To Hell With Your New Shit

For months, it had been planned that he would arrive in New York two days in advance. For weeks, I hadn’t looked forward to anything but this day. For days, we had been arguing constantly over the phone. For hours, I had been crying in the bathroom.

“Lindsay,” I heard Sarah, my roommate, call through the locked door as she knocked softly. “Lindsay, you’re going to be late.”

I stared at the cold, tiled floor below my feet, sniffling and wiping tears from my face. It was the day of my graduation from New York University, and here I was, sitting on the toilet, in my dress and heels, bawling my eyes out.

“Linds,” Sarah continued to sigh from the other side of the door. I nodded to myself and stood up slowly, wobbling slightly as I caught my balance.

“Yeah, I’m coming,” I responded quickly with a crack in my voice. I let out a deep breath and stared at my miserable reflection in the mirror above the sink, before wiping pathetically at the streaks of mascara below my red, swollen eyes. The thought of delivering a speech with eyes like mine only made me want to burst further into tears, but I eventually deemed myself presentable and slowly opened the door.

“It’s gonna be okay, Linds,” Sarah comforted as soon as I stepped into the dimly lit hallway. She gave me a tight hug before handing me my purse and pushing me towards the front door. During the four years that I had lived with and known Sarah, she never once pried into any situation, a characteristic of hers that I was usually beyond grateful for. If I ever needed to talk, she listened contentedly and offered advice, but she didn’t ask questions.

Because of this strange nature of Sarah’s, the commute to our graduation was silent, save for me reciting my speech quietly to myself over, and over, and over again. The note cards in my hands were becoming worn and torn as I began to twist and fold them in anxiety. I counted the usual stops on the familiar subway line until we reached campus, and then my nerves really began to kick in. Somehow, the idea of not seeing his face, or hearing his voice, before, during, or after the ceremony made me nauseous. The idea of not being able to share one of the most important days in my life with him made my palms sweat. How could I stand in front of each and every one of my peers and deliver an impressive speech without knowing that he was somewhere in the audience, watching me?

Before I knew it, Sarah and I were being checked into the hall where the soon-to-be-graduates were clustered, waiting for the ceremony to begin.

“Ah, Miss Thompson, there you are,” one of the women at the unorganized folding table greeted me with a smile. “We were getting worried we would have to begin without our valedictorian!”

I offered the woman the closest thing to a smile that I could muster, before moving away and pulling my gown over my dress and carelessly heaping the matching cap on my head.

“Come on, cheer up, valedictorian,” Sarah offered with a hopeful smirk. I remained expressionless as we began to assemble into a haphazard line of graduates. I stared down once more at the note cards in my hands, frowning at the words I felt I wouldn’t be able to bring myself to read. Months ago, he had helped me write (although not without countless jokes that, as an English major, I should have been able to “write my own damn speech”) the same speech that was currently shaking between my fingers.

Not twenty minutes later, our line of alphabetized twenty-something-year-olds began moving, and I grimaced as we processed into the hall where the ceremony was being held. Conveniently enough, we marched straight past the chairs in which my parents sat, beaming proudly at my scowling face. With my last shred of hope, my eyes darted to the seats next to them, my stomach only dropping a considerable amount more when I was met with either empty chairs or the gazes of complete strangers.

Once we were seated, I paid no attention to the speeches of those before me; I simply focused on the words I would soon be forced to regurgitate and my efforts at trying not to vomit. Thankfully, I paid enough attention to eventually realize I was being summoned to the podium. My steps were careful and unsure as I approached, finally reaching the front of the stage and shaking the outstretched hand of the college’s dean.

When I began to speak, I was surprised at how composed I sounded. My voice sounded nothing like the thoughts and anxieties that rumbled through my brain. I kept my eyes focused either on my notes or on the incredibly distant back wall. I kept up this pattern until I neared the end of my speech, when I decided that perhaps I could offer my parents a small smile in recognition of their presence and efforts.

I scanned the audience, trying desperately to remember where they had been seated. My traveling eyes, and my speech, for that matter, halted suddenly, landing steadily on his lanky frame, poised at the very edge of his seat, an encouraging smile gracing his lips. My stomach lurched and I swear my heart stopped beating for a moment, before it began to accelerate uncontrollably. I bit my lip, trying to hold back an uncontrollable grin, before someone behind me cleared his throat expectantly and I regained my composure.

I concluded my speech, never taking my eyes from his, grinning the entire time. The hours that I had spent locked in the bathroom, crying to myself, disappeared. The days spent bickering over crackling phone lines dissolved. All that remained was my excitement, and the unbearable urge to jump from the stage and run to him.

I fidgeted nonstop, waiting for every student to receive their diploma. I nearly tripped over myself countless times as I walked forward to receive my own. I clapped with minimal effort as my foot bounced giddily against the floor. I barely noticed when caps rained down on us in celebration after having been tossed into the air. I nearly skipped my way through the procession as we made our way out of the hall. And as soon as I saw him, standing yards away from me with his hands stuffed in his pockets and a smirk adorning his face, I couldn’t help myself.

“John!” I nearly screamed, taking off at a run until my body collided happily with his, my arms wrapping themselves around his neck as he lifted me effortlessly from the ground.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I am so sorry,” he muttered over and over into my ear. I barely listened to him as my feet touched the ground once more and I buried my face deep into the scent of his shirt. I never wanted to let go of him.

“I hate you so much,” I mumbled against his chest, a small smile creeping to the corners of my lips. I heard him chuckle and he wrapped his arms more tightly around me.

“What a shame,” he told me, and I could feel him smile against the top of my head.

“Why’s that?” I asked, still smiling into the fabric of his shirt.

“Well,” he began, pulling ever so slightly away from me so I could really get a good look at him, “I suppose that if you hate me that means you aren’t going to kiss me.”

I clasped my hands behind his neck and bit my lip, shaking my head gently.

“That definitely doesn’t mean I’m not going to kiss you.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked softly, his face inching closer to mine and his hands cupping the sides of my face.

“Yeah,” I whispered back with a smirk, before he brought his lips to mine. I could practically feel my entire body sighing, and I pulled myself closer to John, forgetting that we were in public, amidst a crowd of people I knew.

John pulled us apart suddenly, straightening up and putting his hands on my shoulders to spin me around. I furrowed my eyebrows at him in confusion, until I noticed my parents walking towards us.

“Oh, Lindsay, baby, we’re so proud of you!” my mother cooed, pulling me into a tight hug. She eventually surrendered me to my father, who engulfed me in one of his typical grizzly hugs, before setting me free.

“Thanks, Ma,” I muttered, feeling myself blush.

“And, oh! We’re so glad you could make it, John,” my mom continued, pulling him into a hug, as well. “Lindsay was such a wreck, thinking you weren’t going to make it.”

John frowned at me and wrapped an arm over my shoulder, kissing me on the top of my head.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“It’s fine,” I told him quietly, snaking my own arm around his waist and smiling up at him.

“Well, Little Miss Bossy here told us not to make dinner reservations anywhere, so what are our plans?” my dad interrupted.

“I just didn’t want anyone to make a big deal out of it,” I mumbled, burying my face into John’s shoulder.

“You just graduated from NYU! We want nothing more than to make a big deal out of it!” my dad retorted. I felt John shake as he let out a laugh.

“Can’t we just order Chinese food, or something?” I suggested, turning my head momentarily to look at my parents. “There’s a place right near my apartment; we can just go in and get it on the way back.”

John shrugged. My parents frowned, but agreed, and we eventually made our way back to my apartment.