#...i felt unworthy. but who decided that i am those things? the crisis i was in could have killed me. i couldn't deal with school then...

[uncanny-tranny]

Your life isn't a to-do list. You're allowed to exist, to take life as slow as you'd like. The dreams you have won't suddenly disappear. It's okay to stop and smell the roses, or to engage with "childish" things, or to recover, or do what you need to.

[quiet-onset]

New Suit

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Black!Reader

Word Count: 3.8k+

A/N: it’s been forever since I’ve posted, but I have been writing since I was stuck at home with covid 😅 Hopefully I can post something else next week too! ANYWAYS, this fic does not have any TFAWS spoilers and (as usual) does not give a fuck about Endgame, meaning our favorite dysfunctional couple Tony and Steve are alive. Steve simply passed on the mantle. Enjoy!

So Sam was Captain America. And he was proud of that fact. 

The day that Steve decided to retire and give him one of his most prized possessions was a day Sam would never forget. A whirlwind of emotions had swelled in his chest. Shock, unworthiness, gratitude. But after talking it over with Steve — and surprisingly enough, with Bucky — Sam agreed to take in the role.

The thing was, no one knew yet. At least, no one outside of the Avengers facility.

Immediately after Thanos, there weren’t really any Avengers level threats. Most threats could be handled by one team member, and it was usually one of the newbies — Peter, Scott, even Wanda. That being so, Sam didn’t have much of a reason to even make public appearances. So he didn’t.

Sometimes, he’d stand in the training room, the red, white, and blue shield strapped to his arm, and just stare in the mirror. Something felt wrong. Out of place. Like the reflection before him was almost right, but he still couldn’t tell what was wrong. Tony had caught him one time as he stepped into the room, a sports bottle full of ice cold water in his hand. “Mid-life crisis?”

Sam jumped at his loud voice and almost scrambled to detach the shield from his arm, like a kid caught with his grubby little hand in the cookie jar. “My bad, I’ll just—“

“No no, keep it on.” Tony waved a hand. “I gave it to Steve, he gave it to you. It’s yours, no give backsies.”

Sam nodded but took the shield off anyway. He decided that he didn’t need to train anymore and headed toward the door. “I’m just gonna go put this back.”

“What is going on with you, Wilson?”

“What do you mean?”

Tony raised a brow, “What do I mean? You staying cooped up in this facility. Barely training with the shield. Opting out of assignments. That’s what I mean.”

“There’s not much of a need.”

“There is. You just don’t see it yet.” Tony walked toward him. “Look, I know being the new Cap has you freaked out—“

“I’m not freaked out.”

“Sure. But Steve chose you and that should be good enough.”

“It is.” Sam huffed as he turned the shield in his hands. “I don’t know, man. I just… It’s just hard to believe. Hard to put in action, I guess.”

“Well, seeing is believing.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Head to room 626 when you get a chance.”

“What’s in room 626?”

“You’ll see.”

—

Sam exited the elevator on the sixth floor to loud muffled music. Looking around, he realized he’d never even been to that part of the facility before. The white walls and obscure art seemed strange and misplaced in a building full of superhumans. Too clean, too elegant. 

Each of the rooms seemed that way too. Sam paused in the hallway, glancing through some of the glass doors with people’s names painted neatly at the top. Hardwood floors and marble countertops in each room. So impeccably clean that even dust bunnies wouldn’t dare step foot inside. 

Yet, when Sam approached room 626, he realized this was where the loud music was coming from. Different from the other rooms, this one was messy and colorful. He slid the glass door open, flinching at loud volume. 

He recognized the track — his father used to listen to it all the time when he was growing up. He could almost hear his dad’s deep voice teasing him: “You don’t know nothin’ ‘bout this, son. This was before your time.” Of course Sam knew the song. His dad was the one who put him on. Still, Sam’s dad always got a kick out the playful fight he put up. 

The long, seemingly endless hallway was painted a blinding white. He could make out a peculiar smell as he walked toward the end of the hall. Wet paint or fumes, he wasn’t really sure. He just pulled his shirt over his nose and kept looking for… well only God really knew. 

Finally, he arrived in the main room and saw you and your controlled chaos. You had ten or twenty different fabrics pinned to one wall and sketches of different outfits pinned to the opposing one. Against the back wall were mannequins wearing your works in progress. And just in front of Sam on a large wooden desk were schematics and what looked like engineering tools. Soldering iron, wires, circuit boards, and the like.

Everything seemed like a tornado of colors, clothes, and fabric. But you? You were as cool as a cucumber with your expensive looking spray painting mask strapped on as you sprayed the back of a jean jacket with bright pink paint. Sam chuckled when he heard your muffled voice sing along to the song, not noticing his presence. “Sherry bay-yay-by. Sherry, wontcha come out tonight.”

Sam pulled his shirt back down with a small grin on his lips, debating whether he should disturb you. In the end, he decided to save you the embarrassment, but by then, you’d already moved on to the next verse. You dropped your voice down low in an attempt to sound just like Nick Massi, singing, “Why don’t you come on.”

Sam let out a loud laugh, only covering it with his hand as you jumped, finally realizing someone else was in the room. “Sorry.” Sam chuckled. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your concert.”

You pulled the mask over your head, revealing a nervous smile. You jogged to the desk and grabbed the remote to switch off the stereo. “Concert’s a flattering choice of words.”

“Well you were really nailing that Massi.”

You raised a brow as you set down the can of spray paint. “You listen to Four Seasons?”

“Growing up, it was a staple in the Wilson household.” He offered his hand. “I’m Sam, by the way.”

“Y/N.” You shook it, an impressed smile on your face. “So what can I do for you, Sam?”

“I’m actually not sure. Tony just kinda sent me up here.” He raised a brow when you gasped, amused with your excitement. He smiled as the cute squeal that pushed past your lips. “I assume you know what that means.”

“I’ve been asking him forever if I could design your new suit!”

“New suit?”

“I mean, if you’re okay with it.” You added.

“I just don’t see why I need a new suit is all.” Sam shrugged as he looked around at all your work. He knew, way deep down in the rational part of his consciousness, that he needed a new suit. There wasn’t anything wrong with his Falcon suit, but wearing a new suit seemed too definite. If he put on a new combat suit, it meant that he was fully stepping into this new role. That he would be Captain America in more than just name. People would look at him, at his suit, and recognize that he was the Captain America.

“How about this?” You stepped toward him, prepared to bargain. “Let me make you a suit. If you don’t like it, I’ll just give your Falcon suit an upgrade. Deal?”

He let out a nervous chuckle at your offer. He had nothing to lose, really. Either way, he got upgrades. Still, he looked over at you and decided he couldn’t be the one to snuff the ambitious look in your dark eyes. He shook your hand, smiling softly at the triumphant grin that broke across your face. “Deal.”

“Great!” You were bouncing on your toes when he agreed. You practically raced back to your desk and started shuffling through your sketches and until you found the folder you were searching for. You handed them to Sam, “You can come back tomorrow morning so I can take your measurements. Till then, look through these sketches and tell me what you like.”

“So you’ve been working on this for awhile?” Sam asked, briefly flipping through the many colorful sketches.

“Ever since Tony told me about you.”

He let out a breath of amusement through his nose. Of course it was Tony, trying to set things in motion before Sam was even sure of what he wanted. Still, he knew Tony was trying to help. Sam gestured with the folder. “I’ll take a look.”

“Cool. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

— 

When Same woke up the next day, he found himself immediately thinking about meeting with you later. He felt weird. Nervous, even. Whether it was due to the idea of a new suit — of being Captain America — or seeing you, he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he felt like a swarm of butterflies had flown from his stomach to his throat and decided to make a home there.

After stepping out of the shower, which took twenty more minutes than usual, he fumbled around for something to wear. What was he supposed to wear to fitting anyway? Sweats? Jeans? As his mind wandered, he thought of you. Rather, he thought of how you would see him. Maybe I should wear the green shirt, he thought. Girls always seem to like the green shirt.

He paused. Why was he thinking that?

He’d just met you. He knew a total of two facts about you: your name was Y/N and you listened to Four Seasons. That was hardly enough for Sam to be worried about how he looked for you. Yet, there he was, slipping on the dark green shirt that seemed to stretch ever so slightly across his broad chest. He settled on a pair of dark jeans before heading down to the kitchen for a cup of coffee.

As he stepped into the communal kitchen, Bucky was already sitting at the island, back facing Sam. He had just returned from his daily run, still in his sweatpants and white T-shirt with a cup of coffee in front of him. “There’s still fresh coffee in the pot.” Bucky mumbled into his cup as he flipped to the next page of the newspaper.

“Thanks.” Sam walked past him, slapping the newspaper into Bucky’s face as he walked by. “Why are you reading a newspaper?”

“To keep up with the news. Like a normal person.”

“There are these great new things called cell phones. Most people read the news on those now.” 

“Well, I’m not most people, am I?” Bucky lowered the newspaper and furrowed his brow at the sight of Sam. “What girl are you trying to impress?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Green shirt.”

“What about it?”

“That’s your ‘I want a girl to like me’ shirt.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sam scoffed as he poured a second cup of coffee. “This is just a shirt.”

“The shirt.”

“I’m not having this argument with you.”

“Not much of an argument when you know I’m right.” Bucky smirked. “Who’s the second cup for?”

Sam paused as he realized he’d been caught, but quickly recovered with an eye roll. “For me. So I don’t have to come back and hear your annoying ass voice.”

