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“What?”
“Who is it that you are trying to please in taking these classes? Your family? Or you?”
She doesn’t answer, instead just pins me with a look then turns away.
“The correct answer is yourself.”
Frustrated, and tired, she gives in, sitting down and taking sips of water.
“I’m sorry.” She sighs. “I’m having a hard day.”
I sit down across from her, keeping a small distance. “Work, or …?”
“Work. Life. I don’t know.” She frowns, defeated. “I don’t like making mistakes.”
“Nobody does, Julie.”
But she shakes her head like that was a stupid response. “I feel like Ican’tmake mistakes.”
That I understand, too.
“I can’t make mistakes, and I can’t do anything wrong because if I do then it’s clear that I shouldn’t have been doing this in the first place. And if I can’t figure it out, then maybe I’m wasting my time. And maybe I’m not even worthy of the time spent on this hobby.”
“Fuck.”
“Sorry, I shouldn’t be saying this.”
“No, tell me more,” I say. “Get it out.”
She gives me a small smile. “I don’t like being vulnerable either.”
“We don’t have to talk about that, then. Let’s talk about something else.”
But she just shakes her head instead, with knit brows. She remains quiet for some minutes, sipping water, looking down at her shoes.
“I don’t think I’ve ever prioritized my own happiness.” The way she says this sounds like she just made a revelation, something from deep within that hurts to dig up. I didn’t expect it, and it hurts to hear her say it. “Some days it feels like I have to ask permission for joy.”
“Is this joyful?” I want her to say yes. I want to know that what we’ve been doing has been bringing her well-deserved happiness.
Her answering smile is small, and it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“You’ve got permission to be here all you want, as much as you want.”
“I know this is a lot of me rambling, and maybe none of this even makes sense to you.” She waves her hand. “I just don’t want to let her down.”
“Who?”
She looks at me like she misspoke, and she shakes her head. “My family.”
“I get that.”
“I don’t want to let you down,” she says softly, vulnerably, and it burrows into my heart.
“You could never let me down Julie.” Heavy words for what seem like a heavy conversation.
“You say that now.” She smirks.
“You could make a million mistakes,” I tell her. “There’s no letting me down.” That might have been too much, but there it is again. Reckless. No filter. She makes me feel excited. A kind of desperate that I like. A lot.
