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  We make college a priority in our lives, though, letting other things shift to the back burner. Our perspective is distorted. There are so many things that mean more than earning a piece of paper that says you stuck with something until the end. Money is just numbers, and we put so much stock in it. Those numbers keep growing while they command so much of our lives. Like the numbers on the scale, we pay too much attention to them.

  College is supposed to teach you the ins and outs of a designated field. In my case, it was grammar and literary devices. I had to work my ass off now so hopefully in a few years I’d make more money doing a job I could have learned how to do without a college degree. Some people attend class and learn. They absorb the knowledge of their subject and are prepared to work in that field for the rest of their life, but the normal college student? They study just enough to regurgitate the information, earn a solid grade, and forget everything.

  Most people just major in booze, booty dancing, and babes, anyway. The three Rs became the three Bs in my generation.

  Four years of college—if you’re lucky enough to graduate in four years—seems like a long time. In reality, it’s the same time frame as high school. Freshman, sophomore, junior, senior—four years I’d spent preparing for what was to come when I’d be an actual adult, not just pretending to be one.

  It was seeming less and less likely that writing could actually pay my bills. I’d probably spend my life writing articles for an unpopular magazine with no subscribers. I could see the fabulous titles: What does your handwriting say about you? Is your dog afraid of the dark? Are you ever too old to change jobs?

  “I think I’m one of those people who would have benefited from finding myself first, before I came to college and spent all this time and money on an education,” I told Sherri. “But if you don’t start college right after high school, people make you feel inadequate, ashamed. So now, here I am, four years later, trying to decide what’s going to make me happy for the rest of my life when I’m not even fully sure who I am yet.”

  Was I the norm, though? Or was I the exception?

  I went on, almost contradicting myself. “I would never tell a child or teenager not to pursue college or to give up on education. I don’t think that’s practical in today’s world, but I wish it didn’t have to be like that.”

  Say the life expectancy is around eighty years. So this four or five years you spend on college is really only a small chunk of life, only five percent, one-twentieth of your blank pages.

  We spend that five percent focusing on the future. We spend too much time on resume-building workshops. We’re told we need to look impressive to potential employers. I didn’t want to build a life that looked good on paper, though. I wanted to live it.

  All we get is a lifetime. That seems like a long time when you’re twenty-one and banking on forever. The truth is, we never know how long a life is going to be. We aren’t guaranteed years. We aren’t guaranteed months or days. We’re given what we’re given, and it’s up to us to make every day count, every blank page. I didn’t want to waste my time and amount to nothing. I was afraid of being forgotten among the nothingness of life.

  CHAPTER 21

  “I QUIT LIFE.”

  “What?” Jules questioned from her blanket fort on the couch. She muted the TV, presumably assuming from my face that I was close to having a meltdown, which was a pretty spot-on assumption.

  “I just completed my last final. It sucked. So did the three before it.”

  If I’d had class the next day, I’d have been protesting with signs on the quad. Give me a break, or give me death. Okay, so not death, but like a couple hours of migraines or something. Thankfully, Christmas break was officially starting in the morning.

  “I’ve been trying for months to step out of my comfort zone and nothing’s happening. I’m failing at life.” Half of my senior year was over, and I’d done nothing. I was in the same place I’d been in at the end of the summer. A whole season had passed with very little change in my life.

  She rolled her eyes at the dramatics. “You are not failing at life. You’re living. Besides, giving Ben a chance was really far out of your comfort zone, and that’s going great.”

  “I don’t want to just get by, though. It is going great, but I told you, I didn’t mean dating. I want to do more than endure. I want to flourish under the things that should break me. I complain about college, I know, but this is the time we have to do the fun stuff, the non-responsibility stuff, and I feel like I’m wasting it.”

  “Then do it!”

  “Do what, though?” I asked her.

  “Whatever you want.” She shrugged. “What do you want to do, Lex?”

  “Go somewhere.” Wanderlust had hit me hard. I was tired of living my life around due dates. How dare responsibilities get in the way of my impromptu travel urges? Wanderlust doesn’t care about prior engagements. “Anywhere.”

  So that’s what I did. I had a rough plan of exploring the nearby areas without constraint.

  “Be safe.” I felt his breath more than I heard him. He kissed a line down my cheek before planting one on my mouth.

  “You know I’ll be here tomorrow right?” I half-laughed like I didn’t enjoy the attention.

  “For one night, and then you’ll be home for weeks. This is like a practice goodbye.” All the oxytocin being released in my body from his hug was making my brain swirl. Maybe I didn’t really need this time to myself. Maybe all I needed was to stay in his arms for the next forty-eight hours. It was tempting, but I still wanted some adventure.

  Thankfully, the drive wasn’t a bad one. With no traffic and the right music, I enjoyed my time alone singing my heart out to the open road.

  Before I even made it to the city limits, I veered off the highway in search of the peace promoted by a natural setting. Ignoring the monotonous tone of the GPS informing me it was redirecting, I followed the signs for a waterfall nestled on the other side of a wooded park.