“Mhm. Tell the girl I said hi.” 

“Screw you.” Sam left the kitchen to the sound Bucky’s chuckles, reluctant to admit that he was right. Moments later, he was waiting for the elevator, tapping his shoe to distract himself from the butterflies that were starting to flutter around again. When the doors slid open, Tony briefly greeted Sam before stopping and pulling off his glasses. “Green shirt?”

Sam stepped past him. “Shut up.”

Every step closer to your workspace had him jittery. Not only was he forced to deal with these unfamiliar feelings for you — if that’s what they were — but he was finally being confronted with his new position. One step closer to replacing Steve. To being Captain America. Yet, he couldn’t deny, he could envision himself in some of the suits you had sketched for him. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

When he entered 626, there was loud music playing once again. Another old song he recognized, Van Morrison. He smiled at the thought of you dancing around your space again, singing along to Brown Eyed Girl. It wasn’t so much about him catching you in the act. It was nice, a privilege really, to see the natural you. Eyes closed, arms up, hips swaying. Seeing how you act when you believed no one was watching was like strangely endearing.

And there you were, almost matching his wandering thoughts to a tee. You were setting up for work, once again not noticing Sam’s arrival. You danced across the room as you moved things from place to place. You began to sing out the words as you prepared to lift your tri-fold mirror. Sam broke from the trance and called out your name. You jumped and placed a hand over your heart, laughing quietly when you saw it was only him. “Caught me again.”

“To be fair, you seem pretty easy to catch with the way you get lost in music.” Sam smiled, placing the coffee cups on your desk, far from any of your papers. “Let me get that for you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“It’s no problem. Just tell where you want it.”

You stepped away from the mirror, tossing a stray braid over your shoulder with a smile. “Just over there, in front of that pedestal. Thanks.” When he went to lift it, your eyes were drawn to his arms, watching his biceps flex. You caught yourself before you could begin to stare, heat rising to your cheeks as you went to look for your measuring tape.

“Oh, by the way, I brought you a cup of coffee.” Sam mentioned as he set the mirror down. “You know, if you drink it? I didn’t know what you put in it, if anything, so it’s black. Is that okay?”

“That’s perfect, actually.” You sighed happily. “I’ve been trying to replace coffee with loud music in the mornings, hence the dancing.”

“Of course.” He chuckled in response.

“And while I love to blast Morrison at nine in the morning, it’s not the same without a hot cup of coffee.” You took the cup he offered with a smile. “Thanks for thinking of me.”

Sam couldn’t help how his heart skipped a beat. “Don’t mention it.”

You took a sip, “So, you ready to get measured for your new suit?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

“Great, just step onto the pedestal for me, and relax.”

“Got it.”

It was quiet as you brought the tape measure under his arms and around his chest. It wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but Sam was sure his nerves had to be radiating out of him. The butterflies were beating against his ribcage as you pulled just tight enough on the tape measure. You took note of the number and bent over to write it down on your notepad. Being so close to you, Sam felt himself tense up as you measured around his waist. You chuckled and looked up at him. “You gotta relax.”

“I’m relaxed.”

“If you don’t loosen up, your new suit is gonna be super tight in all the wrong places.” You joked. “Talking usually helps.”

“About what?”

“Anything.” You shrugged. “Like why are you so opposed to a new suit?”

Almost as if it was a reflex, Sam tensed up again with a nervous and playful chuckle. “Way to get me to relax.”

“I’m just saying.” You laughed, adjusting the tape once again. “It’s not like you’re not qualified. I mean, Steve chose you.”

“Yeah, he did. I wish it were that simple in my mind.” He admitted.

“What’s your mind saying?”

“What isn’t it saying?” Sam rolled his eyes at himself. “It’s just… I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I don’t want to put that on you. That’s not your job.”

“It’s not.” You agreed with a chuckle. “But that’s not why I asked. You can tell me.”

Again, with a wave of confusion, he felt the tension melt away. He didn’t know why he felt this way, like he could tell you anything and everything. There was a familiarity about you, like you were someone he’d known his entire life despite only meeting twenty hours ago. His father probably would’ve called you an old soul. Maybe in some other lifetime, in another universe, you knew each other. Or maybe, this was just fate coming to pass. Destiny finding, not two halves, but two wholes — putting them together like some sort of experiment to see what would come of it.

“It’s just… how am I supposed to follow after Steve?” He asked. “He has such a huge story, this legacy just hanging over my head. He’s been saving people since before either of us were born. And now here I am, some dude from the Air Force that met Steve completely by accident, about to take up his shield. It just seems unbelievable. Literally.”

You nodded as you measured around his left thigh. “First, let me say that your feelings are completely valid.”

“Why do I feel like you’re about to decimate everything I just said?”

“Not decimate!” You laughed. “Just gently prove wrong.”

“Oh, in that case.” He smiled down at you.

“Shut up.” You snapped him with the tape measure before measuring his other thigh. “Steve is not the only one with a story. I mean, Sam Wilson, the guy who grew up in Harlem, lost his parents and his best friend, and still managed to not give up? The guy Steve Rogers trusted with his life almost immediately after meeting him? The same dude who stole a top secret government project and used it to become a superhero? I think that’s pretty badass.”

Sam considered your words with a small smile. Sure, he may have seemed normal — maybe even mundane — to himself, but the fact is that he had also been through a lot. Just like Steve, Sam realized that his life was no walk in the park. Not many people couldn’t have lived Sam’s life and come out the other side not just okay but strong. He wasn’t Steve Rogers, but that didn’t matter. He was Sam Wilson, and maybe that was okay. 

“You’re good at that.” He commented quietly, looking down at you. He just about caught himself staring at you. The bright smile across your ruby shaded lips, the almost childlike excitement in your eyes. And your eyes — jesus. They were the same color as his, a dark brown. Yet, he couldn’t help but find yours so much more interesting.

“At what?”

“Talking to people.”

“Not everyone. Just...” You shook your head as you stood up straight. There was something indecipherable in his eyes — or maybe you wanted to believe it was. Still, it was there. Admiration, confusion, gratefulness? You weren’t sure. But the intensity of his stare made heat spread across your cheeks one more, and you ducked your head, moving to the side to measure the length of his arm. “Just people like you.”

Minutes later, you finished his measurement and moved on to the designs. You and Sam went through each and every one, noting his likes and dislikes. As time went on, it became very apparent that he was ready to be Captain America. Even if he wasn’t sure yet, you were. Much too soon, every detail of his new suit was planned out, and it was time for Sam to go. 

“If I make this my top priority, I can have your new suit finished in two weeks, tops.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Sam said bashfully. “I’m sure you have other work to do.”

“None as exciting or as important.”

“Now you’re just stroking my ego.” He joked.

You scoffed painfully, “Like you need me to do that.”

You walked beside him, down the hall and to the elevator. He couldn’t help but wish he had some sort of excuse to stay, but leading the Avengers meant a mountain of responsibilities. Still, he wanted to see you again. Not for work and not for designing a new suit. He wanted to get to know you away from the fabric and tape measures. He wanted to find out how someone as sweet and breathtaking as you could even exist in a world filled with such evil left and right. So, he rocked back and forth for a moment before turning to you. 

“And um, Y/N?”

“Yes?”

Sam fully intended to ask you out just then. But he felt like he couldn’t move. A feeling of nervousness he hadn’t gotten since he was a teenager, he was frozen. Staring at you like a deer in headlights, his brain screamed at him: Just ask her, you dumbass! Then, the elevator announced its arrival with a ding and broke his concentration. He cleared his throat and smiled nervously. “Thank you again. You’ve been a huge help.”

You blinked in confusion but stammered out, “Glad to be of service.”

It wasn’t until a few days later that Sam had gained the courage to do what he should’ve done in that moment. 

The city was in danger — some high-level Hydra threat — and the Avengers were needed. Everyone rushed off to suit up, including Sam. That’s when he saw it. You had just finished his suit, and it was more than Sam could’ve ever imagined. A shiny white breastplate with red decals on the torso, blue pants lined with bulletproof material, and to top it off, his signature red wings. That was something he wanted to keep. They reminded him of his humble beginnings, of what made him the man that Steve chose to be Captain America. 

And Captain America he was. 

Sam was aware of all the stares he got as he fought the Hydra agents and ended the crisis with the rest of the team. He knew it would take some getting used to. But he was pretty sure — no, extremely sure that he could do this. He could be the symbol that the public needed. 

He strolled back into the Avengers Complex, handing a handcuffed Hydra agent off to be questioned, when he saw you. You were usually there waiting, ready for feedback on your new toys and inventions. But what Sam said surprised you. 

“Hey Sam,” You started. “Did your new suit fare well? I was already thinking of some modifications based on —“

“Would you like to go out with me this Saturday?”

You blinked, lowering your clipboard in shock. “What?”

“Would you like to have dinner with me on Saturday?” He smiled wide and unabashedly. Then, with no hesitation, you smacked him on the arm with your clipboard, making him bark out a laugh. 

“Took you long enough.”

