HOPE

by: Thérèse Plummer

It’s that little sliver of the moon, a fingernail he called it, that she can see from her bedroom window. She’s laying under the covers trying to figure the world out again. She thinks if she worry’s enough, or plans enough, or even controls enough it will all turn out ok.

Tomorrow she will be taking the train again for the first time in a year back into the city.

At 16-years-old a guidance counselor told her it was called optimism. She rolled her eyes.

At 23-years-old a counselor told her it was living in the light and to go home and look in the mirror and tell herself: I love you. She huffed and thought, What the fuck is that?

At 35-years-old a yoga teacher inspired the class to breathe through the pain. She lay down on her mat.

And tonight at 44-years-old she has been reminded again from a friend to trust and let go.

She let’s out a huge exhale

Her past has shown her the more she tries to control, manage and direct the show it really doesn't come off like she sees it in her head and she is left with a a lot of frustration and annoyed baristas at Starbucks. Her present keeps trying to show her “it is what it is sweet girl.” Her future? Well, that is what she’s trying to have a say in. ‘If only’ this happens then that won’t or can’t happen. ‘If only’ that happens then I will be safe and ok. ‘If only’ this piece goes there and that piece there then it will all work out. She’s playing the director and maestro in her little world and no one appreciates it. She really has no control anyway. And she is truly exhausted.

She turns over and spoons her partner who has been blissfully passed out for hours. She closes her eyes and lets her head rest, her heart open and she releases her closed little fists to let go.

A wave of gratitude fills her up and she’s able to see through all of that fear and worry and anxiety that she is still alive. Through a pandemic and insane year she is here and healthy. It’s a gift she takes for granted all the time before the world literally stopped for a while. ‘Vertical and sucking air,’ her friend Stan always said. When she stays out of her past and leaves her future alone it is the present and it is perfect.

She sighs.

She will wake up and have coffee. She will walk to the station. She will wear her mask. She will continue to take breaths in and breaths out. She will be brave and she will be kind and let it all happen as it will. One little step at a time. Welcome back to the world.