DECEMBER 16 Dear Mr. Knightley,
Kyle and I talked for a long time this afternoon. He’s doing much better. I suspect he’ll be at Grace House permanently now. He said Dr. Wieland wants to up his meds, but agreed to hold off if Kyle promised to make all his counseling sessions. I’m proud of him, Mr. Knightley. If Kyle needs medication, great, but the fact that he’s trying to take ownership for his actions and emotions is good too. And he’s writing again! I get e-mails daily now. They’re more like laundry lists:
Ran 6 × 800s @ 3:20s with 3-minute rests. You can’t beat me now.
Got invite to Coach’s house for Christmas dinner.
Jaden fostered out. Miss him.
Hannah flipped me, ’cause she can. Gettin’ better at falling without breaking my butt. She says she’ll teach me.
Later, Kyle.
Some are chattier. I sent him some of my writing with the hopes he’d be proud of me. I don’t know if he even read them. I want someone to. To read them and say they’ve got merit. Say I have what it takes to be at Medill, to be a journalist.
Look, I’ll be honest here, Mr. Knightley. I’m rattled. I know I’m changing subjects, but this plays in the background of my every waking moment. Graduating college, I had a job and a life picked out. I earned it and it was mine. And I lost it—all of it. Now I’m on to my second dream. What if I lose that too? There’s no landing pad now. I can’t return to Grace House, and I don’t know where I’ll go or what I’ll do. And I can’t give up. But how long do I have before Johnson takes this from me? This is the only place in the world I want to be.
I tried explaining all this to Josh last night, but I think it went over his head. He has this enviable and somewhat simple view of how the world works. My striving and angst don’t register with him.
“Sam, why do you get so worked up? Just get it done and move on. How hard can it be?”
“Johnson’s recommendation means a ton, but so does his respect. I want him to believe in me.” I felt like I was pleading simultaneously with both of them.
“Do the job and move on. You’ll graduate next January and never see the man again. Get through the class and get your degree.”
“Of course, you’re right. I should ‘keep my breath to cool my porridge’,” I said archly.
“What?”
“Nothing. It means I need to stop thinking and get the job done.”
“That’s my girl.” Josh sounded pleased, finally.
I ended the conversation feeling totally misunderstood. Maybe it would have been better if I could’ve seen Josh’s face, felt his arms around me. Sometimes I wonder if he even hears me. I haven’t seen him in a week, and we do better with closer contact. I guess I just miss him.
Thanks for listening,
Sam