Chapter 15 Astonish Me
THIS IS A bad idea , I think, but I don’t say it. I don’t want to kill the excitement I see in Kamila’s eyes as she walks beside me to the car. Andy is waiting for us with his hands on the steering wheel, smiling. I take a deep breath, clenching my fists at my sides.
It’s going to be okay, Klara , I say to myself over and over again.
I need to do this, I need to face life again, for Mom, for Kamila, for Andy, for myself.
The sun feels nice on my face, like it’s awakening my senses and charging me with energy.
I’ve spent so much time indoors recently that even just exposing my skin to sunlight feels like an accomplishment.
I get in the back seat and Kamila sits up front.
Andy glances at me in the rearview mirror. “Black, huh? I liked the pink,” he jokes.
I give him a nervous smile. “I like black, it’s the color of my soul.”
Kamila shakes her head and smiles. “Her dark sense of humor is back, Andy.”
Andy starts the car and I swallow, tightening my grip on the seatbelt that runs across my chest. I take a deep breath and look out the window as we pass trees, houses, stores, people.
I focus on the view in an attempt to stop myself from thinking obsessively about my breathing and the fear that I won’t be able to stop thinking about it.
After explaining my unique situation, Kamila managed to get us a private guided tour of the community college campus today, Saturday, when there will be few students around.
Familiarizing myself with the campus at a time when it’s not crowded will help me feel more comfortable when I start classes.
This was a recommendation from Dr. B., who said that a gradual, thoughtful adaptation process would be best. This campus visit is the first step and then I’ll begin attending one in-person class three days a week this semester.
I have to admit that I’m terrified. My palms are sweating and strings of negative thoughts parade through my mind, but just when I’m ready to give up and go back to my room, those four walls that have become my safe haven, I think of Kamila’s tears and I remember my mother’s words.
I remind myself that it will be hard, but, if I want to recover, I have to do my part.
I wish there was some sort of magic cure for anxiety and depression.
But the cold, cruel reality is that, no matter how much help I have, I will never overcome my depression and anxiety if I don’t actively do something about it.
It’s going to take a lot, because mine was not a mild case by any means, but I’ve made some progress, and that makes me feel like I can do it.
“You know what’s good about hitting rock bottom?
You can only go up from there,” my mother once said.
Those words have always stayed with me. She was such a wise, bold woman, an entrepreneur, so sweet and full of love to give.
I put my hand on the window and feel the warmth of the sun through the glass. I miss her so much.
Andy parks in front of a large sign that reads DURHAM COMMUNITY COLLEGE in black and blue lettering. The main building looks much bigger and more modern than I expected; the pictures online don’t do it justice.
“Ready?” Andy asks, opening the door for me.
I clutch the seatbelt, close my eyes, fill my lungs with air, and let it out slowly to relax the tension in my muscles. I open my eyes, unclick my seatbelt, give Andy a thumbs-up, and step out of the car.
The entrance to the main building is wide with metal and glass doors.
We walk along as Kamila reads the names on several offices until she finds the one she’s looking for.
We knock and are greeted by a woman with short white hair and wrinkles decorating her face.
Next to her is a younger woman with long black hair and a big smile.
“Welcome, Klara.” The younger woman holds out a hand. “I’m Caitlin Romes, one of the counselors here at the college, and this is Mrs. Leach, head of Counseling Services.”
I shake Ms. Romes’s hand and then Mrs. Leach’s.
“We’re delighted to have you here. We’ll do our best to make this process as smooth as possible.”
They both seem nice—not like the kind of people who are just pretending to be nice out of pity.
“Well, let’s get down to it, I’ll show you around campus.”
Ms. Romes guides us from place to place, each building rising between winding walkways and carefully kept green spaces.
There’s a cafeteria, a small fitness center, a library, a bookstore, a field used for various outdoor sports, an indoor court, and my favorite, a student courtyard.
It’s a vibrant open space with a blend of a neatly trimmed lawn, trees that provide plenty of shade, and paved walkways.
Benches and metal tables are dispersed across the courtyard, offering various spaces to sit and relax.
