give. But I have to admit, it usually worked.”
“You never said anything like that to me,” I said, pinching him.
“With you I just think it. All the time. But when I open my mouth, all that comes out is how much I like your smile, the sound of your voice, the smell of your skin, your contradictions, your craziness. It just emerges involuntarily.”
I scowled at him.
“You think I’m crazy?” I asked.
“Crazy about me!”
“Dear Lord, you’re just as bad as I am.”
Looking like a mischievous child about to play a prank, he whispered, “You bet I am,” and leaned in close. “I’m crazy, too. Crazy about touching you, about kissing you all over, about fucking you. I think about that all the time, too.”
I blushed. I wasn’t used to a man talking dirty, and it lit a fire inside me.
I realized something then, as his stare burned into me: I was still free. Freedom had followed me here. It lived inside me. And I understood something else, the meaning of a word I had never really grasped before then. Home.
Home isn’t a place, it’s the person or people who love you.
That night, at that moment, home was that tree we were hiding under.
And later, it was my bed, our kisses, the wild, ferocious fire between us.
Flames, lust, impatience, possession.
Primitive, instinctive sex.
And afterward, his arms were my home as I fell asleep, exhausted. His breath on my neck. The calm after the storm.
My home was him.
As long as it lasted.
The next day, I went to Toronto.
Leaving the airport, I watched through the window of the taxi as we headed toward my apartment in the Annex, a student neighborhood near the university. I thought and thought, went over each and every step I had to take. First I’d go to school and talk with my advisor. I knew dropping out would disappoint him, but I was sure of my choice, and that was enough for me. I didn’t need a bunch of extra letters coming after my name to make myself feel special.
Then I’d go to the publisher to announce my departure. I’d hand in the revisions that were due and close that stage of my life with a smile.
When I entered the apartment, I was pleased to find it just as I had left it.
I picked up the letters my landlady had been sliding under the door and took a glance at them. There was nothing interesting apart from an invitation to a poetry reading at the White Rabbit, a bohemian café. And that had already taken place the Friday before.
I threw my suitcase on the bed and called the moving company I’d hired to confirm what time they’d be coming to pick up my things.
Then I went outside and caught the streetcar down Bloor Street to campus. There were students all over, walking, reading on the grass, laughing, conversing. I watched them, thinking how I’d never been like them; I was the type who was always in the library studying. If I made a list of the people I’d talked to with any regularity in Toronto, I doubted I could come up with more than a handful.
A part of me regretted not trying harder. Not looking for friends, not going out more. I wished I’d done that instead of spending four years working my fingers to the bone to show myself I could do something—something I could hardly even remember the point of anymore.
I entered the imposing Jackman Building, with its fake marble pillars, and headed to Professor Cook’s office. When he saw me come in, he smiled, took off his glasses, and laid them on his desk, watching me sit down.
“Let me guess: I’m not going to like it, right?”
I shook my head and shrugged, already apologetic.
“I think I could use a coffee and a sandwich to help me absorb the blow. Are you hungry?”
“Honestly, yes.”
We left the building and walked to Subway. I ordered a chicken teriyaki sub, chips, and a juice. Then we went to a park nearby and sat on a bench. I told him about my worries and fears, my personal situation, and where I actually saw myself in coming years.
Professor Cook listened to me while he ate, giving the impression he understood.
“You must think I’m making a huge mistake…”
He took a deep breath, balling up his napkin.
“Harper, you’re one of the best students I’ve had in all my years of teaching. I know for certain that you would have a bright future as a researcher. Your paper on the feminine image in medieval Spanish literature was brilliant. Your study on censorship in your second year knocked me off my feet. If you go into publishing, you’ll bring a new vision with you, one we all need at a time when rushing things to the market means every book turns out the same. You remember that when we talked about that in class, I found your analysis of it very sharp. And yet…” He paused for a moment. “And yet, I don’t think you’re making a mistake. University is a place you come to learn what your dreams are, to start understanding your goals. If you want to write, Harper, write. The world needs more minds like yours, sensitive, critical, and people will want to know your thoughts. All of us need to find our place in the world. If that’s yours, you need to go for it.”
I was deeply relieved, and I smiled at him, and he smiled back. We said our goodbyes not long afterward, and I walked to the registrar’s office to officially resign from the program.
Later, I went to the publisher. Simon & Schuster was on 166 King Street East, thirty minutes away on foot—a long but necessary walk to shake off my nerves. I was so lost in thought, still tossing over everything Professor Cook had said, that I hardly realized I’d made it there until I saw the offices in front of me. I climbed the steps and walked through the door. My heart always skipped a beat when my feet touched that blue and yellow carpet. I walked toward Ryan Radcliffe’s office. His assistant, Gwen, was sitting at her desk.
“Harper!” she said when she saw me.
“Hey, Gwen, how are you?”
“Good, thanks. Busy as ever, but you know how things go around here.” I nodded. They were always going full-speed, but the collegial atmosphere made up for the pressure. “What about you? We’ve missed you here. Especially Ryan. You were spoiling him.”
