The other day, I was on the phone with a family member, catching up and sharing our latest hearsays, when they asked me something, "So, I hear you want to be a writer?"
The words caught me off guard, not exactly because of what was said, but more like how it was said. The tone was skeptical, bordering the line of judgmental.
I sucked in a gulp of air, cleared my throat, and answered, "Yes, yes I want to write."
"Oh, well, yeah," was the response on the other side of the phone. I furrowed my brows, bit my lip, and waited—just waited.
"Being a writer is, well, pretty hard, do you really think you can actually get published?"
I stiffened at the sound of the words, the shock clearly written on my creased forehead. I didn't know what to say. Do I answer? Do I hang up?
And then my hands touched the glass vial necklace around my neck—the one that holds a special message inside, a message between Drake—My MC—and I. My fingers curved around the silky glass, my nails clashing against the edges desperately.
Its cold touch quieted my breathing. My mind began to wander.
My eyes became distant as I lost myself in my thoughts.
"I'll call you back," I barely whispered and I hung up.
Like an earthquake, a scene shook me...
The road ahead was dim, vacant, and protracted—I couldn’t see where it ended, if it ended. Colossal trees crouched over the road, their branches covered with a full skirt of leaves, deep green dripping down from them. Tiny, barely noticeable stars were plotted in the sky by an unseen hand so stunning. I gaped in utter awe.
Distant, steady footsteps trailed closer to me, their soft echo spilling peace all over me. I closed my eyes and listened to those footsteps, memorized how many steps were taken, the seconds in between each step.
And then I opened my eyes. Drake’s face was so close; his full lashes curled over his heavy lids, his mouth slightly open, softening his strong jaw. I stared at him, watched him watch me with careful attention.
He held out his hand to me, the side of his lip rising, making his high cheek bones reach his eyes. I put my hand in his hand.
His voice was clear, melodic. I listened to his words; listened to each sentence. The rise and fall in the sound of his voice controlled the rhythm of my heart. His hand tightened around mine, and he whispered the exact same message from the glass vial—my promise to him; his promise to me; our promise.
Together we stared down the long road, side by side, under the crouching branches and the plotted stars.
“The road is long, we don’t know where it ends, but I’ll walk with you, if you walk with me,” he said and took that very first step into the unknown.
I eyed the phone then, and without thinking I called my family member back.
"Hello?" Their voice sounded unsure.
"I don't know," I said, straightening my shoulders.
"You don't know what?"
"I don't know if I will ever be published, but I do know this," I sucked in a deep breath, my hand still around the necklace.
"I want to write, and yes, I will write."
I hung up again. Everything went strangely still, the moment like a vigilant light inside of me. I knew then, more than ever, how much I wanted to write.
How much Drake meant to me.
And no one could ever take this away from me, take him away.
People can put us down, question what we love, but they can't strip us of that love.
That is ours to keep forever.
Bloggers, Has anyone ever doubted you? How did you handle it? What did you say?
Maybe someday I will have it all figured out, know which road to take, but until then, I have to keep breathing, continue on living- Drake
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