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Long enough for the tears to eventually slow down until I stop crying entirely.
What did I just do?
Will choosing my passion over financial stability even be worth it?
Spring semester just started, and luckily it’s already paid for. But now I have rent to worry about, on top of all my classes and extracurriculars. Not to mention I now need to apply for school loans for my next, and final, year at Damhurst.
I still have money left from my trust fund’s annual distribution that my father gave me at the start of the school year, but eventually that too will run out. My access isdependent on doing what he wants—in this case on me graduating with a BA in economics.
Come summer, I’ll definitely need to find a job.
The tears threaten to fall again, but I blink them back down, finally finding the strength to stand up from the dusty floor. Needing to make myself feel at least a little better, I unzip one of my suitcases, carefully and deliberately lining up all my art supplies against one of the grimy walls.
A little reminder of why I’m here in the first place. I take a step back and spend the next few minutes just staring at them, unsure what to do next.
I feel stripped bare.
Tender and vulnerable.
But again, that small distant voice inside seems to keep trying to catch my attention.
It echoes far into my chest, a small tenor of faith.
This is just the beginning, it says.
My life will never be the same again,I reply back.
I close my eyes, trying to feel my feet firmly planted on the floor beneath me.
I can do this.
You can do this,it repeats.
1
JAMES
Four months later
Dipping my paintbrush into the now-murky water, I follow it with a swirl into the small travel-size watercolor palette that’s laid out beside me on the blanket. The birds are quietly chirping, the wind sleepily rustling the leaves in the tree above me, and my mind feels as quiet as this beautiful early summer morning. Focusing on the watercolor pad I brought with me, I continue adding different hues of red, pink, and blue. At first, I wasn’t sure what I was creating until an abstract-looking bouquet of flowers appeared.
I’m not surprised. It’s always been my favorite thing to draw even as a child. I even have a bouquet of larkspur tattooed on my upper left thigh. Hidden, of course, my mother would have never allowed it.
I spent hours sitting in our lush yet neatly manicured gardens when I was younger, drawing flower after flower, never tiring of their beauty. My nanny wouldconstantly find me tucked away somewhere under the tree’s canopy lost between the sketchbook and nature around me. A small twinge plucks at my heart at the thought, followed by a heavy wave of nostalgia.
Pausing, I take a deep breath, letting the emotion roll through me. I try to remind myself not to get lost in those feelings. Romanticizing the past has always been one of my favorite activities. It’s a dangerous game of letting the rose-colored glasses recall a time that didn’t actually exist. Even the bad parts can easily be cloaked in nostalgia.
Because the harsh reality was that my parents were never around. They were simply absent. Too busy working, or traveling together, leaving me alone with my nanny for days, sometimes weeks.
Still, I can’t help remembering those moments in the gardens with fondness. For now, I allow myself the grace to do so. Maybe it’s needed when I’m still trying to find my footing four months after the biggest upheaval of my life.
I’ve managed. But nothing feels easy. Zachary isn’t much help, Connie is far away in LA, and so yet again I find myself alone. But this time, I can’t lose myself in comforting daydreams—even if I desperately want to.
Time once spent daydreaming is now spent on job-hunting—with not much luck. Although it broke my heart, I sold my car a month ago, needing all the money I could to get by. Looking back now, with a more realistic outlook on how expensive it is to live, I shouldn’t have splurged on brand-new furniture for my bedroom. But the harm is done. Besides, it's the only place that feels remotely like home. Or at least likeahome.
I learned fast after those first few weeks that my spending habits needed to change if I wanted to sustain this new lifestyle. Thankfully, I managed to secure a private loanfor next year’s tuition. But I need to face the hard truth: I need a job.
Especially now that summer has begun.
