I tried a different approach to reason with him.
“Let’s assume that at some point in the future, I’m working for a newspaper or magazine and I have a problem with the editor. I need to be able to work out these issues on my own,” I explained.
“No, you really don’t.” He looked so serious that I tried to keep from smiling at the absurdity. “I’ll come and break his face and then your problem will be solved.”
“What if you’re gone on a fight?”
“When I get back, I’ll come and break his face.”
“Noah, be serious. You can’t go around breaking people’s faces in order to protect my feelings,” I admonished him. I couldn’t tell at this point how much was teasing bluster and how much was serious threat.
He heaved a huge, put-upon sigh and took a long drink of his coffee. “Is it okay with you if I’m mentally punching their lights out?”
“Yes, perfectly. And I want you to describe the action in great detail after.”
Noah was waiting for me, just like that first day, slouching against the wall. This time I didn’t hesitate at the door but ran to him. His arms came around me immediately and he kissed me, uncaring of the students around us.
“Ready?” He asked, tenderly moving a little hair that had fallen forward and tucking it behind my ear.
I nodded and lifted up my black portfolio.
We walked silently across the campus, holding hands. The fallen leaves from the trees crunched under our feet. The fall air was getting cooler, but it would’ve to be much closer to freezing before the students would pull out jackets and jeans. I couldn’t recall a time I had felt more content and just generally pleased with the world. I knew that even if Dr. Rossum hated my work again that I’d be okay.
I’d still be able to perfect my photography skills without classes. What I had told Noah before still was true. Nothing was better for me than actual practice, which meant experimentation and, yes, failure.
I’d learned so much from trying and failing. It’s something I wouldn’t fear again.
Funny how facing down your greatest fears actually made you stronger.
“Are you sure I can’t come in?” Noah asked as we reached the steps of the Fine Arts building.
“Yes, I’m sure,” I reached up on my toes and pressed my lips against his. “Your love is so strong I can feel it even upstairs.”
I grinned at the sudden redness appearing in his cheeks. “I do, you know,” he said softly, “love you very much.”
“I know, and I love you,” I said. Pleased with myself, I pushed him onto a bench and ran inside the building. Even walking up the stairs, I felt different. Last time I was tentative, as if I was going to my own execution. This time, I took the stairs swiftly and confidently.
I marched right up to Dr. Rossum’s assistant and gave her my name. “Grace Sullivan,” I said. “I have an appointment to see Dr. Rossum.”
The assistant’s blue eyes twinkled at me. Could she recognize the difference too? “Go right in,” she said.
“So you’re back?” Dr. Rossum’s flat voice met me at the doorway.
“I am, sir,” I said. The sound of his voice made me falter a bit, and I recalled the harsh words he had flung at me before. But I shrugged the memory off and entered the messy room. There was still no place to sit and barely any place to stand. Noah had said to imagine a steel rod from the base of my foot into the floor to keep me steady and focused. I visualized instead a long metal chain that hooked me to Noah, my rock, and mentally grounded myself.
“Do you have new material for me?” He held out his hand wearily as if this meeting was too tiresome for life.
“I do,” I said and stepped forward, handing him my portfolio. He paged through quickly as he did before and then stopped at the photo of the girl on the bench.
“Why did you take this picture?” he demanded, his demeanor a little less tired.
“She reminded me of my mother,” I admitted.
“Your mother wears poorly-fitted cardigans and ugly shoes?” he mocked.
“No. My mother’s eyes are dead. Her spirit was snuffed out when my dad died. This girl’s eyes show the same thing. No life. Something killed her inside. Nothing is growing there yet. Not now. Maybe not ever,” I said flatly. I didn’t relish dredging up my old pains; by including those pictures, I was offering up a piece of me. I’d look foolish trying to deny those feelings to Dr. Rossum.
He looked at me sharply and gave me a short nod. “It’s not like I can really keep you out of the program.”
I didn’t say the obvious, which was that he could. Instead, I waited for the official verdict and tried to keep the triumph off my face. Probably an impossible task. Noah and I hadn’t practiced that. It was enough that I was still on my feet.