[nix-that-rad-lass]

Thank you so much about the non gold star lesbian thing it's really starting to piss me off too... I saw this on my dash because I am following the radfem safe tag, I don't know you at all but I couldn't resist. These posts induced a rather big crisis a few days ago where I nearly convinced myself I must be 1% bi at least, since strangers on the internet say so! I want my revenge now. So, here is my story. > before I even went to primary school, my cousin who is one year older than me made it a habit to kiss me (with tongue), hiding from our parents, touching me in inappropriate places, making me touch him. I was so small I just did what he asked but this experience shaped my behavior around boys for a long time. > as a result, in childhood, I knew girls were supposed to have crushes on boys, so I picked one that seemed sensitive and more pretty/delicate than the others and strategically decided I would have a crush on him. Meanwhile I never thought about boys but only girls, I wanted the attention of some specific girls so much, it was different from what I felt for my friends, I felt unworthy of talking to those girls because I found them so great. > The word 'dyke' had been used in the shoolyard and I had asked what it meant so I knew about lesbians but it was a remote reality, I wouldn't have applied it to my own life even though I remember being strangely worried by the idea > I had two 'boyfriends' in primary school. It was just words, we were kids. We never even held hands and didn't talk to each other. > in middle school I also picked a boy who was crying on the first day and who looked pretty to be my crush. I got really attached to him actually but he heard about my crush and hated me. > and then... the impossible happened. I finally got an internet connection and online I learned about gay people, through yaoi and fanfiction which is not ideal, but I also met a girl on a forum who was miraculously attending the same school as me. I fell for her. > at the age of 14 for the first time I had to reckon with the fact that I was in love with a girl. I immediately told myself "no, I am a heterosexual, this isn't me" and pushed it back down in firm denial. I made myself forget about it for a while. > I agreed to date the first guy who asked me in high school because I was scared of saying no, didn't want to be mean. He was not attractive at all but I didn't want to crush his spirit. I said yes out of pity and to make myself feel like a good sacrificial girl. > he was so annoying, touching me inappropriately in high school, always a hand on me, even forcing his fingers into my mouth for a sick fantasy of his in the middle of the schoolyard. I was humiliated and scared of him. I spent a holiday with my best friend I met online, and realized again how much I loved her. So I dumped the guy and embraced a "I am heterosexual but just in love with this one girl" mindset. > at 15 I confessed to her, because I thought she had been sending me signals that she was interested as well. > she started playing games with my heart, she told me she loved me a few times and then never again, didn't want to date me even in secret, criticized me all the time for every little thing. I was so dependent on her and starved for affection but I never dared to kiss her. She broke my heart with her endless rejections, I had to end the relationship because my health was actually declining from what I was putting my mind through. It is a shame that such a bad experience was my first love. I will never understand why she did what she did and it took me a long time to accept that. > I knew that one of my male friends had been wanting to date me so, desperate to forget this girl, I asked him on a date. Even though I felt nothing but friendship for him. I asked him to kiss me, to touch me. I was curious about how it would feel, and saw an opportunity. I just wanted to feel alive and happy and loved and even though I didn't love him back and didn't want to touch him I thought I could work with that. > it was fine for a few months as we were just hanging out and making out. It was not unpleasant so I didn't question anything. But then we got naked, and I was disgusted by his body. Scared, even. I didn't show it. I forced myself to go on. I told myself: it's normal for a girl to feel like that. > we made plans to sleep together once I hit 16 since it was the age of consent in my country. I was curious about how it would feel on one hand but on the other hand it felt like a duty. Then the day came and I could tell he was too nervous and angry about being nervous. A thought came to me: "guess I have to take the reigns or he'll sulk and make me pay for it for a week". My first love, the girl, had broken my spirit so much, I thought my role in life was to comply to people's demands, because I was just there to make them happy. I was in a miserable place. It was my decision, but a bad decision. I wish I had never felt like that, now looking back I can see I was completely emotionally destroyed. > we slept together a few times more. He was unbearably possessive, bossy, insecure, ad clingy. I blocked out these months from my memory but I remember that his touch had became physically repulsive. I wanted to beat him up. I was in mental pain all the time. > I dumped him, told myself I was a biromantic asexual since I obviously didn't like sex, and it took falling for one more girl and the accidental discovery of lesbian radfems for me to realized sexual desire was supposed to go from me towards the other and not just the reverse. Realizing I was a lesbian after years of thinking I was bisexual but 'wrong' felt like pure joy. Like I could breathe again, I was jumping up and down in my room, repeating "I don't HAVE to date men if I don't want to!!!" I told all of my friends, I wasn't even ashamed I was so happy. > I told my mother eventually. She knew because she had seen me in pain over that girl. She did not reject me but I remember once when I was 14 I asked her, "what would you feel if I was in love with a girl?" and she had said "I would feel very sad, because that would not be normal". It was hard to hear. Now I understand she just wanted a normal life for me and was scared I would get beaten up by homophobes or never find real healthy love and stay alone. It's been a few years but we're getting slowly better at conversations about my sexual orientation. So, I didn't even need terrible circumstances to sleep with a boy. It was just in the culture. It never even crossed my mind that I might be a lesbian, rather than bisexual, until finding the blog lesbian-ed and seeing "you don't have to sleep with anyone if you don't want to". I really thought I had to, and so convinced myself all of my choices were my own. But I was deeply distressed, plagued with anxiety and self-hatred. I was clinging desperately to what made me feel 'normal'. Even now sometimes it's hard to stay secure in myself, because I fell for a third girl, and keep having crushes on girls, but I am 22 and still never kissed a girl. But I know, I am utterly sure, that I am a lesbian. I feel no attraction for men, I don't find their bodies beautiful, I don't crave intimacy with them, I don't like their hands and especially not their hands on me. It is all the reverse with women. And that's enough to know that I'm a lesbian. I routinely have a "what if I was bi after all" crisis when something unsettles me, but always overcome it. But I was so unsettled by the recent posts I couldn't stop thinking about it for a few days, I was mentally back in my teenage years, with something telling me: "you could be normal. You could feel like you belong in society, like you have a place in the world." It's frankly exhausting to have to go through so much self-doubt but I hope every lesbian in a similar situation can take a bit of inspiration from my story. Trust yourself, trust your feelings in their purest form, without putting any words on them. What you feel for women has nothing to do with what you feel for men, I guarantee.

[thecrisisblog]

Ripple Effects of an Academic Crisis

(Photo Credit: National Lampoon’s Animal House, Universal Pictures, 1978)

There is a metaphor in the law called “fruit of the poisonous tree.” Simply stated, it describes evidence that is obtained illegally. If the tree is tainted, then anything and everything — such as fruitful evidence — that comes from that tree is tainted as well, and cannot be used. Even if that evidence could convict or exonerate someone. It’s simply inadmissible.

Which brings us to two questions no one has yet fully addressed about the widespread college admissions cheating scandal, known euphemistically as “Varsity Blues”: First, what should happen to the students who gained admission to colleges and universities and medical schools through the illegal acts of their parents? Should they, too, be deemed “inadmissible?” Should the students be penalized, especially if they had no knowledge or participation in the illegal acts of their parents? Is this what’s meant by the sins of the father, and should the inequity of those parents be visited upon the heads of their (perhaps) otherwise innocent sons and daughters?

As a crisis manager whose clients over the years have included major colleges, universities and medical schools across the country, I have helped selected bastions of academia wrestle with even thornier problems. And it’s not easy. Peoples’ — innocent peoples’ — lives are on the line.

Some might say it’s a dilemma worthy of Solomon. Maybe.

But consider this: What happens to the innocent children of, say, bank robbers? If the parents are later caught after the crime has been committed, and the children had no knowledge of the crime or any direct or indirect participation, do the kids get to keep the loot or the things the loot bought if their parents are later carted away in handcuffs? Certainly not. How is that any different from the college cheating scandal? I submit it’s not.

But wait, you may cry: What is there to be given back? Actually, quite a lot. For starters, there’s the admission itself, which has a substantially high actual and intrinsic value, especially from an “elite” school. Should the student be permitted to stay in school?

No.

I hear talk from schools saying each instance will be decided on a case-by-case basis. That is a fool’s path that will lead to bigger and more complex crises down the road.

And it is a certain route to negative press and major litigation. Why would any school want to open itself to that hornet’s nest?

Expulsion, for starters, should be a no-brainer, across the board. If the student herself did the actual cheating and was caught, she would be held accountable and most likely expelled and no one would question that decision. I submit the same rules — and punishment — should apply. And if you think about it, what punishment could be worse than parents having to explain to their child that they were kicked out of school because their parents cheated to get them in? What possible “extenuating circumstances” could exist that would justify allowing any of these scarlet letter students to remain at school?

And how do you remedy the pain and suffering of those otherwise qualified applicants who were denied admission to their dream school because a cheater took their spot? You cannot, except perhaps by making a comeuppance example of those scions of the wealthy and entitled. And that example is expulsion, pure and simple.

Second, the schools that were involved have a new and even more onerous crisis burden. They have unwittingly devalued their own best prize: a diploma. What makes one school’s sheepskin so coveted over another’s is the perceived difficulty in obtaining it. School’s go out of their way each year to boast about their low acceptance rates. This year, for example, for the class of 2023, Harvard (not named thus far in the cheating scandal) had nearly 43,000 applicants, and its acceptance rate stands at an all-time low 4.6 percent. Yale (which was named in the recent Justice Department announcement) boasts a low 6.3 percent acceptance rate out of more than 35,000 applicants. That hard-to-come-by degree has historically been worth big bucks in the job market. But if it should become viewed as merely an expensive plaything acquired by overly-rich and overly doting parents for their otherwise unworthy kids, its value would drop sharply and fast.

And what about those who have already graduated? Should they be spared repercussions? You can answer this yourself: What should happen to a lawyer who in later years is found to have paid someone to take the bar exam in his stead? What would the Bar Association do? There would certainly be a proactive move to disbar the cheater. And how would you feel if you learned that a doctor who was about to operate on you cheated to get into medical school? Has your confidence level just plummeted as you are being wheeled into surgery?

