A Commitment of Sorts

Mama always said I had trouble committing; after three weeks of ballet, I wanted to quit, and this trend continued for piano, softball, gymnastics, and choir. They were fleeting fantasies, dreams of a better self, a more talented, capable self. Should my abilities not shine within the first few days of my new pursuit, I grew sullen and pettish. By the time a week passed in a similar vein, I hung on by but a thread.

“You’re too hard on yourself, Ness,” my mama had said, weary, as she picked me up from a failed art class. Failed in the sense that she’d be out the twenty dollars for the next two meetings of the month, which were nonrefundable. “No one’s perfect when they start out; it takes time and practice.”

“I don’t want any of that.”

“God knows what you want for more than a week,” she had said. “Are you ever going to stick with something? I love your curiosity, really, but this can’t keep on. The next activity you pick, that’s it; either you keep going, or I’m not enrolling you in anything else.”

“That’s not fair!” I had cried, ten and unfair myself. At the time, though, it had felt like the bitterest betrayal. The next month I picked up swimming and lasted four weeks; and that was that.

~

At twenty-five, I was boring. There were bands, movies, and people I liked, but anything about me, anything that wasn’t an extension of me, was flat. Dull. It was like an itch you couldn’t scratch–a need to be something more than yourself, but paralyzed by inaction or lack of progress. Days passed in sluggish steps, and nights were wild with frenzied want, wanting to create, to start, to accomplish, to be.

I’d curl up in my armchair at three in the morning with only my laptop’s glow to guide me, researching how to knit, how to bake pies, how to learn statistics. My most recent venture had been rock climbing, foiled by my lack of upper body strength.

How to strengthen biceps, I typed into the search engine, then deleted it and sighed. I already knew the answer; weight training, which sounded boring. Maybe even more boring than myself. Energy drummed beneath my skin, though, and the thought of just existing so woefully, so unaccomplished, even at four in the morning–especially at four in the morning, drew an ache to my heart.

Felix, my cat, blissfully snored below me, propped up on a pillow I’d tossed to the floor while readjusting an hour ago. His indifference, calculated yet so innate, nettled me. Would he be an artist, I wondered, or a drummer, or writer, given the chance? Or would he sit with uninterested eyes and a lazy mien, just as he did now. And would that bother him? Or would it be a luxury to be so static?

Picking at my nails–a bad habit; there were some things, after all, that I clung to–I settled my laptop on the side table and debated finding a movie to watch instead of sleeping.

My answer came in the form of my housemate, Laura, wandering into the shared space and yelping.

“Christ Almighty,” she said. “Keep a light on next time, would you?”

“Didn’t want to keep you awake,” I said. Felix had woken and was grooming his paw, watching us with a disgruntled expression. His acquittal came soon enough when I gestured toward my lap, and he settled into the warm space where my laptop once resided. A slow purr rose from him.

Laura wiped some sleep from her eyes. We’d only be living together for a couple of months and weren’t used to each others’ habits yet. “What are you doing still up? Please tell me you’re not making another pie.”

“I’m not,” I said, sounding an iota more defensive than I had earned the right to be. Burnt pie smell still lingered near the oven. “Just… browsing the web.”

“Whatever’s on there at four in the morning will still be there later today. Get some sleep, Vanessa.”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” I teased as she headed toward the bathroom. Without glancing back, she flipped me off. I looked down at Felix, who was still purring, his eyes now closed. “What say you, Felix? Is it time for bed?”

He offered a pitiful meow while I stroked his back and thought of all the versions of me I could have been were I only more persistent.

~

It rained all afternoon that next day, drawing Laura into a mope at her inability to meet her team for volleyball practice. Felix curled up by the window and slept through it all.

“Let’s do something, Vanessa,” she urged. “I’m so bored. I’ll even help you make a pie?”

“I’m over baking,” I said airily, but I took pity on her and continued: “What’s something you like to do? A hobby other than volleyball.”

She gave me a surprised look but said, “Juggling. My cousin taught me when we were kids. But it’s kind of boring alone. Would you try with me?”

I’d never even attempted juggling. Still, she was desperate and I was stuck in the house with her. “Sure.”

Her face lit up and she made haste in bringing a box of balls out to the living room. I picked one up and rolled it over my palm; it looked like any other ball. Resigning myself to an infuriating afternoon, I grabbed two more.

“Hold on,” Laura chastised.

“What, did you want these ones?”

“No–Nessa, you can’t just start out with three; your muscles aren’t used to the movements yet.”

Frustration began bubbling in my throat. “Fine, I’ll start with two–or is that still too much?”

She laughed, oddly enough, and took two balls from me and returned them to the box. “We’ll start with one together, okay? This is how Pete taught me.”

Uncharacteristically passive, I nodded and let her lead. For some time we just tossed the single ball back and forth. Nevertheless, it seemed less pathetic than me tossing the ball between my own hands. We went at my pace, without condescension or pity. I was clumsy with three balls flying between us, but Laura was smiling and encouraging and laughing. Around five, we called it quits after her stomach growled.

“Thank you,” I said, because I didn’t know how to explain it any other way. Something about the way she taught, with such an emphasis on cooperation and interest, mellowed the tension in my being. It had felt like she truly wanted me to learn so we could share the hobby together, on equal terms.

She was already rummaging through the fridge. “Weather app said the rain might stay around for some time. We could go again next weekend?”

“That sounds nice,” I said, turning my head to hide a silly, giddy look. To my own surprise, the words were candid. I began taking pans out of the cabinet.

Laura caught my eye and winked. “Maybe we can even attempt a pie or two.”