The Way I Am Now (The Way I Used to Be)

Parker leaves the following Monday to go home to her family for the holidays. The first thing I do is go to the closet and pull down my clarinet case. I’ve been using this as an incentive to get through exams.

Chelsea texted that the band would be meeting at the end of this week and that it would be a smaller contingent—that was the word she texted, “contingent”—since a lot of the members have already left for winter break. I like that even though Chelsea and I have only had two very awkward conversations, she somehow gets that a smaller group to audition in front of is what I need.All content is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

As I take the pieces of my clarinet out of the case and begin putting them all together again, it feels like maybe some other pieces of my life are beginning to fall into place too. Like, maybe I can get back some of who I used to be—the good parts I thought were lost forever.

I promised Parker I’d keep up with jogging so we could continue after she gets back. And I keep my promise; I go for a jog almost every morning. Then practice my audition piece every afternoon, getting a little less rusty each time.

And on Thursday, after nearly a week of polite, friendly texts with Josh, I pull my hair into a messy bun, put on my sports bra, leggings and sweatpants, hoodie and a puffy vest, and thick socks and sneakers. I walk up the stairs, take a breath, and knock on Josh’s door.

“Do you want to go jogging with me?” I ask him, forgetting to even say hello first.

He stares at me in the doorway for a moment, studying my face and looking down at my clothes. “I honestly can’t tell if you’re serious or joking.”

“No, I’m really asking you,” I tell him. “Jogging is something I do now.”

“Since when?” he asks, this sort of half grin on his face.

I don’t want to say since you dumped me, so I opt for: “I’ve been hanging around you jocks for so long, it was bound to rub off on me.”

“Well, I’m not a jock anymore, remember?” He laughs and adds, “But I’ll still go jogging with you.”

We fill each other in on the gaps of time we’ve missed. I tell him about the books I’ve read for my classes, and I try not to stare at him too much while we run side by side. I think he goes slow for me, but I mostly hold my own as we work our way up and down the streets of our neighborhood. While we run, he tells me about all this stuff he’s been doing—going to meetings and confronting his dad and changing his major to something he actually cares about. I can’t believe how much has changed with him in such a short time. He’s like this shiny new version of himself. I tell him about my clarinet breathing technique, about the audition tomorrow, and he stops running then.

“Seriously, Eden, that’s awesome,” he says, this huge beautiful smile on his face. “I’m so glad you’re getting back into that. It always seemed like something you really missed.”

“Yeah,” I agree, stopping now too, my breath coming in heavy white puffs of air. “I have missed it.”