Wild Card

by Elsie Silver

For the ones who were told their dreams were too dreamy but who went on to make them come true anyway. And for my awful high school English teacher, Mr. C, who looked me in the eye at sixteen years old and told me I’d never be a good writer. Thanks for the motivation.

“Oh, tonight? Tonight is just our meet-cute. It’s the night we’ll tell our kids about one day. Remember?”

To the outside observer, it would appear that I’m staring at the guy I showed up here with. But they would be wrong. I’m staring at his dad.

“And I allow myself to acknowledge that I am not every person’s cup of tea. Maybe I am more than they can handle. And that’s okay because I’m quite fond of myself and no one can take that away from me. I’m at peace with who I am, so what you think of me doesn’t matter.” I think you’re just right is what I want to say. But I don’t. Instead, I go with, “I don’t think you’re too much.”

All I know is that the first thing that comes to mind is, If I live, I’m coming after you.

“Or what? You might man up and take something for yourself for once?” I snap. I take something for myself for once.

Where you go, I’ll follow.

I breathe him in. I breathe my anxiety out. I breathe him in. I breathe my doubt out. I breathe him in. I breathe my fears out.