The ripple-effects of this academic crisis will be felt for many years to come. All schools — whether named in the indictment or not — face a crisis of confidence. Schools that were named need to shore up their weaknesses and let the world know the changes they’ve made for the overall integrity of the institution. They need to assure the world that going forward, admission to the school cannot be “bought” by wealthy miscreants. They also need to announce that they have ousted those who obtained admission fraudulently.

Schools not named should tread carefully and not give in to the temptation to brag or boast that they or their faculty were not involved. I don’t believe any school is completely innocent, and it’s awfully messy to have to recant a statement with egg on your face.

For I am confident that at some point, some disgruntled disappointed college applicant will peddle a tale of skullduggery in the admission process of even dear old Faber College that not even “double secret probation” can cure.

Colleges and universities have to work hard to rebuild their now-tarnished reputations, as do the “legitimate” students and graduates. This will not be easy given the information age in which we now live. For, in the pitched battle between perception and reality, perception always wins.

[bluboothalassophile]

Give Me Back My Mind!

And This is Why I’m Not In Charge

Victor Stone, he'd admit that eight years ago, when Darkseid had taken to invading Earth and whatever happened to him had happened, he had thought his life was officially over. All his dreams of University, the Pros… it was all gone. And for a while he had thought he had found his place with the Justice League, but it turned out the moment that the crisis was over he was alone. He was back to being a sixteen year old cyborganic freak, one of a kind, and his father's pet project. It sucked. Then there was everything with Atlantis and Victor accepted that he was never going to be accepted anywhere outside the hero world. Even the odd Billy Baxton fit in the civilian and hero world; for that Victor envied the kid, truly envied the kid.

Which was part of why he left, left his father, his home, his city, and the Justice League. He didn't fit in anywhere and at sixteen he had been done with not fitting. He had come to San Francisco, because that was where all the weirdos and whackos lived (well, here, New York, Las Vegas, and Gotham, but here was furthest from his father), got a job as a mechanic and intended to just fade away.

What he never expected was to be dragged into a team by a twerp who had been Batman's protégé, and find a home. Garfield was his best friend, the green dude was filter broken, genuine, and caring; but more than that Garfield was accepting and never bugged him about being a cyborg. Starfire, Kori, his best girl friend, was an alien princess from another world; she didn't even know that here he was weird. Robin, now Nightwing, Dick, had just shrugged and said there was weirder out there; Dick was a great pal to have.

However, the only one Cyborg dared to take in the family way, and even going so far as to shout she was his sister, was Raven. Raven he understood, and she understood him, it was as easy to be around her, as it was frustrating, but she caught on fast. Ever since that first car they had rebuilt together he had found a little sister. And there was nothing he wouldn't do for her: harass unworthy suitors, glare at boys staring at her, hang with her in the garage, complain, listen, annoy, and prank (lots of pranks). She in turn told him everything; there were no secrets between them, it was the only rule, and while she had the empathy link with Dick, she had secrets from him too. Victor and Raven had none of those, it was their sacred rule and what had made them more than friends. It was also why he was her second in command.

Actually, now that Victor thought about it, Raven was more of Team Leader than anyone in the Titans organization. Dick tried but between Blüdhaven, Gotham, the Titans, the League, and the entire Batclan, he was stretched thin and Raven often came through to pick up the slack on Dick's part. And Raven did a damn good job keeping them all together, Dick of sound mind, the Titans in one piece, and the world safe. It wasn't easy for Raven to be seen as a leader, but she was the defacto leader, and he her right hand by default.

And right now, Victor's little sister had a problem at the moment which was why he was fully willing, and able, to take over Raven's team; well his team too, but Raven was Team Leader.

Walking into the gym after talking to Raven he looked over the files of the kids on Raven's Team:

Jaime and Damian he knew, knew very well as he had been trying to help them out with their training. However it was the rest of the line up which had him arching his brown and rubbing his temple. Raven and his' team consisted of:

-M'gann M'orzz

-Timothy Drake

-Stephanie Brown

-Kaldur'ahm

-Bart Allen

On the bright side, Terra had been put on Star's team, which meant Raven and he didn't have to deal with her, but everyone else on this team… oh brother. They were going to have their hands full with the younger spectrum of the recruits.

"Where is Raven?" a voice had him jumping slightly as he spun around to look at one of the resident ninjas of the Bat clan.

"Don't do that Damian! Nearly short circuited me," Victor groaned.

"I apologize," the boy reluctantly grumbled and Victor smirked. Raven had taken to Gibbs' slapping the younger kids when they had no manners; and Gar when he had no common sense, and her training appeared to be working. "Where is Raven?"

"She's looking for someone," he admitted.

"What is going on with her?" Damian asked, Victor frowned a bit. Damian had become unusually attached to Raven, quickly too because of the incident when Jaime's armor hadn't taken to Damian's attitude well and blasted the young Robin.

"Why don't you ask her?"

"She said she would tell me only after speaking with you, and since you are here I presume you know what is going on with her and can debrief me," Damian stated.

"Dude! I'm not taking your word on this matter, and if Raven should wish to discuss what's going on with her she will tell you herself, or better yet go ask her!"

"You and Raven are very close, are you not?" Damian asked. Anyone else the question would be innocent but it was Damian Wayne asking.

"She's my little sister," he grounded out.

"I presume through adoption then," Damian muttered.

"Heyguys! Readyfor training!" Bart shouted appearing then and Victor had never felt more relieved seeing the kids filing in. "Where is Raven?" M'gann asked as she floated in.

"Raven's dealing with something right now so I'm in charge!" Cyborg announced.

