The Rearranged Life (24 page)

To think for myself is surprisingly satisfying. The choices I have made thus far can’t be changed, and I might still go to medical school because I want to. I will still listen to my parents because they won’t lead me wrong… But I have the choice to date James if I think they are. It is a devastating mistake not to take this chance to discover for myself what love can be like. James is there in my mind, looking into me with his green eyes, imploring me to take a chance on him and buck the rules. He dares me, exhilarates me, and my nerves spark.

I try to listen to my brain, instead of my gut or my heart, both of which can lead one to impulsive decisions. I want this to be well thought out. Is James someone I want to build something with or not?

For once, my thoughts are silent.
There is no you’re screwing this up with your family
, or,
remember where you come from
. The hush goes on for miles with crickets croaking in the background. My brain, gut, and heart are in agreement. This is
right
. This is what I have to do. James, loving, sweet, intelligent James, is who I want to be with, and it’s time I grow a pair of ovaries and tell him.

Meet at the arboretum in a half hour?
I text him.

I tap my feet against the carpet and wait. A minute seems endless, each second passing by at the speed of plastic decomposing as he finally texts back.

-Sure. See you then.

When I arrive at the arboretum, I glance at my phone, noting I have about ten minutes before James shows up, so I sit on a bench in the pagoda, shivering from the brisk January cold–but the view makes up for it. It flurries, and the orangey-red hues of the sky fade slowly on the horizon though it is only five in the evening. I lean back to watch the snow, and I am at peace, the exact same way it felt when I decided I would come here for school.

My parents had been asking the tour guide questions left and right. I tried to stay engaged, but I had known, in the depths of my soul, I was where I was supposed to be.

“How is the biology program?” my father had asked as we passed by the science buildings.

“The biology program is ranked highly, sir. It is one of the toughest at Penn State, but one of the most rewarding. Many of our graduates go on to higher education.” The boy who was giving our group the tour had the incredible ability to walk backwards without running into anyone.

“What do you think?” my parents had asked in our hotel room afterward.

“I’m coming here.”

I feel the same way now. It is as if I have eaten one large dose of happy, and my tummy has no signs of butterflies, nervousness, or excitement. I am still.

James comes into view from the other side of the pavilion. His black peacoat and white sneakers look immaculate despite the remnants of a recent snowfall.

He greets me with a, “Hey,” in his deep voice, and hits his shoes on the side of the steps to dust off the snow. He gives me a hug and though it’s barely perceptible, he’s breathing me in.

I do the same. His hint of cologne feels like home.

“How were your interviews?”

“Good. I kept wondering if they thought I was an idiot. It was hard to crack them!”

“They were probably trying to make you nervous,” he says reassuringly. “I know you killed it.”

“Thank you… How was your break?”

“Really good. My cousins came up from Virginia. I watched a
lot
of movies. It was relaxing.”

Wishing I’d heard about it when it happened, I fidget a little, looking around.

“Nithya,” he says, gently. “What’s going on?”

I rehearsed a speech on the walk here about how this relationship would be really difficult and there would be days I wanted to walk away or days he would, but that I wanted to go through it with him because I couldn’t imagine life without him. But when I look up at him, his flushed cheeks in the winter snow and wide hopeful eyes, I’m struck dumb. So, I speak from the heart instead… Which I suppose is the way I should have done it all along.

“I have always done what I was supposed to do. I’ve always followed the rules and colored inside the lines. My world has always been organized. And it’s never reached further than my family because I never needed anyone else. The first two times we met, I didn’t know which way was up. It was so out of character. And when the smoke cleared, there you were. Nothing has been the same since you showed up, James. There’s been vulnerability and unfamiliarity… And there’s been truth. Laughter. Challenges. Things that I never expected of myself, like falling for someone so different, are in my hands now, and I can’t walk away.

“You’ve…” I struggle to find the words. “…changed everything. You’ve changed
me
. And if I get to feel this little earthquake, this shift in what I know, every day when I’m with you, then it’s a risk worth taking. Every second I’m with you is a risk worth taking.” I take a deep breath to steady myself. “I want you. I want to be rebellious and safe, wanted and challenged, broken and whole, and I want it all with you. I am all in.”

The passing seconds feel like minutes. I can’t take my eyes off his, and our breaths form clouds between us, our faces inches apart. Then he says four words that sound like music to my ears.

“I’m all in, too.”