“Sorry. I needed time to work out some things.”
“Don’t mention it. I understand. It’s not easy, losing someone you love that much.”
“Is Ryan in his office?”
“Yeah, I’ll tell him you’re here.”
Gwen lifted the receiver and dialed his number. Seconds later, Ryan Radcliffe opened the door to his office.
“Harper, come in.”
He invited me to sit down and took his place behind his desk.
“I’m happy to have you back. How…how are you?”
“A lot better, thanks.”
“I’m glad to hear it. We sent flowers for the funeral. I hope you got them.”
“I did. They were gorgeous. Thank you.”
“It’s nothing. You’ve found your place here. You’re one of us now.”
Oh God! This was going to be harder than I’d hoped. I blinked to stop myself from crying. “Ryan, I need to tell you something…”
I didn’t go into details. I didn’t even tell him I was planning to become a writer. I wasn’t completely honest in that moment, and I don’t know why. I used my family as an excuse and said I needed to start over close to them. In his face, I could see he didn’t understand me, but he knew there was nothing he could do to change my mind.
I handed him a stick drive with all my work finished and tried to tell him all it had meant for me to be part of his team and how much I had learned in my months there.
As soon as I was outside, I had to lean against the wall to catch my breath. I’d gotten past my insecurities, but that didn’t mean they were gone forever, and the symptoms now were coming back to haunt me. I looked up in the sky and sucked in as much air as I could. I’d done it. I’d said goodbye to my present and to what I’d always thought would be my future to try to become the person I thought I could be.
I was out of my mind.
I started laughing, so hard I had to sit on the ground. The people walking past must have thought I had utterly lost it.
The sun was starting to dip behind the buildings, and the cool air raised goose bumps on my skin. I bought a burrito from a food truck on the corner. I left the bag on my kitchen counter when I got home and changed into a pair of sweatpants and a ratty T-shirt. I opened all the windows to air out the apartment, which smelled of dust and damp. Then I sat on the fire escape with my phone and dialed Trey’s number.
I waited impatiently for him to pick up. On the fourth tone, I heard the following: I’m sorry, the number you have dialed is not in service, unless you are a wonderful and very sexy girl I’d love to have on my sofa right now.
I giggled and covered my mouth with my hand when I realized a woman in the next building over was watching me.
“What would you do with that naked girl on your sofa, then?”
“My intentions are bad. Always. I’d make her orgasm until she passed out.”
“Well, what a lucky, sexy girl she is, then. How about if you take your clothes off and open the door right now. Maybe you’ll find out she’s got a bad streak, too, and she’s standing there waiting for you…”
“Are you for real?” he said.
“Only if you can figure out a way to teleport me over.”
“Dammit!” He sighed. “It’s not nice to play with my feelings like that.”
“Don’t tell me you actually went to the door?” I laughed, imagining him doing it.
“Yeah, ha ha, very funny.”
I wished just then that I really had gone there, that I could watch the door open and see him appear. “I love to know you’re missing me.”
“I never said I was missing you.”
“I also love you getting all pissy like a little boy. Let me guess—you’re going to make me pay for this?”
“You better believe it. How did everything go today?”
“Well. I think. I don’t know. What I mean is…I know I did what I had to so I could be fair with myself, but it felt…weird.”
“You’re weird. That’s one of the things I like about you. And I’ve realized something about you. I think I know what you need.”
“You do?”
“Yeah,” he said. “You need to do different things from before, connect with the new you. How about if we take off for the mountains this weekend? Get some clean air, some exercise, some together time.”
“You know I’m not big on exercise.”
“I didn’t say what kind.”
All right, then. Any plan that included him was up my alley.
“I’d love to. But my brother and sister are coming back this week and I’d like to see them. It’s been a while, and…I need to tell them about us, too.”
“Harper, about that… If you don’t mind, I’d like to be the one to tell Hoyt. He’s my best friend, and I want to do it the right way. It matters to me. You get that, don’t you?”
I agreed. I was excited to share something that made me so happy with him and Hayley, but I understood the position Trey was in.
“Of course. It makes perfect sense.” Excited at the thought of seeing him in just a few days, I asked, “Will you come get me at the airport?”
“I’ll be there.”
“Good night, Trey.”
“Good night, babe.”
That babe had sounded so sweet, I nearly hyperventilated. All I needed was his voice to make me feel free, crazy, chaotic, unpredictable. And also scared, dependent, exposed. If only I could find balance and stop oscillating from one side to the other. Going constantly up and down. Struggling with the fear that was always lurking just behind me.
Suddenly I remembered a phrase: You can get everything you want in life if you can handle a little fear. My mother used to say that when we got scared of new things. The first day of school, riding a bike.
My mother.
I saw her for a moment, her wild blond hair pulled into a long braid, her vitality seeming to multiply itself as she clapped for me and shouted while I pedaled one foot after another until I made it all the way around the fountain.
Maybe it wasn’t so bad, being afraid.
Maybe it was one more part of the motor that kept me living.
Maybe it was necessary, because feeling pain is better than feeling nothing at all.