The Kids Don't Stand A Chance

It all started with a letter.

At least, my story did. And even though it didn’t actually start with the letter, I figured it would be better to tell you about it that way. I suppose the point I was trying to stress was this: even though I fucked up tremendously over the course of my life at high school, good things still happened to me. I’m not bragging or anything – trust me, my life is nothing to brag about. I guess I just learned over the years that even if things seem like they’re going nowhere, everything is still going somewhere.

The world continued to spin, my life spinning along with it.

And my story ends with a letter, as well. A couple of letters, actually. And a few phone calls.

The first letter was a letter from the bank, telling me my fifth and final application for a loan had been accepted. I had a real loan, not money from my boyfriend (who, though he insisted it wasn’t the case, presumably felt bad for me when he loaned it to me). Nevertheless, I was finally able to pay him back.

The next wasn’t a letter so much as a document. It documented my graduating from culinary school. It documented me entering the real world. It documented the hard work and painstaking effort I had put into my education.

I received a phone call a few weeks later. The woman on the line was pleased to tell me that a lease had been taken out in my name for a location in downtown Baltimore. It was the perfect place.

Zack and I both got a phone call at the end of that year. I had moved back in with my parents (our differences had yet to be completely settled, but we were getting there) while I finished up the details concerning the bakery. I could hardly believe my ears when Jade told me she and Jack were getting married. It was a bit soon, in my opinion (they had only been dating for what – six months?) but they would make it. I knew they would.

Zack and I, well, that was another story entirely. We fought a lot. More than we probably should have. Though neither of us were particularly outspoken, we were both stubborn. Too stubborn for our own good. There were up periods, and there were low periods.

There was the week I spent in California with him, learning to surf and drinking wine from west coast vineyards. We stayed up until three in the morning every night, and stayed asleep until noon every day, a tangled mess of limbs under the covers.

And then there was the two months Zack was on tour in South American. The two months where I felt like I would never see him again, and two months where I felt like I needed him most. I tried to be supportive of him, but I couldn’t help but let the animosity slip through when we spoke on the phone.

Spending New Years Eve together was fun. Arguing the next morning was hard. Zack yelled at me, told me to figure out what I wanted in life, told me to grow up. I yelled at Zack, told him to commit to something – anything –, told him to grow up. Two days later Zack came back to my house with some flowers and an apology. I had already made him his favorite (key lime pie) as my apology.

I guess the end to my story is a happy one. At least, to me it is. I’m happy, pleased, content – there are some days when I just feel overjoyed. Zack and I might not have the perfect relationship, but deep down, there is perfection.

There was a point in my life where I wondered if I could do anything right, or if I even deserved to do anything right. I can do something right, and I do deserve to do things right.

Standing a chance in this life doesn’t seem like such an impossible feat anymore.