"No way! Yes!" Jaime bounced then and Victor frowned; it was going to be a long day.

~~~*~*~*~~~

"Whoa!" Wally shouted as they slid into a vault on the lower levels, Project Kr. The door shut and sealed shut then, Dick let out a shuddering breath as he hugged his ribs. Fuck this hurt! He had not been expecting… well, any of this!

"Next time Bats asks a favor of us the answer is no, N-O, in capitals!" Wally blurted out.

"I don't think he was intending to run into this…" Dick tried to defend. Honestly it was like something out of a bad sci-fi film. Monster, giant, small, razor clawed, telepathic, and electric had been roaming all about, these leaves were even mushy and a bit organic, and honestly Dick did not want to know what other surprises were laying in these levels.

"Whoa, um… dude, you're going to want to see this," Wally said. Reluctantly Dick looked up, his ribs singing in protest as he stood then and moved to where Wally was, there was pounding on the other side of the vault door but that wasn't what had his undivided attention. No, what had his attention was now before him.

"Holy…" Dick trailed off.

"That can't be…" Wally started, Dick was hunched over the control panel then as his fingers flew over the keys, his eyes scanning the data as he worked.

"The Superboy," Dick informed Wally. "Weapon designation. A clone force grown in sixteen weeks! From DNA acquired from Superman. Solar suit allows him to absorb solar radiation twenty-four-seven."

"More like stole!" Wally argued.

"Well, now we know why Bats was keeping Supes out of it," Nightwing muttered as he looked at the young boy who looked about seventeen or eighteen. Honestly it was freaking him out staring at this boy and seeing Clark there.

"We can't leave him," Wally pointed out.

"Agreed," Nightwing muttered as he continued his hacking to break the kid out of the container he was in. There was no way in hell he was leaving a kid here to be raised as a weapon, it was what had happened to Damian and it was taking a family effort to try to straighten Damian out.

"Uh… the door?" Wally whispered.

"Already disabled," he smirked.

"Don't do the creepy laugh thing or I'll call Raven," Wally warned.

"When we get communications and out of here, I'm calling her here to get us the hell out of here!" Dick countered.

"Why?"

"She teleports, it's an easy escape and a fast way to get the kid," he gestured to the Superboy clone. "To the Tower."

"Well then hurry up on the hacking!" Wally hissed as the door rattled dangerously then. Nightwing frowned as he worked, there was something bothering him about this. However, he'd discussing it with the Titans after he got the hell out of here!

"Get him!" Dick shouted as the pod opened then. a blur of yellow caught the falling boy just as the doors blasted open.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Damian looked over the other idiots he was now going to be on a team with and he felt like gouging his eyes out. This wasn't going to be… whatever it was supposed to be. Groaning internally he thought about what Victor was saying about how they were going to be working in a team and they would be a unit with their own missions without League guidance or supervision.

He knew all this which was why he stealthily slipped out of the gym leaving the losers behind.

Mostly he was curious about whatever was going on with Raven; he had never seen her move so fast. And he'd seen her in battle. Riding up the express elevator he came to the roof and poked his head out, he was surprised that Barbara hadn't spotted him sneaking around the tower and trapped him somewhere then summon Raven to collect him. Dick had done that a week after bringing him here.

Looking around he spotted Raven levitating just off the edge of the roof.

"What are you doing?" he demanded as he walked over to the edge. Raven didn't look at him.

"I'm seeking out a person," Raven answered flatly.

"What happened last night?" Damian demanded sharply as he glared at her and folded his arms. Raven turned around so she was now floating across from him and then she stepped onto the ledge.

"Last night an old… pain, decided to resurface and broke into my room," Raven answered.

"I thought that wasn't possible," he grounded.

"It's not impossible, it's just exceedingly difficult. I am not surprised that of all the people on this planet he'd be the one to get around my wards and magic," Raven shrugged.

"Who was he?" Damian demanded. He felt a cold fury filling him with curiosity as he listened to Raven.

"That is what I am figuring out," Raven said calmly.

"Do you require assistance?" he asked, malicious delight filling him at the anticipation of a fight.

"No," Raven stated.

"Why are you after him?"

"Because he stole something which is genuinely irreplaceable, and I need it back," Raven answered.

"Then you do need an assistant!" Damian argued.

"Go train with the team, Damian, I will handle it, it's personal," Raven shrugged.

"But!"

"I will tell Dick that you skipped training with the team," she warned, he shuddered at the thought.

"Fine, but if you are not finished with this by the end of tonight I will tell Grayson and demand to help you," he warned as he stalked off.

"This isn't his fight, it's mine, and you'd be wise to stay out of it," she murmured as he walked into the elevator. Damian pressed the button to the gym and watched as Raven leapt off the edge and started levitating again.

Truthfully this was one of the things he found irritating about Raven, the entire independence and demand to work in a team. It was as if Raven had another set of secret responsibilities; it was annoying to be left in the dark about them too.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Raven settled again as she again centered her mind and spirit and again focused. Her breathing was steady, her heart slow, her mind empty and her shields were down as she started again focusing on the emotions and filtering them out. She was focused on something specific as she worked. Stretching her mental wings, she flew through the city, her mind touching everyone. Everyone was unique, she was focusing on a particular flavor of emotions.

It was something few outside of Hell possessed, and when she encountered it, it was something she filed away for later worries.

The Lazurus Pit, for all it gave, it also took, but something particular that it gave to it's victims was a particular emotion. Ra's al Ghul had been drowning in it, lost to the Pit, his daughter had it, Oliver Queen also had it, as did his sister, Thea. Raven never liked feeling what the Lazurus Pit left in others, it was something closer to what her kin were like, bloodlust, the anger, the fury, the uncontrollable red nature. It was like her own rage or her father, it did not scare her, but it was wild, uncontrollable, and unstable. But worse, it was something which twisted the mind, the heart and the soul.

Raven did not like the Lazarus Pit, but the ones who had been healed by it varied. Opening her eyes she felt a surge of her powers as she reached out and felt the pull of the Lazarus Pit.

Her mind and emotions reaching for the pulse of the Lazarus Pit she continued familiarizing herself with the young man. His emotions were coiled, guarded, she pried as she looked for a latch so she could pull herself there.

Standing in the air she reached a hand, felt her powers slip through her blood to the tip of her fingers as she opened the shadows and let them consume her as she latched onto the Lazurus Pit.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Everything he'd been researching about that fucking book revealed nothing as he read up on everything the JL had on Azarath. Funny, he'd have thought there'd been more.

Sighing his head fell back on his couch as he stared at his ceiling.

Fuck it, it wasn't important, and he'd been paid to do a job. A job he had done.

It was over, he was not going to be like the Bird Brains or like Bats, nope, it was not happening. Obsessing got him killed; literally and figuratively, and he was not ready for the return trip to Hell. Standing up he walked to his kitchen as he glanced at the stove time, it was around ten in the morning. Two more hours before he checked on Sunshine to make sure she was out of the warehouse.

Picking up his latest book he decided he would not worry about Azarath or anything about the previous job, as he started making a sandwich and looking through the list of available jobs.

There was an itch in his skin which had him wanting to kill something, frowning he thought it over. It wasn't like he was bound to the same morals as the Bird Brains or Bats, he had killed before. His only problem was the black outs. The black outs concerned him, and it made him avoid taking hits; for now.

No one knew he was alive, no one knew he was here, and no one was coming after him, he'd like to keep it that way for the time being as he planned out what he would do next. Black outs where he woke with everyone dead were not conducive to keeping a low profile. And if Bats found out he was alive… well, he had no desire to go to Arkham unless he was killing a particular clown. But until he had his head on straight(ish), and he didn't have a panic attack just hearing the laugh on the television, he wasn't going near Joker.

Yet.

Sighing he decided he hated having to wait on his revenge again because his mind raced back to the fifteen year old he had been whenever he heard the Joker laugh.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he had a gun in hand, turning he saw a small shadow circle on his wall.

FUCK!

He didn't freeze, but everything happened so fast he was slammed back as a small force hit him.

~~~*~*~*~~~

She'd been paid to impersonate a magician, she'd been paid to deceive a young man who would recognize her anymore, and she was now being paid to kill him.

It was a very good thing she had known who she was hiring to steal that book. Now she was looking down the scope of her rifle her mind cold as her eyes looked over the windows of the young man's hide out.

Her eyes tracked him as he walked through his home, he grabbed a gun, and then there was a flurry of motion, her head snapped up as her eyes widened a fraction then she focused again. Looking through the scope she saw the young man she'd once known and a woman fighting.

A light breeze had her adjusting as she took another steadying breath and let her finger rest on the trigger.

It was just a job.

It was just someone she used to know.

It meant nothing.

Cold filled her, her mind cleared and she squeezed the trigger. Her sight on the center of the young man's back. Glass shattered, there was blood, she fired five more times, there was nothing. Pulling away she looked at the building without her scope. Smoke started billowing through the shattered window and she looked back through her scope.

He was good.

She knew, she had trained him.

But she was better. There was a flash, she gasped as bullets flew past her head and she dove behind a wall.

~~~*~*~*~~~

"Give Me Back The Book!" Raven shouted, his gun clattered out of his hand as he grabbed her wrists. She snarled ferally, but he knew he had the upper hand.

"I gave it to the buyer!" he snapped.

"Who!?" Raven roared, her leg lashed out to catch his bad ribs, he grunted as he stumbled, releasing one of her wrists. "Azarath, Metrion, Zinthos!" she shouted.

Her black energy filled his apartment as pans started flying at his head, he jerked her around as he avoided them.

Glass broke behind him, then there was a whistle of something slicing through the air before there was a sharp sting of something tearing through his shoulder. Spinning Raven around, her back to his chest he dove over his couch for cover and he saw her energy stop. There were more shots, Raven flinched as he tightened his grasp on her as shit splintered and his couch was shredded.

"What the hell!?" he growled as he reached under his battered coffee table and grabbed a smoke bomb he had there, pulling the pin he tossed it over the couch as smoke filled the air.

"You'd bring a sniper!?" he snapped at Raven as he dragged her with him and the ducked into the small hall.

"No, I didn't know who or where you were until two minutes ago!" she snapped.

"Fucking double crossing buyers!" he hissed, ignoring the burn in his shoulder he ripped open a side panel he had tucked his rifle case in and pulled out the gun. Assembling it quickly he loaded it before looking at Raven.

"Stay put," he growled.

"What!?" she gasped he moved to his kitchen and settled his riffle on his island bar as he scanned for wherever the shot came from.

He found what he was after, his eyes narrowed and he opened fire. The return fire came after he stopped.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Raven opened her fingers as she whispered her chant and she felt for the largest object in the street. She found a dumpster which was just barely within her reach as she pulled it up. The weight of it was startling but she didn't slow as she dove out of the hall and threw her hands at the window where the shots were coming from, something burning sliced her leg which had her hissing as she kept her focus on slamming the dumpster through the wall of that building.

The crashing had her gasping as she looked over to Red X.

"Well fuck," he muttered. "Come on! now they know you're here so come on!" he snapped. The man shoved past her.

"Wait! What!?"

"Come on Sunshine, we have to get out of here!" he snapped as he grabbed a bag, shoved a jacket and helmet at her, Raven reluctantly took them as he jogged out of the room, she stiffened as he grabbed her, but the pillow on the couch exploded as the glass truly shattered and then she was out the door. zipping the jacket, she pulled the helmet over her head as they ran down the stairs.

She wasn't leaving Red X until she had her book back but for now she was running because she preferred being alive.

"This way," he shouted as he tossed her his pack, she yanked it over her shoulders and secured it as she ran after him, her blood sliding down her leg. He leapt onto a black bike, she hopped on after him, her arms slipped around him as the engine roared and then they were blasting out of there.

"No powers!" he shouted over the engine.

She didn't bother to respond, using her powers would draw unwanted attention which would not be wise right at this moment. She ignored the throbbing pain of her thigh as they wove through traffic, another engine roaring like theirs caught her attention as she twisted around. There was another motorcycle, but Red already did a hard turn.

"Turn into an ally!" she shouted.

"What!?"

"Just do it!" she snapped, she threw her hand in front of them, her mind picking a city to go as she felt the energy slice through her fingers as a portal appeared, she twisted around as they flew through it and shut it just as the other biker caught up to them.

"What the fuck!?" he groaned as he skidded to a halt and then Raven noticed the blood on his shoulder, soaking through his jacket.

"Who the hell did you steal that book for!?" Raven spat as she already focused her attention on Red X and examining the wound.

"Fucking double crossing bitch apparently," he snarled.

"And it couldn't be your past client?" she asked blandly as she looked at her thigh.

"No fucking way. What the hell is so fucking important about that book anyway!?"

~~~*~*~*~~~

Dick stumbled out of Cadmus with an arm of the unconscious Superboy slung over his shoulder and Wally supporting the boy's other's side. Ripping out his communicator he flipped it on.

"Nightwing to Titans!" he shouted.

"Yo," was the answer.

"Get Raven to get us the hell out of here!" Wally shouted.

"Raven's not here at the moment, but I'll Boom-tube over and get you, I'm getting your coordinates," Cyborg replied calmly.

"Where's Raven?" Dick demanded.

