He looks surprised I’ve asked the question, but not mad or embarrassed. “Pretty quiet,” he says, “but that’s not a bad thing. I’m changing in many ways. The big challenge is to keep the best parts of me and let other parts go. One of the things I’m wrestling with now is whether the idea of a business career suits me. This class is helping me sort through the question, too.”
It surprises me that he doesn’t act bitter about having to live in the Group Home until the end of the school year. I don’t know if I would be so cool about it.
After school Sean and I head to our usual hiking spot along the Appalachian Trail. Sean says he wants to hike in celebration of my new status as an adult. The surprise is that Cora and Chelsea, who’s home for spring break, join us.
As we hike, Chelsea and Sean describe the walk on this trail last spring in memory of Adrian. They display a close connection with each other. Something about their closeness, hugs and all, makes the hair on my arms stand up. I don’t know if I’ve ever been jealous about anything before.
My piercing look at Sean may account for him stopping and saying to all of us, “If it weren’t for Adrian, I wouldn’t have found the courage to change schools. I looked up to him for his determination to be himself. He also made me realize I don’t know what goes on in other people’s heads and made me want to learn to reach out, know people for real.”
“Adrian’s dying frightened me so bad I froze up, turned even more inward, wandered around Italy, and then off to college, hoping it would change my life,” Chelsea says. She bends over and picks up a rock, getting to know it by turning it over and over in her hand. I think she might say more, but it seems she’s done talking for now.
Cora and I exude quiet; the only sound we make is with the leather walking shoes and boots we wear on our feet. On both sides of the trail, the mountain laurel are already budding. Above, the canopy of trees absorbs the sound of our voices. Breaks in the natural growth and boulders reveal vast views of our valley below, encouraging us to see a bigger picture of our life.
Chelsea reports she visited Hilltop Academy yesterday, mainly to say hello to Ms. Carter, the school secretary.
“Ms. Carter told me the new principal was friendly and easy-going, but little has changed in the daily life of students. I also chatted with a few students, now seniors, who confirmed the lack of change. Between their comments about continued boredom at Hilltop, I asked if they ever think about Adrian.” She sighs. “They said, ‘Who?’”
We continue in silence for a bit. Then I ask Chelsea to tell us about college life at UVA.
“The number one best thing about college is the freedom from dreadful routine,” Chelsea says. “A professor was telling us the other day that changing up your routine, according to neuroscience, promotes the brain to reorganize perception, get insights, and discover new things.”
“Sorry to interrupt, Chelsea, but would you ask the professor for the source of that information and send it to me?” Cora asks.
“Sure thing,” Chelsea says, flashing her a smile. “The other main difference from high school is there’s a ton of reading—but you learn how to read for the big questions, not every little detail. Of course, from what Cora tells me, you guys have more of that at Stone Creek than I had at Hilltop. I got so little exposure to learning to think on my own in high school that college classes have been really hard for me, even though I made good grades at Hilltop.”
Sean points to himself. “It’s been hard for me at Stone Creek because of that too. You have to be able to form conclusions and back up your thoughts with reasoning. Nobody tells you what to think, you have to figure it out for yourself. It takes some getting used to.”
“Do you get to decide what courses you want to take?” I ask Chelsea.
“Not so much for the first two years,” she says. “There are lots of required classes. I can see where it would be just as good to go to a community college for the first two years, especially since you’re guaranteed admission to any of Virginia’s four-year colleges as long as you make C’s or higher in all your courses.”
I frown, thinking. Community college is a lot cheaper than a university; still, I’ll have to take the same boring required courses either way.
Cora impatiently rolls her hand, as in “fast-forward.” She says, “Come on Chelsea, tell them the really hard stuff about your social life at UVA.”
Chelsea looks at me, then takes a deep breath. “I don’t even know where to start. I’ve had a really hard time. I didn’t want to do the Greek thing, but didn’t know where I did fit. So many people, and 99.99 percent of them, I don’t know. Country me didn’t really know how to interact with different people. I had zero confidence. Mainly I hung out in my dorm room, and only got to know a few people on my floor the first couple months.”
Chelsea stops walking. I’m feeling nervous for some reason.
“Then I made a big mistake with a guy, getting in way over my head fast. It was terrifying, really. An article in the UVA newspaper said one in three women on college campuses experience unwanted sexual contact. I was on the brink of that. And it affected my studies. I couldn’t think straight until I sorted through the fog of fear I was in.”
I watch Chelsea starting to walk again. The idea of Chelsea having a boyfriend bothers me. Bad. And not just because of the sexual aggression.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you shared with me during the year, Chelsea, and I’ve decided my first choice of a college for next year is Howard,” Cora says. Seeing the blank looks on all of our faces, she continues, “It’s in DC, and it’s a historically black college. First, I’ve decided I want to go to a city, and DC seems great for both a large black community and an international community. Howard has about ten thousand students—it’s smaller than UVA.” She puts her hand on Chelsea’s shoulder to turn her around to face her. “But beyond the size, there is a real sense of community and belonging, and sense of safety there. I’ll be among people like me.”
