Be Brave

Today was my first day of Kindergarten, and I couldn't imagine anything scarier. I had seemed to be up all night, listening to the unknown creatures scurry outside my window. Everything felt so big now, not something I should be doing. 

    Breakfast had been too short, ending with my whining out the door. Daniel, my older brother, had managed to drag me by the heels, still crying . I could feel my momma watching us from the door, waving even as I kicked. 

    There was just too much, and all I wanted to do was run back to my mothers safe, warm arms. Yet, that wasn’t really an option. My hair was already brushed, pulled into two tight ponytails. All of my clothes were straight and clean, and I really didn’t want to go home and get them all dirty. Or momma would be mad and huffy everytime she had to rebrush everything. 

    Though, I still dragged my feet, and held Daniel's hand like a lifeline. He was starting to get annoyed, the only telling by the sighs every quarter minute. Eventually, the school bus came into view, with a sea of children in front. 

    “No, please. Let’s just go home,” I begged, and almost fell from Daniels' sharp stop. 

    “Alright, you know what? Remember all those books we read?” he asked carefully, kneeling down so we were eye level. 

I nodded, they were thrown across my room, bright blue and yellow covers strewn from dresser to door. 

“Well, they're all about, you know, being brave.” he paused, and for a moment I could see the own doubt in his eyes. “ So that’s all you gotta do, stick up your head, shoulders back.” 

 I mimicked his words, puffing my chest out. It did make me feel a little better, like there was armor spanning over my chest. 

“Yeah, just like that. You just gotta be brave. So do that for me, be brave.” he whispered, like it was a secret. I smiled, and hurriedly nodded. Eyebrows furrowed, and shoulders almost touching each other. Now I had a mission, I had to be brave for Daniel. 

Then, even as the angry yellow school bus towered over me. I managed to make the steps one at a time, my backpack still in my hands. Turning to my older brother at the last step, he gave me a thumbs up, and mouthed to be brave. 

Be Brave, I thought, how hard can that be?

***

    When I was sixteen, I had to learn how to drive, and it was probably the scariest time of my life. At least, in my mind it was pretty damn close. There was a triumph of different things to remember, and memorize. All for just one test to determine almost everything in your teenage life. 

    Though, in all honesty, I didn't want to learn, but I really had no choice. It had become an all out war in our house, my parents claiming I needed to have the license, my brother and I remarking how they didn’t even have theirs until they were eighteen. After a while, we relented, and our parents won the final victory. 

    Then, came the difficult task of actually learning, and my parents were not willing to teach me. So here I was, with my nineteen year old brother teaching me to drive. We had decided on a cemetery for a starting point because in my brother's own words. 

    “You can’t kill anyone if they are already dead.” 

    Yeah, it was about as comforting as it sounded. I was still terrifying, and shaking with nerves. Daniel was getting annoyed, fingers pinching between his nose. We had managed to switch seats at least, me being the driver and his passenger. 

    “Alright, one more time. All you have to do is push the gas. Okay, then we can call it a day,” he compromised, trying to be as patient as possible. 

    My anxiety was sky high, all the little tips I learned were leaving me. It made me feel foggy and disoriented, like trying to reach for something that was a little too far away. Just remembering what pedal was gas and brake seeming to pass through one ear and out the other. 

    I thought back to just breathing for a moment, which only made the silence and impending doom more noticeable. There really wasn’t much I could do, just sit here and wait till Daniels caves, driving us home while he whines about a wasted afternoon.

Something in me spraked at that, I wanted, no need, to prove him wrong. That I could do this, and attempt to learn to drive. I leaned forward, placing my hands ten and two on the steering wheel, squaring my shoulders, reaching my foot forward. 

Be brave, and just breathe. The car, ever so slightly, rolled forward, and then stopped. But nothing had happened, it didn’t explode or anything. No running into gravestones for grieving families. 

    “You're gonna do anything else,” Daniel snided, but at least now had pulled his arms to fold. 

    “Yeah, I could do some more,” I remarked, and leaned back into the gas. “Just a little more.” 

***

When I was twenty-two, I broke up with my boyfriend, Zach. It had been a long time coming, with fights breaking out over everything. He didn’t like the way I dressed, talked, cooked, it just seemed to annoy him all , or the way I talked to him. Respect and loyalty seemed to be thin and stressed. 