My hands are at the nape of his neck, his hair between my fingers, and I pull him close, arching my back as I push into him, and our lips meet. Unlike the desperate kiss in the apartment when he left two months ago, this one is filled with hope and promise. The snow falls around us, the clouds giving the sky an eerily bright gray glow as if to say, “Look at what has been created.” We are limitless, and in my heart of hearts, I know the greatest love stories in the world have been made of moments lesser than these.

t is one month into my new relationship with James. It’s also the night before THON weekend begins–a forty-six hour long, no-sitting, no-sleeping dance marathon, which sixteen thousand Penn Staters take part in every year. The very night James came to the party where he saved me, he was late because he had an interview for a captain position on the morale committee.

Fourteen organizing committees, headed by a small number of captains and one overall each, have worked through the past year to fundraise for the Four Diamonds fund, which assists pediatric cancer patients at Hershey Medical Center. Students brave freezing weather and rain and stand on street corners in major cities with coffee cans to ask for money. The committees work like hell to organize entertainment, hospitality, and special events for the big weekend. James is a captain on morale, which pairs each morale committee member with a dancer. It is the moraler’s job to keep their dancer’s excitement up, particularly during the brutal tail end of the marathon, where muscles ache and all anyone wants to do is sleep. Before the big weekend, they create mail to be delivered throughout the forty-six hours, devise personalized packages to help their dancers stay on their feet, and plan special surprises.

Then, during the last weekend in February, all the preparation comes together in one enormous dance marathon at the Bryce Jordan Center. Fraternities and sororities, the ones who started the marathon as a fundraiser in the seventies, come dressed in neon colors, holding up their Greek letters with pride as they support the dancers chosen to represent them. Other organizations like Red Cross, who I supported when I participated, also choose representatives. Each dancer and organization represents a family with a child who has undergone or may still be undergoing treatment at Hershey.

I was a part of the rules and regulation committee for my first two years at Penn State. During junior year, THON was one of the many things I had to forgo in lieu of MCAT classes, organic chemistry, and volunteer work at the hospital and health services center. To not participate during the last two years serves as one of my few regrets, but though I am no longer a committee member, I have made it a point to attend THON every year and stand with the dancers and volunteers as a spectator.

“I got you a present,” I tell James on Thursday night, the night before he is to line the pathway to the Bryce Jordan Center along with his fellow morale captains as dancers nervously walk through the human tunnel.

“You didn’t have to do that.” He packs tennis balls into his Nike bag for his dancer to roll her feet on when she’s sore.

“I’m proud of you. Of course I did!” I hand him a wrapped gift.

He tears the paper off quickly, the opposite of the deliberate movements I make when I open my presents.

“This is perfect. You’re perfect,” James tells me, as he leans in for a kiss. He holds a silver keychain with a portable phone charger attached, engraved with this year’s THON logo,
Dream Forward.

“Overstatement of the year.” I can’t hide the happiness, I’m thrilled he loves it. The amount of time I spent looking into gifts for techies is unreal.

“Do you think you’ll be there for the whole thing?”

“I hope to stay there for all of it.” I remind myself to take a nap before I go. “Are you ready to pay it forward?”

“Every year,” he replies, with a contemplative smile. His words from a few weeks back ring in my mind again:
Max pays it forward by being a doctor. I do THON so no other little brother has go through the same shit we went through.

The gates open at four on Friday afternoon. There is already a line, slowly wrapping its way around Beaver Stadium before we can enter. Every organization tries to take over the same section of the Bryce Jordan Center each year so the massive rush of people into the building is a huge wave of college students on cell phones, spreading their belongings over rows of seats so their friends can join them later. We sit in the arena seats, watching dancers, captains, and committee members file in and begin stretching on the floor below. At promptly 6:00 p.m., the overall committees speak and begin an exuberant countdown.

Everyone, the supporters in the stands and the dancers on the floor, stands together, officially kicking off the weekend with showers of confetti and loud music. No one is allowed to sit anywhere in the arena.

The forty-six hours that follow are a haze of colors. The stage, a diamond-shaped custom made creation, is a hub of action. The Penn State athletes put on a show with different teams showing off various talents. The women’s soccer team dances to a Spice Girls song. The Nittany Lion makes appearances in jazzy outfits, and the children, the focus of the entire weekend, remind us that they’re cancer patients last and talented kids first as they perform their little hearts out for a packed house. Committee members and captains run behind the stage and underneath the main concourse with cell phones to their ears, sorting out any issues with committees and doing their best to keep the sleep-deprived dancers from feeling their pain. Families who have been impacted by the Four Diamonds fund are on the floor; they spray water guns, throw beach balls, color, create art projects at project tables, and play on Slip’n’Slides set up by the organizers of THON for all the dancers and children to enjoy. All the while, thousands of supporters stand in solidarity with the dancers. Rules and regulations committee members filter through the audience to ensure no one sits down in view of the volunteers.