Walking through it, I can’t help but hope one day I’ll get to enjoy its calmness.
As for the buildings, the different wings are modern and spacious: long corridors lined with classrooms, stairways that lead to different levels… just like any other campus, I assume.
Eventually, we arrive at the art exhibition rooms and painting studios, and I get the sense my sister requested that this be one of our stops.
I pause in a doorway, staring at all the tools—brushes, canvases, paints—and students’ work displayed on the walls. And, for the first time in a long time, seeing the process of art being created doesn’t hurt.
“Your sister mentioned that you’re an artist,” says Ms. Romes. “Have you heard of the artist known as Mann, the prominent painter? She’s one of our art instructors here; you’d love her.”
I nod, smiling, and walk away from the door. Getting back into painting is an idea I’ve rejected up until now. It may not hurt so badly to look at art anymore, but from there to painting again is a long way.
Let’s take it one step at a time, Klara .
The campus seems so peaceful without any students around and I don’t think I’d have any difficulty attending classes if it were always like this, but imagining the halls filled with college kids, all staring at me, gives me anxiety.
After the art studio, we head back to the counseling offices, where Ms. Romes shows me a list of college courses and different degree options.
I’m not really sure what career I’d like to pursue, so I opt to enroll as Undecided.
Kamila and I agreed I don’t want to feel overstimulated and overwhelmed for my first semester, so I decide to only take two courses—one online class (ENG-231 American Literature I) and one in-person class (HEA-110 Personal Health/Wellness).
Once my classes are chosen and locked into my schedule, Ms. Romes hands me the campus map and a couple pamphlets, including the one that consists of emergency services and contacts.
I see her name and number on the list, and it somehow brings me a sense of relief.
She’s promised to keep an eye on me and be available for whatever I need, and I’m grateful.
Before we leave, she offers to accompany us to the bookstore to pick up my textbooks, and once everything is settled, we say our goodbyes, and she walks us out the door.
The drive home is quiet. Kamila and Andy ask about what I thought, how I liked the place, etc.
I’m surprised at how positive I feel after visiting campus today, calm even.
I walked by the room where my in-person class will be held and I know where everything is, so I won’t be the typical new girl who has to ask for directions.
I’ll be able to get around on my own, without anyone’s help, and hopefully go unnoticed.
Kang called me after dinner and we’ve been on the phone for a while. I feel more comfortable chatting with him; I still get a little nervous, but since we’ve started talking almost every day, I’ve gotten used to his voice.
“I don’t understand what it is you like about the secondary characters,” he says.
I’m sitting down at my usual spot by the window, the one that holds many memories of past conversations between my mom and me.
I just told him that when I watch Korean dramas, I often dislike the main love interest and I fall instead for the guy whose heart is broken by the main character who is hopelessly in love with the leading man.
“The secondary love interest is always a sweet, tender guy who treats the protagonist well from the beginning. Why should we all fall for the bad guy who makes the girl suffer?”
“Well, when you put it that way, it makes sense. But in real life, the nice guy never gets the girl.”
“That’s not true. I, for one, am not into bad guys.”
“So, you like nice guys, you say?”
I bite my lips—a habit I’ve picked up since I started talking to Kang—feeling nervous. “Who doesn’t?”
“Girls always go for the ‘bad boy’ type, like Erick.” Kang told me that he and Erick have been friends for a long time and that Erick is quite the ladies’ man.
“Not all girls.”
He laughs quietly. “And am I a good guy or a bad guy, Klara?”
As always, hearing him say my name melts me completely, immobilizes me in a good way, a completely different way from when I have a panic attack; I’ll never get used to it. “I’m still trying to work that one out.”
He laughs again. I’d like to make him laugh like that all the time. “How can I help make up your mind, then?”
“That’s for you to come up with on your own. If I told you, that would be cheating.”
“Fair enough. Though it would be a lot easier if you let me prove it to you in person. I’m a lot more charming that way.”
I wish I could, Kang, more than anything.
“I’ll think about it,” I lie.
“Well, this guy, who could either be good or bad, is going to sleep now.”
“Good night, Kang.”
“Good night, Klara.”