In My Dreams I Hold a Knife

by Ashley Winstead

College: a freedom so profound the joy of it didn’t wear off the entire four years.

I didn’t need to be perfect, per se, as long as I was the best.

Any way you sliced it, I was good. Top percentile of human beings, you could say, in terms of success.

if you wanted something bad enough, you did anything to get it.

if you couldn’t be the best, be the winner, life wasn’t worth living, and you had to find some way to escape.

A memory: my heart, shattered into pieces. My body, unsure how to function without it. Unable to put one foot in front of the other, swimming in pain.

I knew what could happen if you loved someone with your whole heart.

“Of course college felt extreme,” Coop said. “You had infinite freedom and almost no responsibility. Nothing was fixed—you had your whole life ahead of you, and it could go anywhere. You had best friends you spent every minute with, so you were never alone. And you were in love. Real love.”

It was strange, really, how your entire life could change just like that, from one second to the next. And there was no fireworks show, no dramatic tilting of the world on its axis to signify how everything had suddenly flipped upside down, and nothing would ever be the same.

“In ten years,” Heather said slowly, “you’re not even going to remember the things that seem important now. You’re going to have totally different priorities. I bet you’ll look back and laugh at everything that feels so dramatic now.”

“Whatever happens, we’re going to be happy, okay? I promise. So you can stop worrying.”

Do the wrong thing with me, Jess. I promise, I will make you happy. I will love you for the rest of my life. I’m going to do it anyway; I accepted that a long time ago. But please. Do it with me.”