Comfort in Him

The Test

It is the eve before the big exam and I cannot sleep. My mind is restless as hoards of thoughts scamper throughout their imprisoned walls in my head. I can’t help but to think about my failed attempt at the last exam, nearly a month ago. I devoted several days, two hours each day, to the excruciating studying for that exam; but it did me no good. All the more, luck was not on my side the next day during my time of need. As beads of nervousness dripped down my jaw line, I nibbled at the octagonal sides of my pencil with only one thought in mind: “I wish he were with me. He would calm my nerves and take away my fears and tell me that everything’s going to be alright.”

The Stress

Two weeks pass and heavy wave of stress topples over me and devours any hint of calmness left in my body. My stomach is in a tangle of knots and my breathing is delicate and fast. All I can think about is how the hell I’m going to make it through the week without having a nervous breakdown. My eyes can focus on nothing but my agenda that lies before me. I want to look away, to focus on anything else but that damn agenda, but I can’t. I look up, but my eyes immediately shoot back to the endless pages of the book, covered in bold, red and black writing, with scribbles and notes and exclamation marks and arrows every which way, as if in a manner so tactical as to drive me to the depths of insanity! It is working. I can think of nothing, see nothing, and feel nothing but those damn pages of my agenda lying heavily under my frail fingertips. It’s almost as if I can feel the weight of my workload in my hands. I force myself to close my eyes and think of something, anything else. I immediately think of him. “Where is he?” I repeat to myself. I need him now; for he is the only one that can make things better.

The Disappointment

Dawn soon approaches as does the appointment. My mom and I are in the car and an awkward silence overcomes us. In an attempt to break it, I tell my mom the good news. “I got a 96 on my composition for Spanish….” But she fails to join in on the celebration of my good fortune. “That’s great,” she replies in a monotone voice, showing absolutely no emotion. “What’s wrong?” I forcibly ask her. “Nothing,” she responds, once again with a sense of lifelessness about her. However, I know exactly what’s on her mind. “It’s my weight, isn’t it?” I think to myself and then question aloud. This only makes her angry as it does me. Any time this topic is brought up, it only brings disaster and heartache as I must listen to the disappointment in my mom’s voice as she talks about my appearances and my weight. My eyes soon glaze over as a cluster of tears form and then pursue their downward advance on the sides of my face. I tune out the negative comments coming from my mom and focus on him. I need him now more than ever. He is the one and only person that can comfort me and put a smile on my face in a time like this. He will tell me my mom is wrong and that I am beautiful just the way I am. I yearn to see his face and to be in the comfort of his embrace. “Soon,” I think to myself. “Soon enough.”