We had been fighting for over an hour, shouting till the walls seemed to rattle. At this point, I was forgetting what this was about. Unsure over the clothes were the main point, or something underlying had taken precedence. 

“Really, you’re that insecure!” I yelling in desperation. 

“I’m not insecure, but I’m also not willing to let you go out of here like that!” he responded. 

This is why I just needed to leave, I thought. 

Is that really what I wanted? For it to all just be over, after three years. I still itched to do it, trying to imagine the relief I could feel, or the utter despair. We were face to face, no time like the present. Mustering everything, trying to present any type of fakefake confidence. 

    “I think we should break up,” I uttered.    

    “What, come on. Really?” he argued again, already gaining another round of argument. “You're just gonna hang that over my head.” 

    “I just don’t think this is working,” I responded. “I mean you aren’t blind. You have to see this isn’t working.” 

    There was a pause, a heavy, deep silence. A slight knowing this could really be it, our last moments together. I was shocked, maybe slightly happy, to find myself relieved by the circumstance. 

    “You know, I thought I was going to have to say it,” Zach admitted. 

    “Well maybe I have a little more courage than you realize,” I snapped. ” 

*** 

When I was twenty-eight, I said yes. It honestly felt like a long time coming, dating for four years, knowing eachother for six. It just made sense, parents had met, hell my own family had already decided the colors for our wedding. 

Really the only thing missing was a ring on my finger. Every Time he reached for something in his pocket, or leaned a little too heavily into his knees. I held my breath, just waiting for a ring box to appear. Yet, nothing came. 

We met three months after I had broken up with Zach. My now boyfriend, Avery, and I had met at his job. A librarian from down the street, who just so happens to like just about every book recommendation I sent his way. 

We had talked, over and over, about our days, the weather. At first I thought he was tired, ready to get home, then I noticed the hand in his pocket. Something was in there, and every small hope of me was just begging for it to be a ring. 

“You know,” he said, just before we had reached our apartment, the wind trailing between his words. “We really have grown a lot.” 

We were paused in front of a old buliding, and it took me a second to long to realize it was the library where we met.

“Will you marry me?” He asked, and my heart stopped. Stooping down to one knee, pulling out a box from his pocket. 

I jumped, of course! Then I paused, and the air seemed to grow a little colder. 

What if I was making the wrong decision? He might leave me at the altar, or just use me for something else entirely. Fear, indecision, and worry crowded every thought. Shouldering my previous excitement and anticipation. 

Everything had to be perfect, I mean if I was to marry him I would at least want him to be decent. And what if four years wasn’t long enough, maybe we needed more time. 

Yet, isn’t this what I wanted. Didn’t I dream of waking up next to him, our children already scampering over the bed. The laughs of teenagers, and older adults, as we grew into gray hair. The perfect picture of domestic bliss. 

    So, maybe this is what I wanted, all I had to do was believe it. Take whatever courage I had stored, and say one word. How simple, only one, a single careful word. I just had to be brave enough to say it. 

    That’s all it takes right, a bit of courage. So there, staring at his green eyes, and the still slight shuffling on his knee. I look straight at him, letting the dometic morning drift to my mind. 

    “Yes,” I whispered. “Yes, I will marry you.” 

***

    . When I was thirty two I watched my son get on the school bus. Everything is telling me to keep him, just one more year. Be brave, I whispered to myself. 

I almost laughed at the ridiculous, the sentence I had been repeating since before I could remember. It seemed so stupid, but quite effective when camling nerves. 

My parents, and Daniel, claimed the Be Brave comment came from a snide remark from my brother, just before I went to my own first day of Kindergarten. Then, it stayed with me, a small constant in my life. 

So there I stood, grown and matured. Still repeating the words from when I was five. There I was, watching my son look back at me, and we made eye contact. Be Brave, I mouthed. Hoping, maybe even if it was ridiculous at least it could have the same reaction for him. 

He stares at me, wide eyes beaming with someone new. Maybe courage, a rare form for a coward five year old. . Yet, there we were, everything felt different. 

Be Brave, he whispered, and I couldn’t help but  repeat it one more time.