"Dunno, she was looking for something, I'll be there in a sec," Cyborg answered. There was a furious roar behind them which had him and Wally groaning.

"He's still alive!? we dropped a building on him!" Wally complained.

"Come on!" Dick shouted as he started dragging the unconscious boy as fast as he could; Kyrptonians weighed a fucking ton when they were unconscious.

"What no asterous or whelmed jokes now?" Wally tried.

"So not the time!" he shouted, the giant thing which had once been a scientist roared as it leapt after them. Dick dropped Superboy then as he dove under the beast, and knocked it off balance. The thing grabbed him by the waist and hurled him into Superboy and KF which had them smashing into the rubble. The loud boom then a blaster as blinding light formed into a tunnel had Dick looking up at Cyborg.

"Thank God! We're saved!" Wally shouted and grabbed Superboy as he dove back into the Boom-tube, Dick limped after him quickly with Cyborg following.

The beast stayed down.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Raven's eyes narrowed on Red X before she slid off the bike and folded her arms.

"That book was mine! And you stole it, I'm not tell you what about it is so important!" she spat. She felt his emotions rolling off him as he sat there.

"Where are we?" he decided. Raven looked up and then around her, and then she looked back at X.

"New York," she answered and poked her head out the ally to see the familiar sign. "Brooklyn to be exact."

"Alright," he sighed.

"Who'd you steal that book for and where are they?"

"Seriously?" he demanded as he took his pack from her.

"Yes! It's vital that I get that book back!" she grounded through clenched teeth. Her mind was in that book, and she was genuinely terrified of someone; whoever had hired X to steal the book, poking around and finding her mind.

"Ah, hell," he groaned.

"I'll help you, I'll heal you, if you tell me who has the book," she bargained then as she saw him tugging his jacket off and examining his wound.

"Don't bother," he countered.

"Please! It's vital that I get that book back!" she huffed, then slapped his hand away from his wound as she examined it. Clean, a through and through, he wasn't going to die, but it had to hurt. Looking through his pocket of what was clearly medical supplies she found sutures, a needle, alcohol, and a set of gauze, plus tape. His pain was distracting her, and if he could ignore it, she couldn't; which was why she threaded the needle and got to work.

"Why are you helping me?" he spat out as he tried to jerk away, she wrapped her energy around him to keep him still.

"Your pain is distracting, I need to think," she answered as she worked quickly, she was shocked that though he was sitting she was still hovering off the ground to see the wound well. His eyes were bright and familiar behind the helmet. She felt like she should know him, not just as Red X, but as something more.

Suddenly it clicked in her memory where she'd seen his face, and it had her smirking as she found the upper hand then. Since she had tracked him down she'd been trying to face his face, even if it had mostly been a blur, and the young man with her was clearly taller, but he was the same man. Both from memories and photos she'd seen. The plan started formulating in her mind, and she was relieved that he was silent as she worked.

