Of Literature and Lattes

by Katherine Reay

Going back is the quickest way on. The thought drifted in and through before she could grasp it. She’d read it somewhere—something about the fact that, after taking a wrong turn, traveling farther down the road doesn’t get you any closer to your destination. You have to go back in order to go on.

“Do you love living here?” she asked Lexi, who directed her toward the counter. “Of course, you know that.” “Not too small?” “Things are only as small as you make them. Besides, it’s home.”

It was me. I was the one who needed to stop overreacting, being too sensitive, get a grip, and all those things you said. I wanted to be good enough for you. It wasn’t that you were never good enough for me, and I’m so sorry I made you feel that way. It was me. Always me.

“It’s an odd form of pride, you know,” he had said over coffee one day. “You decide you know better than God and make your own ruling.”

But a loving, gentle soul is made by and through fire. A loving, gentle soul doesn’t get that way because life keeps it all safe and sheltered, up in a box on a shelf. Life isn’t so kind. It’s a gift from God and it’s also a hard-fought choice.