A New Reflection

51. Emotions

I'm afraid I might fall in love with Alex this summer, I text Isla the following morning.

Last time we spoke, she told me she is preparing for a trip to visit Danny in Colorado. I'm afraid he is going to hurt her, and I think she is going too far out of her way for someone who isn't trustworthy. She assures me it's all for fun, nothing serious.

Lady, you were in love with that boy a long time ago.

I snort.

You're crazy. I don't know how else to articulate it. Since I was a young child, I have prided myself on being a rational, deep thinker. Measured, mature. How is it possible that I am now knowingly and willingly setting myself up for heartbreak?

At Lewis & Clark, I kept striking out with boys, yet the defeats somehow felt like victories. I was gaining confidence, learning to take myself less seriously, developing social and emotional resilience. Now, I've unexpectedly won the prize I yearned for all along—Alex—and an impending doom is descending upon me as if I'm about to lose everything.

Just enjoy it, chiquilla.

I inhale a long, sputtery breath. Enjoy it. When I'm with Alex, I relish every minute. This swirling black dread shows up every few days, then dissipates again as he lights me up with deep kisses, terrible jokes and honest conversations.

The idleness of summer break increases my anxiety. I prefer to be busy, on-the-go, engaged in a multitude of activities. The jarring gap between my two lives—a child in California and an independent adult in Oregon—causes my brain to feel as though it's splitting in half. I want to protect my heart from the same. My boring, high school self never knew such highs and lows; I was so much saner then.

Mom knocks on my door to check on me before heading out to run errands. I've got an empty journal page resting over my lap as I lean against multiple pillows in bed. The other thing that has always nagged at my soul during breaks from school is the self-imposed pressure to pursue creative writing. In theory, I love to write, and I know I'm good at it. When I'm occupied with studies, I have an excuse for not writing. Free time and blank white pages taunt me in the summertime to a point of invisible panic.

"Are you okay, m'hija?" Mom must sense my anguish from the way I'm gripping my pencil.

"Sort of."

"What's going on?" She sits gingerly on the bed next to me.

"I'm scared of getting hurt, when all this ends with Alex."

She pauses, taking in my comment.

"Is it ending?"

"I mean, that's what happens to relationships at this age, right? I feel foolish for even being in a serious relationship at nineteen. What's the point?" Stubborn tears swell just behind my eyeballs, pressurizing around the delicate spheres but not yet spilling out.

"Well, m'hija, I hate to break it to you, but no matter what your age, you're going to feel foolish for being in a relationship. It's a very foolish exercise human beings engage in. It often ends in heartbreak, even the relationships that stick. We break each other's hearts over and over again."

Is she talking about her and Dad? I suppose I've always viewed my parents' marriage with blind idealism.

"You're so strong, you'll be able to take it."

"I've had a few crushes at college that all crashed and burned, and I bounced back—almost too easily. But this with Alex... doesn't feel like fun and games anymore."

"I know, sweetie. But things with Alex will happen how they happen."

"It's just, I like him so much, and I have to go back to college. It's outright stupid to be falling so hard for each other. Even if I weren't living out of state, and everything was going perfectly, it's not advisable to be starting a serious long-term relationship at such a young age."