  After parking and grabbing my camera, I followed the walking path to the pool at the bottom of a thirty-five foot waterfall. It wasn’t warm enough to swim in, but there were a few other visitors admiring the beauty of nature. This local landmark was comfort for the traveler and the resident. The wild waterfall had not been rearranged by man, and so had kept its beauty.

  The water sang to my ears. I sat on the edge of a dry rock and breathed in the tranquility of finishing another semester, with only one more left. The water fell down the cliffs like magic, and it was magic. This masterpiece of nature was magic. We get so busy rushing at the pace of life we forget to stop and appreciate every beautiful thing about creation. We should adopt the patience of nature. If you are too busy to look for the beauty in the world, you’re never going to find it, and I was tired of not finding it. So, I sat on the edge of that rock and thought about how to make my world more beautiful.

  After I stopped for a falling-apart, loaded-down sandwich (because it’s illegal to eat healthy on vacation), I photographed a couple tourist attractions. By the time I was loaded down with shopping bags, the sun was setting and I was yawning too much to ignore sleep. The cloudless night provided the perfect opportunity for stargazing as I walked the three blocks back to my hotel. Of course, I was clutching pepper spray in my right hand, but when I wasn’t concentrating on being prepared for self-defense, I was admiring the beautiful celestial landscape.

  I’d never been able to point out constellations. If I got lucky, the Big Dipper and Little Dipper sometimes jumped out at me, but I couldn’t tell you where Orion’s Belt was or how Cassiopeia represented a queen.

  I was in a new town, away from campus, away from home, and yet these were the same stars that shined down on me every night. These were the same stars I’d wished to when I wanted a pony for my seventh birthday, the same stars I’d begged to give me a passing grade on my chemistry final two years earlier—at least I thought they were. My knowledge of the universe was somewhat lacking, but I wanted to believ
e we were all looking up at the stars and dreaming.

  It was after eleven when I made it back to my hotel room. I fell into the freshly laundered sheets without changing into my pajamas or brushing my teeth. I simply closed my eyes and dreamed about tomorrow’s adventures.

  CHAPTER 22

  THERE ARE VERY few things that make me happy before eight in the morning, and there are even fewer that make me happier than fresh coffee in a cute mug. One of those things was the pitter-patter of a slow rain. Another? Used bookstores. It was going to be a good day.

  Sipping on my very large, very sweetened coffee, I let myself step out of the rain into the small, overcrowded bookstore. The sign on the front window that faced Main Street indicated the shop had been family owned and operated for over forty years.

  Appreciation filled me as I drifted through the aisles. The cozy atmosphere was accentuated by congested shelves, faint music, and the smell of knowledge that only comes from old books. The sound of rain on the roof mingling with soft lullabies comforted me while I shuffled up and down aisles, picking out books at random, hoping to discover something I didn’t know I was looking for, waiting for a treasure to find me.

  Old books served a medicinal purpose, and they were just what my weary soul needed. Tattered editions restored the balance of my core. My spirit longed to feel the worn pages of tales that had affected lives before me.

  Don’t get me wrong, I love a pristine cover, a spine that hasn’t been bent, pages that haven’t been tampered with, and shiny new cover art that doesn’t include the movie version with overly attractive actors, but there’s something marvelous about finding a book that’s been loved on. With its frayed edges and creased spine, you know it’s going to be a masterpiece. You know it’s holding some love for you.

  Browsing the shelves one by one led me to a small enclave housing a big fluffy chair. I took it as an invitation. I hadn’t found anything for me. Well, I couldn’t really say that. I’d found numerous books I wanted, but I didn’t know how to choose which ones to buy. I did, however, splurge on a book for Ben. It was a fairytale anthology. I had no doubt he’d be less than enthusiastic about the unforgivable truth of the original stories, but I knew he’d laugh at the gift.

  Not all stories make us happy. Not all of them are meant to. Sometimes sadness is the only way to show the truth, and sometimes the truth is what we need to see, even if we’d rather not. Sometimes it’s bigger than happiness. Sometimes it’s bigger than us.

  An hour passed of me turning pages bearing tales of dragons and princesses before I was ready to continue down the narrow path into other genres. I tried to vary my reading materials with some nonfiction, some fiction, and some science fiction to balance out the romance. I couldn’t read too many fairy tales, or I’d start to believe the world only knows how to end in happily ever after. Books that showed the world in its reality kept me at equilibrium.

  I had to cross over genres—romance, science fiction, horror—and occasionally you find a true gem that blends them. I wanted them to intermingle, because life does. Our lives aren’t separated into categories. We live each day blurring the lines between tragedy and comedy. The guy doesn’t always get the girl. The hero doesn’t always prevail. Unfortunately, that’s the truth of our existence. Fortunately, the hope exists—for the guy, for the hero, for the average, for me.

  I submerged myself into the paperbacks that overflowed from the tall shelves. I immersed myself in the layers of stories that called to me. I soaked in tales of heroic bravery, unrequited love, and daring adventure.