"Help me and I will not tell them you're alive, Jason Todd," she said slowly as she knotted the suture.

~~~*~*~*~~~

They had Superboy in the med-bay, Cyborg was looking him over. Dick was getting stitches from Kori at the moment and Wally was healing his broken leg.

"Well, according to the DNA, he's partially Superman's son," Cyborg spoke then.

"Partially?" Dick asked, wincing as Kori tugged lightly on the thread.

"Yeah, it'll take longer to figure it out, but he's part Kryptonian," Cyborg answered.

"OW! Kori!" he hissed.

"Stop moving!" she snapped.

"Dick never was any good at taking his stitches," Babs announced as she rolled into the lab. "I can do it."

"I have it covered," Kori answered. He looked at Cyborg for help only to find his friend drawing Superboy's blood, and Wally found the ceiling very interesting all of a sudden.

"Where's Raven?" he asked then.

"On the roof last I checked," Barbara answered.

"She isn't," Damian appeared then looking agitated. "And her tracer isn't working."

"You put a tracer on friend Raven!?" Star shouted. Dick winced as it echoed in his skull.

"Yes."

"Damian, we talked about this," Dick sighed.

"I like knowing where my friends and enemies are, and you will thank me one day," Damian defended. Dick just groaned. The kid was going to start a war one day.

"I'll go check to see if I can find her," Babs sighed before she rolled out.

"Who's he?" Damian demanded as he walked over to Superboy.

"Uh…" Wally started. "Star do you have a communicator I can call Jinx on?"

"I will fetch it after Nightwing's stiches are complete."

"Superboy," Cyborg filled in. Damian poked the young man then, and before anyone could move or blink there was a blur of white as Cyborg threw Damian away and Superboy punched him through the wall.

"Whoa! Wait!" Star shouted as she lunged for the boy, who looked scared now.

"Easy!" Wally shouted.

"We're your friends!" Star said softly. The boy looked confused.

"We pulled you out of Cadmus, I'm Nightwing, that's Kid Flash, that's Starfire, and that's Robin, and the one you punched through the wall is Cyborg, we're not here to hurt you," Nightwing stated as he stood, wincing a bit at the pain. Now would be a good moment to have an empath, the Superboy glared at him and lunged for Damian, Star crashed into him.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Jason stiffened hearing his names off the lips of his 'elder brother's' friend. Then he slowly slid a sideways glance at her.

"Same face, the eyes, and though you're definitely way taller, more filled out, wiry muscles too, than the memories and Robin footage, you move the same. I'm surprised Dick hasn't noticed it yet," Raven smirked as she then taped pads over his wound before she leapt back and sat in thin air.

"Been a really long time since anyone called me Jason," he smirked as he pulled off his helmet. His hair flopped a bit in his eyes as he looked at Raven then.

"I bet, and I'm betting you don't want Batman to know you're alive," Raven said.

His lips curled up a bit, perhaps she wasn't all that much of a goodie-goodie if she was blackmailing him to help her. It was kind of amusing.

"And what makes you think Bats would believe you about my supposed life?"

"Because he has trusted me with all his Robins," Raven murmured. He frowned.

"You're sure about that?"

"That and I can just bring him with me the next time I have to find you, you can't hide from me."

[lalobalives]

*An essay a week in 2017*

On Sunday I finally landed from my last of 4 trips over 5 weeks: Minneapolis where I helped run VONA’s regional program on the ground in conjunction with The Loft Literary Center; Newport Beach, Oregon for a Tin House NonFiction workshop with Lidia Yuknavitch; AWP in DC where I was on a panel; & finally a gig at The Center for Women Writers in North Carolina this past weekend. 

I was out on my deck looking at the night sky when it hit me: this swelling in my chest that felt like a lightening; a pulling in my cheeks that made a toothless smile appear and soon I was giggling at myself. I sat with this strange feeling when it hit me: it was pride I was feeling. I told my partner. She said: “You should be proud, babe. And this is just the beginning.”

Then came the discomfort. Pride feels self-lauding and congratulatory. The shame set in quickly. The who the fuck do you think you are? The: you have no right to be proud. You shouldn’t be proud. Pride ain’t ever a good thing, girl. Como te atrevez? Te crees gran mierda pero no lo eres. Bring yourself down a few notches, girl. Stop being so full of yourself.

***

Google defines pride as:

noun

a feeling or deep pleasure or satisfaction derived from one’s own achievements, the achievements of those with whom one is closely associated, or from qualities or possessions that are widely admired. “the team was bursting with pride after recording a sensational victory” Synonyms include: pleasure, joy, delight, gratification, fulfillment, satisfaction, a sense of achievement, “take pride in a good job well done”

a group of lions forming a social unit.

verb

be especially proud of a particular quality or skill. “she’d always prided herself on her ability to deal with a crisis” — synonyms: be proud of, be proud of oneself for, take pride in, take satisfaction in, congratulate oneself on, pat oneself on the back for, “Lucas prides himself on his knowledge of wine”

***

Where does pride live in your body? It lives in my chest. It feels light. Like the weight of never feeling like I’m enough is lifted. It feels like accomplishment. It feels like I finally feel worthy and capable. It is so damn fleeting.

***

I used to imagine this life. I used to wish for it: the travel, the meeting people, the writing and learning and sharing love and heart and stories. I used to wish for it so hard. The wishing make me work my ass off. I quit the safety net of a full time editing job to live this life. I risked so much: financial security, knowing where my next check was coming from, how I was going to pay the bills, the rent, the light, money to fill the fridge. There were days when I had to decide whether to pay the light or buy food for me and my little girl. I’ve gotten eviction notices. I’ve defaulted on my student loans. There were so many times when I couldn’t afford to go anywhere that required money so we spent a lot of time in the park, on the grass, sandwiches and fruit in my knapsack. That’s how much, how bad I wanted this. For me. For us. Me and baby girl. 

People have called me irresponsible. What do I see? I see a woman who showed her daughter what it takes to live your dreams. I showed my daughter that she too can live her dreams if she is willing to work for it. She has learned some valuable lessons from her mama.

I know this life isn’t meant for everyone. It’s taken me a long time and a lot of talking to folks to realize just how risky it was.

At AWP, a friend whose memoir was recently released told me how much she sacrificed to make this life happen for herself. When she got her book deal, she was months behind on her mortgage payments. She was near foreclosure. But she knew she had to write this book. She just had to. It was a burning inside of her that would turn her into ash if she didn’t. So she did, and she got a fantastic two-book deal to make it happen. “You’re doing everything you need to do, Vanessa.” she said, outside of a bar where we had just rubbed elbows with agents and publishers, some who were interested in seeing my work and some who were dismissive and gross. (Let’s just say I walked out of there knowing the type of person I want to represent me and the type I don’t.) “Keep going. You’re on your way. You will have all of this. All of it,” my friend said. My eyes welled. I let the tears fall as I stared at the traffic on that downtown D.C. avenue. I didn’t know how badly I needed to hear those words. I know now that I did.

I thought of this as I felt the mixture of pride and shame that made my stomach turn sour. I wondered: Why can’t I be proud of myself? Why can’t I say “I did this” and it not feel like I need to bring myself down a notch? Is that the internalized outside gaze? Whose gaze? Who made me feel this shame? And how can I convert it into action? What can I generate from this? Can I turn it into an acceptance of this pride that I know I deserve and have earned?

***

Christian theology says pride is one of the deadly sins. St. Augustine wrote: “It was Pride that changed angels into devils; it is humility that makes men as angels.”  

According to DeadlySins.com:

“The sin of Pride is said by some to be the foremost of the Seven Deadly Sins. Hubris is the gateway through all other sins enters the mortal soul.”

What it is: “Pride is excessive belief in one’s own abilities, that interferes with the individual’s recognition of the grace of God. It has been called the sin from which all others arise. Pride is also known as Vanity.”

The punishment in Hell: “You’ll be broken on the wheel.”

Woah. That’s some heavy shit right there.

***

I write about the human experience. As such, when thinking about pride this week, I started digging into my own life and the moments I was robbed of my pride. I started a list that I’m sure will grow as I continue to dig into this wound.

1.

At my graduation dinner from Columbia University, while still draped in my graduation gown, the Columbia crown stitched into the lapel, my mother told me she knew I wasn’t going to do shit with my life (“Yo sabía que no ibas a ser ni mierda con tu vida”) when I told her I wasn’t going to law school. She slammed her fork down on the table so hard, it shook.

I have never regretted that decision.

2.

In 8th grade, I came home excited from a dance performance. I’d finally earned a solo in an interpretive dance piece we did for the Black History Month celebration. I remember the poem started: “What shall I tell my children who are black…” (Thanks to google, I now know it’s a poem by Dr. Margaret Burroughs.)

Within minutes of arriving, my sister reminded me that I was “retarded” and “still ain’t shit.” I remember her curled lip and how she looked down at me from her top bunk. My sister has always been quick to be the needle to burst my bubble whenever I’ve felt good about myself or something I’d accomplished. 

On Christmas, the last time I spoke to her, she told me my writing was bullshit and my followers are bullshit. When I told her that she is so much the reason for why I’m a writer because as a kid all I wanted was to be like her, she said: “I don’t give a fuck why you’re a writer, Vanessa.” I’ve saved the textument. I am quoting her verbatim. 

3.

A college professor once gave us the assignment of writing about someone we knew growing up. I wrote about Teresa, the neighborhood crackhead, and how fragile and beautiful she was. I was proud of that piece. I was so young, just 18 or 19, trying my hand at writing, and I was looking for support, encouragement. When the professor handed back the piece, he told me “this isn’t writing,” and he didn’t have the cojones to look at me when he said it.

***

Aristotle considered pride to be a virtue. Neel Burton writes on his blog:

A person is proud if he both is and thinks himself to be worthy of great things. If he both is and thinks himself to be worthy of small things he is not proud but temperate, for pride implies greatness. In terms of the vices, a person who thinks himself worthy of great things when he is unworthy of them is vain, whereas a person who thinks himself worthy of less than he is worthy of is pusillanimous. Compared to vanity, pusillanimity is both commoner and worse, and so more opposed to pride.

***

It’s often so easy to write about the difficult things we’ve experienced in life. But what about the joy? What about the times my pride was reinforced? What about the times that I was encouraged to be proud of myself and all that I’d accomplished? I think of my brother…

A few years ago, I was flown down to Atlanta when a book I co-wrote won an award. I called my brother from the veranda of the posh hotel I was put up in by the organizers of the Decatur Book Festival. It was right across the road from Emory College, and every morning I sat outside under the sun to eat a custom made omelet. I called my brother on one of those mornings. “I’m having breakfast on a veranda, bro! This is some All My Children shit.” He laughed: “What the fuck is a veranda?” Me: “I don’t know but I’m sitting on one.” We laughed so hard. Before we hung up, he said: “I’m proud of you, sis. You doing it.” He always told me he was proud of me. When I came home with good grades. When I got into boarding school and Columbia. When I wrote my first book. When I went to my first VONA and the four times I attended after. He was always the first one to say it and often the only one.

***

From what I can tell, there is a difference between the pride deemed a sin in Christian texts and the pride Aristotle called a virtue. The former is more about vanity; the arrogant, megalomaniac type, where the person is obsessed with himself and his power. The pride Aristotle refers to is earned pride in oneself and one’s work. A pride that is not all consuming but connected to self-worth and the work one does out in the world. A pride that encourages the person to continue producing.

In my research on pride, I found a fascinating article on Psychology Today called Pride and Creativity: How pride is pride related to creative achievement?

When Lisa Williams and David DeSteno told this to their participants, they noticed a significant increase in perseverance on a difficult cognitive task. This intrigued them, so they fiddled with the dials to see what was going on. When they took out the “Great job” part and just told the participants they performed exceptional, they saw no increase in perseverance. When they put people in a generally positive mood by having them look at pleasant pictures, such as a wedding and a tropical landscape—again, no increase in perseverance. What was it about this particular phrasing that increased motivation?

The winning phrasing was effective because it activated one of our most deeply-rooted emotions: pride. Pride is receiving a lot of research attention these days, as researchers are increasingly realizing its potency. In a recent study, David Matsumoto and Hyi Sung Hwang distinguish pride from triumph, another deeply-rooted human emotion. Participants were in strong agreement about what pride looks like:

Pride may have evolved to motivate people to achieve social status in a socially valued domain. This emotion emotion is not just any feel-good emotion though. Pride particularly makes people feel good about themselves. Children are quick to associate pride with domains in which they feel competent, and are driven to further pursue those domains. In contrast, those who continually receive negative feedback in a domain quickly lose their motivation for achieving in that domain.

But here’s the paradox: pride is correlated with both positive and negative social consequences. Pride has always received mixed reviews. The ancient Greeks viewed pride as “the crown of the virtues” whereas the early Christian philosophers viewed pride as the “deadliest of the Seven Deadly Sins”. Pride is quite the polarizing emotion!

To reconcile these different conceptualizations of pride, researchers have found it useful distinguishing between two different shades of pride: authentic and hubristic.

