TEN. FIFTEEN. TWENTY-EIGHTEEN.
I went to get my brothers gun off of the top of the fridge and today it was gone. Great. Another reason to live today. I’m not sure why I even think like this, I have a lot to look forward to and a lot to be thankful for, but my life seems un-purposeful… that’s not a word, I know, but it’s lacking purpose and that’s the best way to describe it. I don’t want to die, but I’m pent up on the ‘what if’s’ and driven by this insatiable need to act impulsively with the ideation. Somehow, I think he knows I take it, clear the chamber and clip, and pretend it’s my last day. In a morbid way, it keeps me grounded and grateful for what I have. I’ve been caught up in this feeling that I could be doing more with my life, but I have no idea what that is. I keep checking the boxes like they’re checkpoints in my life. I mean, I’m doing what I should. I’m in college. I have a job. I have friends. I adult. My parents and my brother love me and that’s reciprocated. What more could a gal ask for? My professor interrupted my thoughts, “Alright class! With our next lesson, we will discuss more on how Microeconomics plays into Macroeconomics. Please read the second chapter in your book prior to our next meeting, there will be a quiz on the material. So read, read, reeead! Have a wonderful weekend!” He says this with such a high pitched inflection. Mr. Antilla is an interesting professor. He has the whole ‘I’m relaxed, but I expect you to pass my class and do well’ vibe. I mean he wears chucks with his dress shirts. He must be about 33; he has green eyes and dark locks. He looks a lot like Adam Driver, but with a beard and gets really passionate when he lectures. He’s not the typical guy I’d go for, but he’s not an eye sore either. I gather up my notebook and textbook and toss it in my satchel and head out the door. “You have a good weekend as well, Mr. Antilla!” I say as I’m headed out the door. “Thank you, Trinity. Back at ya!” He says this with his typical wink, tongue clicks, and finger guns. Yeah, he’s a character, no doubt. I’m met in the hall by Yolana. “Gosh, he’s dreamy! How’d we luck out and get his fine ass as a professor? I can’t wait until the end of the semester; I’m asking him out! You may not know it, but that’s my future husband.” Laughing, I ask “Oh is he now? Doesn’t he have to agree to that first?” “Girl! He agreed with that smile when I left the classroom. He hates to see me go, but He loves watching me leave.” She struts a little down the hall after saying that and I just giggle. “It’s only the second class, Lana. Let’s get you out of here before he’s in trouble from your imagination.” Typical Yolana. Even though I joke with her she’s always been right when she’s sure of herself, and let me tell you, she exudes confidence. That’s why I love her so much. We’ve been besties since fourth grade when she moved to Louisa from Pennsylvania. She rode the same bus as me, but we didn’t talk until lunch that day. She introduced herself as Yolana and I mispronounced it as Yolan-duh. She tells me it’s without the “d” so it flows like the river. I told her I’d call her Lana so I remember to not add in the “d.” She sat down after and said “we’re going to be the best of friends! ” and we have. After graduation, we both ended up getting into VCU. I applied last minute to their School of Business, while she had an early acceptance in their Accounting program on full scholarship, now we’re living together in an apartment in Richmond, with Cal who’s in his last year of college. The rent is super cheap and when his old roommates graduated, he said it would be rough to live with his frosh sister, but wouldn’t trade it for anything. A year later and it hasn’t been as difficult as either of us expected. Cal, is typically gone with Nat and Fleur, his partners, and really laid out some ground rules that set us all up for success. I thought we’d be quarreling like we did when we were younger, but it’s brought us closer together. Next year, Lana and I will have the place to ourselves. Cal brings so much peace, I’m not sure how this will work.
. . .
TO BE CONTINUED…
Comments