Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Suzie nods slowly. Does she pity me? God, I hope not. I’m good; I don’t need her pity. It would ruin the excitement I get when I know it’s Tuesday, and I get to hang out with my two favorite people.
“Well …” She blows out a long breath. “That was awfully generic. I’m giving that story three stars. Maybe three and a half.”
“What?” I laugh. “Story? You didn’t want a story. You asked for a recount of my life.”
“And I still know very little about you. How did your mother’s vices impact you? Who are you because of her choices? Why art? Why photography? Have you ever been in love? Do you have dreams? When you’re not cleaning houses or dating hot fitness trainers, what do you do? What kind of music speaks to your soul? What food makes you moan with pleasure? When was the last time a single moment gave you butterflies or sent chills along your spine? If you answer those questions, then I’ll know you.”
“I need to clean your house.” I offer another nervous laugh, a little off-kilter from her emotional probing. How does one answer the question What makes you … you?
“No. You don’t need to clean anything.”
Pulling my feet onto the ottoman and crossing them, I close my eyes for a few seconds. I’ve never taken the time to think about myself beyond the circumstances that have led me to this point. “Saul. He was one of my mom’s boyfriends. I think the only good one.” Opening one eye, I frown. “He didn’t last long. He was too good for her. He was an artist who bought me paints and clay, pencils and sketch paper. Saul let me use his camera. One Saturday afternoon, we drove to the beach when my mom was a little hungover. She stayed in the car most of the time. Saul and I played in the sand. We built castles with moats and pretended I was the princess and he was the knight trying to save me. And he did. Saul unearthed my love for art—creating and capturing the essence of humanity in its many forms. He showed me beauty through creation, and he was my first love … not in a weird or inappropriate way, just … he gave me a glimpse of what love looked like. And I haven’t seen it since him. I haven’t felt butterflies, but just hearing my mom’s voice gives me chills along my spine. Because of her, I am driven not to be her. Oh … and I like R&B music. The sexier, the better.”
Suzie grins.
I continue. “I dream of a family, which is funny because I don’t know what that looks like. But I see mothers and daughters shopping or eating at a quaint café at one o’clock in the afternoon on a Thursday, and I imagine what it would be like if that were my life.
“And I don’t think about food often because I haven’t had many chances to enjoy it beyond the simplicity of calories to fuel my body. When I’m not cleaning houses, I’m snapping photos or shopping for great designer finds at thrift stores.”
“Girl … you’re speaking my language,” Suzie says in a huge grin.
Her words encourage me to continue. “I love reading biographies because it’s fun to be someone else for a few pages. Crazy, huh?”
“Mmm …” Suzie hums. “Not crazy. I know exactly what you mean. Right now, I’m you.”
“Oh no. Choose someone better than me.” I chuckle.
“No. I want to be you. A dreamer with a tiny tether to reality. An appreciation for life … never taking any of it for granted. And oh … the possibilities. You can be anything. Do anything. Go anywhere. You have those butterflies to feel for the first time. Em! You. Have. Butterflies. To. Feel! God! I wish I could go back and feel them again. It’s not that I still don’t feel them with Zach, but they’re never as strong as the first time. You have a million firsts left in your life. I have a handful of lasts. Don’t waste a single minute being anything but courageous.”
Courageous …
Am I courageous for living out of my car?
Am I courageous for having no clue what it’s like to have a healthy, honest relationship with a man?
I think she’s mistaking courage for hidden fear.
“Say it.” Suzie claps her hands several times.
“Say what?”
“I am courageous!” Suzie raises her hands above her head, fingers stiff, grin to her ears.
“I am courageous,” I say.
“No! What was that? Try it again, like you mean it. Better yet, actually mean it.”
“I am courageous!” I add some power to my words.
“Again. Don’t forget the arms.”
I giggle. “I AM COURAGEOUS!” I jump up, land on my feet, and shoot my arms toward the ceiling.
“Attagirl! That is your soul, girlfriend. Do you hear me? That is your soul. The hair, your body, the epilepsy … that’s your genetic vehicle for this life. Use it for pleasure, and use it to do good. But never let it define you.”