“Whoa, Cora,” Sean says in a voice louder than usual for him. “What happened to your prize-winning forensics speech about there being no such thing as race?” The question is punctuated by his hand brushing his hair out of his eyes, as if he doesn’t want to miss seeing something.
Cora, raising her voice to the same level as Sean’s, says, “My speech was about how race is not supposed to matter, but it does. In this country, anyone who looks slightly black is black. I have moderately black skin, so I am definitely black in the eyes of others. It doesn’t matter if that perception is not based on scientific truth. The social preference for whiteness is still alive. That racism is wrong, but I have to learn to deal with it. I think Howard would be a supportive environment to do that in.”
“Where did you learn about Howard, Cora? Online?” I ask a neutral question to tone things down.
“I did check it out online. But that was after hearing how it felt being at Howard from Ta-Nehisi Coates. He wrote a book to his son about growing up black. He talks about the remnants of slavery that still show themselves in the US through fear of blackness. He writes about having lived in four big cities in the US, and then Paris, and says the last was the only place he did not have to be black. The American Dream, Coates says, is built on prosperity through slavery, bodies for sale, accepting black bodies as currency.”
Cora is talking very fast, not looking at any of us. “It’s no surprise black bodies are disproportionately being shot by police, thrown in jail, and sentenced to death. People who believe themselves to be white excuse themselves from responsibility by saying ‘it’s not me.’ ‘Black Lives Matter’ shows it’s a whole system thing.” Cora gestures with her arms above her head, rounded like a globe, with her stern face at the bottom. She looks at Sean. “I ended my speech a few months ago by saying I’m struggling to learn how not to be a racist. I could benefit from being exposed to the experiences of many others in my same situation. This was clearly evident to me last week at the Chautauqua book club
meeting discussing Coates’s book. Members of the book club reached little understanding with each other. The separation line was clearly confusion by people who believe they are white versus frustration from people like me, who appear black … or brown, or red, or Arabic …”
Sean walks over to Cora, so close that their shoulders are almost touching. “I have learned so much from you,” he says quietly. “The most important you’ve taught me is to not look at things as either/or but as both/and. Can’t both sides have some truth to the way they see things?”
“Theoretically, that’s true,” Cora says. “But people who believe they are white seem to have little motivation to work through their confusion. That’s what I mean when I say I could learn more from people who’ve had my same experiences.”
“But then you wouldn’t hear the other sides’ ‘truth,’” Sean says.
Seeing Cora’s face become tight again, and how she moves a few steps away from Sean, I take a different tack. “Cora, you’re so smart, you could go anywhere you want and be okay.”
“What if I want to be beautiful as well as smart?” she demands. “Beautiful looking black. At Howard, I would feel that and relax.”
“That I understand for sure,” Chelsea says. “Is Howard the only place you think you would feel secure in that way?
Cora shrugs. “I did pick out two other schools in DC that could be possibilities. Georgetown is rated as ‘most selective’ in the country, but they guarantee meeting the financial need of everyone who meets admission standards. I don’t think I can get in, but I’m going to apply because financial aid is extremely important for me. Then there’s George Washington, which is very expensive, but again, I think it’s worth seeing what financial aid I can get. And, I am going to apply to UVA because at least I would have one good friend there.” Cora puts her arm around Chelsea’s shoulder.
“That’s what I wanted to hear,” Chelsea says, grinning.
“You should talk with Ms. Hoffmann,” Sean says, back to his normal voice. “She told me to talk with my parents about finances since my dad may have money allotted for me from the college where he works as a benefit of being a professor there. I found a college that has a major in marine science, with very few extraneous courses—Maine Maritime Academy. It’s right on the Atlantic coast. They have their own ships, winter break in the Caribbean, about the same number of students as Stone Creek, they offer a high school teaching certificate, and they’re called the best public college in the nation for the dollars according to MONEY magazine. I thought that last thing would help sell it to Mom and Dad. But Ms. Hoffmann said the Academy’s small size will make it hard to get into, so she suggested that I come up with some alternatives to keep in mind.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Maine?”
“It’s not such a crazy idea,” Sean says. “There are mountains in the west for winter skiing, and the school is literally right on the ocean.” Sean shoots me a look. “Okay, Jake, what you got?”
“I’m going to take Sustainable Agriculture next year, the new community college class that will be offered at Stone Creek. We’ll see how that goes. If I do well for two years at the community college, I could transfer to the Ag School at Virginia Tech. But I’m not going to take a bunch of irrelevant bullshit.”
All conversation stops as we reach the stone memorial to Adrian, mostly still intact. Chelsea tells us the wonderful day of tribute to Adrian was pretty much singlehandedly organized by Sean.
“Bet y’all didn’t know he’s such a leader,” she says. “He keeps it pretty hidden until all of a sudden he’s needed.”
Again that flare of jealousy.
Hiking back down to the trailhead, Cora and Sean seem to want to mend the harshness of their discussion earlier; they throw themselves into catching up on news about Daniel. Daniel’s mom and Sean’s mom have become good friends. Daniel is on a mission to find his father. I’m not sure why this is significant, but Sean and Cora think it is a courageous act for him.