Authentic pride is fueled by the emotional rush of accomplishment, confidence, and success, and is associated with prosocial and achievement-oriented behaviors, extraversion, agreeableness, conscientiousness, satisfying interpersonal relationships, and positive mental health. Authentic pride is also associated with genuine self-esteem, which is high self-esteem controlling for narcissism. Authentic pride, and its associated subjective feelings of confidence and accomplishment may facilitate behaviors that are associated with attaining prestige. People who are confident, agreeable, hard-working, energetic, kind, empathic, non-dogmatic, and high in genuine self-esteem would draw inspiration from others and would want to be emulated by others.

Hubristic pride, on the other hand, is fueled by arrogance and conceit, and is associated with anti-social behaviors, rocky relationships, low levels of conscientiousness and high levels of disagreableness, neuroticism, narcissism, and poor mental health outcomes. Hubristic pride, and its associated subjective feelings of superiority and arrogance, may facilitate dominance by motivating behaviors such as aggression, hostility, and manipulation…

No one said creativity is simple, or has a single cause. People may take different paths to the same outcome. At any rate, one thing is clear: pride plays an important role in fueling creativity.

***

Why can’t you be proud of what you’ve accomplished and the work you do without someone calling you arrogant or saying you should temper it? What’s wrong with feeling pride when you’ve struggled so much to get where you are, to create a life for yourself in spite of the odds and numerous obstacles? And what’s with this shaming when you say you’re proud? What’s this shame we impose on ourselves? Where does it come from? How can we push back on it and remind ourselves that pride in one’s work is a beautiful thing? You should be proud of what you do and how you exist in the world. I’m talking about a healthy dose of pride, whatever that means to you. Not the pride that makes you think you’re better than people. Not the pride that keeps you from helping others. Not the pride that makes you think people owe you something or should look up to you. Nah. I’m talking about pride in what you do, in your grind, in your accomplishments. Pride that will keep you doing the necessary, important work that will hopefully make this world a better place. That kind of pride.

***

During her lecture at AWP, Jacqueline Woodson said that even today, after having written 32 books and receiving countless accolades in the form of awards and prizes, she still wakes up some days amazed that she’s a writer. She said she can hardly believe it sometimes.

This begs the question: can you be humble and also be proud of the work you do and know its importance in the world? I think so. The thing is, we often have teach ourselves how to be. We’ve been taught as women, especially as women of color, to be humble to the point of self-deprecation, but if I can’t be proud of what I’ve accomplished, of having created this life for myself, then how can I teach my students to be proud of the work they do, of how they push themselves to dig deeper into themselves and their stories? How can I teach my daughter to be proud of her fabulousness, of being so talented and compassionate and such a hard worker, if I don’t show her that I am of her? That I am proud of myself? Our kids learn by impersonation.  

***

This is my promise to myself: I will work on being proud of how far I’ve gotten, as an unmothered woman who had to learn to become a woman and mother through trial and error. A woman who lives and loves in resistance to the way she was taught in her formative years. I will work on being able to take compliments and being gracious when they come in instead of cringing and wanting to run and hide. I will work on opening my heart to receiving the beautiful recognitions people gift me via notes and emails and face to face gushing that makes me blush. I will work on being a better, more accepting of love, Vanessa. Why do I say this? Because I realize that this is love that is coming my way. People show their love in so many ways. They do it when they see me and run over and want to meet me. They do it by sending me notes telling me how much my work has influenced them. They do it by sending emails to the Director of the center that brought me on to facilitate a talk and generative class, telling her to please bring me back, that I’m one of the best facilitators they’ve ever worked with, that I gave so much of myself, with no ego, with vulnerability and heart.

I don’t want to be the one to slap the hand of love away. I’ve done that so much in my life already. This was me functioning from a place of trauma. I am working on being a better Vanessa. One who can accept and be open to love in all its forms…especially now, when I have to teach myself how to be. Word.

  Relentless Files — Week 59 (#52essays2017 Week 6) *An essay a week in 2017* On Sunday I finally landed from my last of 4 trips over 5 weeks: Minneapolis where I helped run VONA's regional program on the ground in conjunction with The Loft Literary Center; Newport Beach, Oregon for a Tin House NonFiction workshop with Lidia Yuknavitch; AWP in DC where I was on a panel; & finally a gig at The Center for Women Writers in North Carolina this past weekend. 

[itstoughstartingover]

Billboards really do work

Another cold, snowy, dreary day in Amsterdam. I shouldn’t be kvetching about it - I’m still in Amsterdam. It’s just another cold, dreary day of meandering kind of aimlessly. We’ve done the big sites and museums we planned (read: things I said I wanted to do since I did the research) so now it’s literally just walking around in the cold. It is still beautiful here and better than being in Erie and having to deal with work, but it’s getting old and making me kind of depressed. I can’t shake thoughts of going back to work and being really unhappy about it. I told Evan yesterday that it was unfair to say I can’t talk about it, and the closer we get to going back the more I’m thinking about it. By the way, I hate this fucking computer. I just needed to put that in writing. I really hate this fucking computer.

But I digress.

I’m in our bed in Amsterdam at 3:30 in the afternoon after a few bitterly cold, snowy hours of walking around the city. We stopped at the place by our apartment that we liked for lunch again and Evan has a headache so we’re hanging out in the apartment. He’s sleeping. I laid with him until he started twitching too much for me to deal with and decided to write. I honestly don’t know where I want to be right now. Maybe somewhere warm? Somewhere that doesn’t have just gray skies and cold? The people here are completely oblivious and as the weekend approaches it’s getting busier in the main squares and on the sidewalks. I’m not good with crowds. I would rather be here than dealing with work. The job at Stairways sounds so good to me. I wish I knew what I want to be doing. I think that’s why this has been so much harder - I don’t even know what I’m looking for. The Stairways job has more clinical and collaborative opportunities without any on call or emergency response needs, which appeals to me. I wouldn’t rather be at Perspectives. Do I want to leave my field and go back to school? Do I want something like what ECCM would offer? Would I be happy doing something like music therapy? I really don’t know. I don’t like being bored but I don’t like how Paula has been treating me or how my current job has been going either. I don’t like my hours. I need to stick to my plan and stay on at least through the end of the month. I know I can manage that. Jessi may even update my scheduled hours when I get back anyway. I’m hoping she does. I need to think more about what it is I’m looking for professionally so I know where to go from here.

How sad is it that this is what I’m thinking about on my vacation in Amsterdam? Well, I’m thinking about that and my body image and worrying I’ll never have great sex again. I love Evan. I really do; I’m not a sexual person around him. It’s possible I got most of those impulses out of my system during my time in Chicago. That’s when I did my experimenting and explored what I like and what works for me, and I found myself getting almost bored by the end. I still liked it, but there wasn’t as much excitement for me. That’s sort of where I am now, but even less excited about it. As in not at all. It needs to be a part of a healthy, well rounded relationship, but I don’t seem to want it. I don’t know if something like that can last or maybe it’s just a phase for me. It’s one of my biggest concerns in our relationship. There are still things from our past that I can’t shake off when they come up and that causes problems. We had a major blow out of a fight one of our first days here and it felt like the way things used to be. I think it was the night I last wrote. I don’t know why I get annoyed by stupid things he says or does. His geekiness can be endearing, but when it comes to dancing or moving together it really bothers me. When we first started talking again, there was a new spark and excitement of getting to know each other again as the people we’ve become, and now we’re figuring out how to be together again as those new people, keeping in mind the way we were and why things ended up as badly as they did the first time. Other people make love and relationships look so easy. They don’t talk about the major issues people have, or the minor ones that turn into major ones over time. I love Evan and I want to make him happy, but I think that’s harder because I don’t love myself.

As we were walking today, we passed an electronic billboard that promotes self love to spread love and says to love yourself. I remember the first time I did a meditation that said to tell yourself “I love you.” I cried because I’d never said it to myself before. The bottom line is that I don’t. With all of the upheaval in my life, not finding fulfillment or happiness in my work the majority of the time for years now, my poor body image and self esteem, feeling unloved/not accepted by family and friends unconditionally and never being satisfied, how could I possibly be happy with myself? As long as I can’t live up to my expectations and I feel so empty and sad inside, how can I really be happy in a relationship? My time with Piet made me feel empowered and confident and sexy, but that wasn’t really me. That was a side of me that I’d repressed for years and gave myself permission to explore, and I don’t regret it at all. What about now? How long will I keep moving, changing relationships, changing jobs, hoping to finally find the combination that makes me feel like I can finally stop looking because I’ve found what I’m looking for. I feel like moving to Erie was the right move and getting back together with Evan was the right move. Even so, as we’ve walked through Amsterdam I can’t help thinking about being a single woman again and moving to Paris to start a new life there. It would be way harder, but there’s something so romantic and exciting about it to me. I love that feeling of independence, and I miss it. I’m happier being in Erie with Evan than I was living alone in Chicago. Still, that ever present lack of self love and not knowing what I want in my career is making everything so much harder. Maybe it would be easier to make the best of the job I’m in with the reminder that this schedule is temporary if I liked myself more and had more confidence in my skills or could look at the positives of the situation. I’ve never worked in drug and alcohol before and am getting good experience, this is a great initiative that I should be excited to be a part of, and I do like it more than working at Perspectives. Why do I only focus on the negatives? My schedule will change. It would make sense to stay where I am until I know where I want to go. I can apply other places in the meanwhile (which I am). I know how to be smart about things. The bottom line is that when I go home at night and look in the mirror, I’m never satisfied with the woman looking back at me. I don’t feel strong or confident or sexy anymore. As hard as life in Chicago was, I found outlets to get me out and do things I liked. I loved Title, I tried yoga, I loved being in my kitchen and hosting Shabbat dinners. I liked going out to try new places. I hated commuting and the noise and business of the city. But I miss all of the options.

What do I need to do to learn self love? I realize that’s a major part of eating disorder recovery; since I’ve never felt good enough and equate being worthy of love with being thin, when I feel badly about myself I don’t like myself. I don’t even know what matters to me outside of the eating disorder. When you strip away appearances and the superficial, what do I stand for? Who am I? What matters to me? I’m 32 fucking years old and am asking myself the questions I should have spent my 20s learning, or that I should be dealing with in another 18 years during a midlife crisis. I guess now is as good a time as any to try and figure it out. So who am I? I am an insecure woman who has always tried to have it all together. I like being prepared for things. I make lists. When I live alone I clean a lot. I am still an athlete and am wrapping my head around the idea of not racing anymore so I can just enjoy being an athlete instead of feeling like I have to prove anything in competition with others. I have issues with my family that are becoming more and more apparent as more of them die and since my mother remarried. I believe more now that I lost a major part of myself when my father died and that the closest I’ll get to getting that back is learning self love and self compassion. I love my dog. I want to be a mother but it terrifies the fuck out of me. I ruminate because I don’t know any other way for my brain to work. I would like to be happier. I like cheese. I also like champagne. I am not myself without singing and/or theater as a significant part of my life. I’m at a difficult point in my career where I see parts of all of the jobs I’ve had that I like, but know I have not really liked any job I’ve had for more than a couple of months. I don’t know where to go with that. I feel woefully inadequate the vast majority of the time. Being Jewish is something that is hugely important to me. I don’t like extreme temperatures. I get too invested in characters in books and movies and TV shows when I like them a lot. I feel like other people are better at love and relationships than I am, but now I’m wondering if that’s because I feel so inadequate and have never been able to love myself. It’s likely, just like it’s likely that I focus on the negatives and feel depressed and lonely and unworthy and sad and get all nitpicky and bitchy because I’m just unhappy with myself. It would explain why I tend to be negative and have been feeling so worthless and lost. I never learned how to take care of myself, so when I have had those moments where I nurture and care for myself and choose life over exercise, I feel strong and empowered because I’m actually choosing to be good to myself rather than punishing myself and my body for not being something I’m not and it will never be.

It’s not really a surprise that I lack self love, and I don’t think it really changes anything about my current circumstances or the life I’m going back to. It might change how I look at it in terms of seeing some of the positives and focusing more on doing things that are good for me. I do think I can find a life of joy with Evan. It’s one of the reasons I love him. Maybe I don’t have to dread going back to the life I left in Erie since I know the current circumstances are temporary, and if I can work on more compassion and care in my life in the time I do have, it will make everything else so much better. And maybe a little sunshine wouldn’t hurt.