I looked up at the big canvas painting hanging over the couch. It was supposed to bring me inspiration and positivity. It had been three years since I bought it, the first purchase for my apartment, ordered only minutes after my offer was accepted, and I still loved it. A beautiful landscape of a white lotus flower on a lake awash with the pinks of sunrise and surrounded by muted greenery, it was the impetus for the color scheme of my apartment—sage green and cream, with a few dusky pink touches, like the throw blanket I’d been so comfortably wrapped in a few minutes ago. It was also a big, silent fuck you to my mom, those so-called friends, and every other person who represented the mud under the surface. If you look up the meaning of a lotus, it says that it rises from the mud without a stain, but I liked to think of it as arising from the mud withoutallowingthe mud to stain it.
But maybe the mud was always there, whether or not you saw it.
I could still hear that conversation with my mom like it was yesterday. Fifteen-year-old me crying because my friends didn’t want me to go to the mall with them to meet up with some boys.Boys they liked. The boy I liked, too. My mom, patting my back, trying to comfort me.
Don’t feel bad, sweetheart. It’s safer this way. What if you do something to embarrass them, and they no longer want to be your friends at all? Remember that time at the mall you dropped your chocolate ice cream all over yourself so you made us leave. But on the way out, we saw Mrs. Sparke, and you were so mad that we stopped to talk to her? Or the time you almost fell getting off the escalator and everyone ran to help? You’re lucky they still spend as much time with you as they do. Especially now that you’re all older and they’re trying to meet guys. You should be grateful for what they give you.
Forcing her out of my mind, I opened the Kindle app on my phone. I spent the rest of the day reading and not thinking about Dylan or my mom or my speech or fucking dyspraxia or how I’d be alone forever with only the dogs I’d rescue for company. I kept reading, even when I had to reread paragraphs because my mind wandered. But not to any of those things.
Okay, maybe I was a shitty liar. But at least I read my book and didn’t only think about those things all day.
When I climbed into bed, I finally let myself acknowledge what I’d been trying to ignore all day. My mom was right. Itwassafer this way. Easier. With that thought in mind, I was even more disappointed in myself than I’d been last night. I didn’t think that could be possible.
Look at me, exceeding expectations.
I woke up filled with...nothope, exactly. Determination, maybe. Acceptance.
Why did acceptance sound negative when self-acceptance is supposed to be positive? There are a million reasons why a person may be unlikely to accomplish THE dream. If I canaccept that I am who I am, set realistic goals and dreams, and achieve those, isn’t that a win?
Dylan was not a realistic dream. I didn’t need him, or any man. I was already happier and more successful than I’d ever thought I could be. I had a great job in which I got to help kids every day, I owned this apartment that I loved, and I lived a full and satisfying life that I’d worked damn hard for. I had an amazing sister and two of the best friends anyone could hope for.
Sure, life would be easier if I didn’t have dyspraxia. A loving relationship would be nice to have. But I refused to let that little missing piece take away from everything else I was truly happy and lucky to have.
With that in mind, I turned on a ’90s playlist and tackled the laundry and cleaning. Time for a fresh start. A mental and physical spring cleaning.
By the end of the day, the apartment was mostly clean, the laundry was done with one load even put away, and I was exhausted. I tossed the pile of mail back into its bin, just a few pieces of junk mail lighter, and dropped the final load of clean laundry on the couch with a satisfying plop.
That would have to be enough to give me the closure and clarity I needed. I slid into bed, determined to think only happy thoughts of my time at Nolan’s with Dylan. I could lay in bed and reminisce about the feel of his arms wrapped around me at the pool table. It felt good to picture his smile and hear his laugh. I was lucky I had the memory of those few wonderful hours with him.
I should’ve ended it there and walked away with those good memories. Those few incredible hours were more than I’d ever expected to have. Acceptance. It was silly to hope for anything more. I’d been called a lot of things in my life, but silly was never one of them. I wasn’t going to start now. Nope, I was lucky to have what I had. I couldn’t forget that.
“Hi,Cooper! Today in OT we’re going to make a sun to celebrate this bright, sunny spring day!”
“I love the sun!”
I loved this kid. His constant enthusiasm made me feel like the world’s best occupational therapist. Just what I needed today. “Me too! First, I need you to draw a big circle, then I’ll help you draw five triangles.”
“I can draw a circle!”
“I know. You’ve been working hard on that and now you can do it!”
He beamed as he slowly and carefully drew a wobbly line that resembled a circle.
“You did it!”
His lip quivered and he rocked in his chair.
“Hey, Coop, are you okay? Do you need a break?”
He looked away and bit down hard on his knuckle and rocked harder.
“Come on, Coop, let’s go take a break on the bean bag.” I held my hand out, trying to exude a calmness and confidence I barely felt. As much as I loved working with him, his frustration tolerance was next to nothing, and he often quickly escalated from biting himself to hitting or biting others.
He put his hand in mine, and that trust nearly brought tears to my eyes. This was why I needed to focus on my students, and why I was bringing sunshine into our sessions even though I was feeling more like a tornado. This was why I couldn’t keep thinking about Dylan. I pushed those thoughts back and focused my attention on Cooper as I led him out of my cubby to the bean bags in the sensory area of the therapy room.
“You okay?” My colleague and friend, Katie, asked as she helped her student onto a scooter.
“We’re good. Just taking a break.”