  Browsing books is a bit like snorting cocaine, or I assumed it was. It’s addicting. Breathing in the aroma of the old manuscripts provided a fix I’d chase and keep chasing for as long as I could, never being satisfied, never able to be filled. My to-read list was longer than the days in a year, and it continually grew based on recommendations, bestseller lists, and the lack of self-control in bookstores. Knowing I’d die before completing it didn’t discourage me. It’d never stop me from trying.

  Unfortunately, dusk was quickly approaching, and my hours of perusing had to come to a close if I wanted to make it back home before dark.

  My sense of adventure was often limited to fictional escapades, although I’d been trying to do better. On the way home, I realized the beauty in coming home from a much needed adventure. There’s comfort in home, in laying your head on a pillow that recognizes your face and covers that remember how you like to cuddle, and it’s even better when you roll over and see a body that missed you just as much as you missed him.

  As much as I loved days of solitary journeys and self-exploration, my love right then was dark-haired, golden-eyed, and letting his sleepy fingertips dance across my skin, leaving their prints on my soul

  CHAPTER 23

  AFTER LONG WEEKS of studying and a long week of finals, Christmas break was very much welcomed and deserved. My grades weren’t terrible, my last counseling session had been canceled, and I was on my way home to spend some much needed time with people who loved me unconditionally—my mommy and daddy, to be exact.

  Christmas was by far my favorite holiday, mainly because they gave us four weeks off from school. My mom agreed. She went overboard on Christmas. She started decorating the day after the day after Thanksgiving. The day after Thanksgiving was usually reserved for shopping, although, in more recent years, I’d taught her the convenience of ordering online.

  I woke up to brunch every day, spent some much needed father-daughter time with my dad while he was off work, and went to bed at a childlike hour every night after a long-winded phone call like a love-struck teenager.

  The only thing that could have made the break better would have been some quality time with my boyfriend. Christmas break covered my blank pages beautifully. Rest and family crowded into the available space, but still there was something missing—Ben. He was spending his Christmas with his parents at his sister’s home so Santa would know where to find his niece. It was the only time since starting dating that we didn’t see each other frequently.

  My blank pages had been filled to capacity, but it still felt like something was lacking, like maybe there should be a little more color…maybe a little more Ben.

  I wished I could say I spent the time writing, but I didn’t. Every time I sat down at my computer, I stared at the screen, unable to add any words to the page. At the top, it read: New Year’s Resolutions. I had underlined it multiple times in thick black. Every year, I made resolutions, like I was going to somehow break the habits of a lifetime with little to no effort. Some things were on it every year: work out, eat better, get good grades. For this year, I’d added: graduate college.

  I was now only one semester away from that goal. Four months stood between me and unemployment. I realized taking small steps was better than standing still, but every time I took a step forward, it was like someone pushed me back, back to where I’d been before. Searching for a job would have been so much easier if I didn’t have to consider financial security. Why does money have to be mandatory for life? Why do we put that as the basis of success? I couldn’t think of what resolutions to make that would help me find a job, and that was my main goal for the year.

  When it was nearing midnight, my phone started ringing on my bedside table. My parents had long been asleep, claiming old age as the culprit. I had been in bed for the last hour, wasting time scouring the internet, drifting from one mindless thing to the next.

  It was a video call. Debating whether or not to pretend I was still asleep, my hands immediately went to my hair. I probably should have been more concerned with the unidentified stain on my right shoulder. How I got food that high up was another mystery altogether. My hair was what would really be noticeable in the call, though, and I knew it was frizzy and tangled. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen my messy hair before. It always lost its luster by the end of the day. I was constantly getting home and looking in the mirror, surprised, thinking I couldn’t have looked like that all d
ay. What happened to my carefully applied makeup and why is my hair three times its normal size?

  I answered the call after three rings, grabbing my glasses at the same time. I was sure they did nothing for my makeup-less face, but I didn’t really have a choice. I was out of contacts until I made it back to campus. At least I had gotten better frames, black square ones that made me look a little older, more mature. I’d only upgraded a year earlier. Before that I’d had frames that had only been popular in sixth grade, and even then it had been fleeting. I had left all my extra contacts under my bathroom sink. I was always forgetting about them. Vision didn’t seem important until you didn’t have it.

  I smiled when his blurry face appeared.

  “I miss you,” he said in greeting, making me laugh.

  “It’s been two weeks,” I pointed out.

  “Two long weeks. I feel like I’m not whole,” he admitted, causing my heart to swell. It was unnatural, usually a sign that something is wrong, your body prompting you to seek medical attention. Not today, though. Today it felt like the best kind of sickness, and he didn’t stop there. “Next year, we’ll be together when the ball drops.” The fact that he was planning on us being together in a year wasn’t something I could concentrate on without smiling like a lunatic and making him think I was certifiable. I worked hard to contain the elation the security of those words caused within me. He could have been just making conversation, or being polite. I did let a little smile touch the corners of my mouth. I’m only human.

  We talked awhile about his Christmas and what he’d been doing on his break, but as the clock ticked down from ten to one, we were silent. Our eyes were connected through the screen, never breaking as the muffled cheers came from our televisions.