Page 30 of Follow My Voice
Kang sighs. “Why are you lying to me, K?”
This guy is a mind reader. “How do you know I’m lying?”
“After all your reluctance, for you to just say your name so quickly seems suspicious.”
“You seem to be able to read people pretty well without having met them.”
“Actually, I’m very bad at it, but with you…”
My heart is racing again. “With me what?”
“I don’t know, K, things feel so… easy.”
I want to ask what he means, but I don’t think I can handle his answer.
“Klara.”
“What?”
“My name is Klara with a K. Nice to meet you, Kang.”
15Astonish Me
THIS IS Abad idea, I think, but I don’t say it. I don’t want to kill the excitement I see in Kamila’s eyes as she walks beside me to the car. Andy is waiting for us with his hands on the steering wheel, smiling. I take a deep breath, clenching my fists at my sides.
It’s going to be okay, Klara, I say to myself over and over again. I need to do this, I need to face life again, for Mom, for Kamila, for Andy, for myself. The sun feels nice on my face, like it’s awakening my senses and charging me with energy. I’ve spent so much time indoors recently that even just exposing my skin to sunlight feels like an accomplishment.
I get in the back seat and Kamila sits up front.
Andy glances at me in the rearview mirror. “Black, huh? I liked the pink,” he jokes.
I give him a nervous smile. “I like black, it’s the color of my soul.”
Kamila shakes her head and smiles. “Her dark sense of humor is back, Andy.”
Andy starts the car and I swallow, tightening my grip on the seatbelt that runs across my chest. I take a deep breath andlook out the window as we pass trees, houses, stores, people. I focus on the view in an attempt to stop myself from thinking obsessively about my breathing and the fear that I won’t be able to stop thinking about it. After explaining my unique situation, Kamila managed to get us a private guided tour of the community college campus today, Saturday, when there will be few students around.
Familiarizing myself with the campus at a time when it’s not crowded will help me feel more comfortable when I start classes. This was a recommendation from Dr. B., who said that a gradual, thoughtful adaptation process would be best. This campus visit is the first step and then I’ll begin attending one in-person class three days a week this semester.
I have to admit that I’m terrified. My palms are sweating and strings of negative thoughts parade through my mind, but just when I’m ready to give up and go back to my room, those four walls that have become my safe haven, I think of Kamila’s tears and I remember my mother’s words. I remind myself that it will be hard, but, if I want to recover, I have to do my part. I wish there was some sort of magic cure for anxiety and depression. But the cold, cruel reality is that, no matter how much help I have, I will never overcome my depression and anxiety if I don’t actively do something about it. It’s going to take a lot, because mine was not a mild case by any means, but I’ve made some progress, and that makes me feel like I can do it.
“You know what’s good about hitting rock bottom? You can only go up from there,”my mother once said. Those words have always stayed with me. She was such a wise, bold woman, an entrepreneur, so sweet and full of love to give. I put my hand on the window and feel the warmth of the sun through the glass. I miss her so much.
Andy parks in front of a large sign that readsDURHAM COMMUNITY COLLEGEin black and blue lettering. The main building looksmuch bigger and more modern than I expected; the pictures online don’t do it justice.
“Ready?” Andy asks, opening the door for me.
I clutch the seatbelt, close my eyes, fill my lungs with air, and let it out slowly to relax the tension in my muscles. I open my eyes, unclick my seatbelt, give Andy a thumbs-up, and step out of the car.
The entrance to the main building is wide with metal and glass doors. We walk along as Kamila reads the names on several offices until she finds the one she’s looking for. We knock and are greeted by a woman with short white hair and wrinkles decorating her face. Next to her is a younger woman with long black hair and a big smile.
“Welcome, Klara.” The younger woman holds out a hand. “I’m Caitlin Romes, one of the counselors here at the college, and this is Mrs. Leach, head of Counseling Services.”
I shake Ms. Romes’s hand and then Mrs. Leach’s.
“We’re delighted to have you here. We’ll do our best to make this process as smooth as possible.”
They both seem nice—not like the kind of people who are just pretending to be nice out of pity.