After a bit, Chelsea and I hang back. I’ve been wanting some private time with her, so it feels good that she seems to want that too.
“I’ve thought a lot about you and our early years together over the past year,” she says. “I wish things had not changed between us.”
“I never really understood what happened,” I admit. “I thought it was me being too young for you—I figured you were moving on beyond childish things.”
Chelsea shakes her head. “I only changed as a result of my parents’ pushing. That’s what kids are supposed to do.”
“Sometimes I wonder if I would care so much for the farm if I had a life outside of it,” I say.
Chelsea stops walking and waits for me to turn and face her. “Farming is you, Jake, regardless of anything else. Don’t let anyone take that away from you.”
After a long, comfortable, welcome silence, I say, “I learned not to miss you. Now, I’d like to unlearn that. You always listened to me and knew me better than anyone. And yet you still thought I was an okay person.”
“I still do, Jake. More than okay. Here’s your birthday present.” She puts her hands on either side of my face, lowers my head to her level, and gives me a quick kiss, our first. We join hands and walk side by side, synchronized in familiar step.
I don’t know what else to say but don’t feel a need to say anything. We stroll along while the red sun’s rays pierce the clouds floating over the mountains to the west. Being with Chelsea, I feel complete somehow. Like, I could maybe care about her as much as I do about the farm. I wonder if that’s what Cora means by both/and?
Cora approaches me at lunch today and says, “Can we talk? You are the closest to Chelsea I can get at the moment. Daniel knows me best, but he’s not here today, and besides, a fresh perspective would be helpful.”
I’m a little startled by her request. “I can’t believe you want to talk something over with me,” I blurt out.
Cora frowns. “Why? Don’t you know how much people respect your grounded thinking?”
“What?”
She shakes her head as if my question is ridiculous and simply says, “So I talked with Ms. Hoffmann about my college plans. She gets it about diversity. Did you know she is Jewish?”
“No. How does that relate?”
“Like the problems blacks face now, you know Black Lives Matter, for her it was the Holocaust, knowing what her ancestors endured, and what she faced as a continuation of their suffering. But she said her inner self is only partly about her Jewish family, friends, and synagogue. She said her life as one unique human being has been the harder journey. She told me my identity is not a carbon copy absorbed from the outside, that I am writing my story to reflect my own range of experiences—a story that includes my views as a woman, a child of economically comfortable parents, an American, living as an infinitesimally small part of the Earth, uncontrollably curious, with eyes wide open. She said, ‘Be assured there is never either/or. The path forward is always more complicated.’”
Cora is usually deliberate and contemplative in her speech. Today everything is just tumbling out of her head. “She sounds like you, Cora,” I say slowly, trying to make sense of everything she’s just said. “With the either/or thing, I mean. I’m not sure I even get that. But I do know I don’t see you as part of some group. You’re Cora.”
“And who is that, Jake?” Cora folds her arms across her chest and sits back in her chair like she’s waiting for me to prove my last statement.
“You’re someone who thinks deeply about everything. Not just school stuff. Life is a mystery for you, and you’re out to solve it.”
“Then why am I always confused these days?”
Cora, confused? That I have never seen. “Maybe because you see the truth in how complicated everything is.”
She relaxes a little. “If you were me what would you do about college?”
“I would lose the pressure of feeling like I might make a wrong decision. I would make a list of what is i
mportant and look at colleges through those lenses, go visit, talk to the students there.”
Sounding beaten down, she says, “What if I still can’t make a decision after all that?”
“Won’t happen. At some point, it will pop out at you and you’ll say, ‘That’s it!’”
Cora nods and seems to stop in her tracks, even though she wasn’t going anywhere. “Yep,” she says, “that’s why they call you salt-of-the-earth guy.”
Tonight I’m getting a break from my usual farm chores. Dad agreed to do them for me so I could go over to Sean’s for dinner.
Boy, his house is much livelier than mine. His sister, Sarah, a bundle of constant energy, sees reality exclusively through the lens of her kindergarten world. The events of her day revolve around adventures in the books her teacher reads to the class, math discoveries made while manipulating different colored and sized wooden rods, and the ever-present social challenges of the playground. She can really entertain during a lingering dinner meal, without help from anyone else—but Sean’s mom and dad are working on getting her to develop interest in other people’s activities, and tonight I’m the guinea pig.
“So, Jake, what are your interests?” Sarah asks.
“Farming. My whole life has been about life on the farm.”
“Can I come visit? I’ve never been on a real farm!”
“Sure, Sarah. See that ear of corn? That comes from a farm, and it grows on a plant taller than me.”
Her eyes widen. “What’s your favorite thing about life on the farm?”
Ah, the perception of a clear mind. She reminds me of a poster in my science classroom that reads, “In the beginner’s mind there are many possibilities; in the expert’s mind there are few.” It’s a quote by Shunryu Suzuki. My science teacher constantly prompts us to let our minds be free to discover fundamental curiosity about ordinary life, and to remember that the way to learn is by each person being in control of their own practice.
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