Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if Lee hadn't broken my project.
I would have gotten into West Coast Tech. I would have been a world-renowned scientist among the ranks of Albert Einstein, Carl Sagan, and Nikola Tesla.
I would have been alone. Or maybe I would have been with someone else.
But I wouldn't have been with Betsey.
I wouldn't have reunited with the girl I met at the prom and had one beautiful, glorious summer with before I left for Backupsmore. I would have spent the rest of my life pining for her and wondering if she even remembered me.
I lost an education, but I could have given up dancing to our wedding song in the kitchen, walking in the woods, kisses and cuddles and nights spent laughing and crying and comforting and reassuring every fear, rational or irrational, idly fantasizing, and clinging to each other all night and waking up stuck to each other like glue.
So maybe it wasn't so bad. Maybe it was for the best that I didn't get into West Coast Tech.
Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I hadn't broken Ford's project.
He would've gotten into West Coast Tech. I wouldhn't have been kicked out. I would have had a steady home for a lot longer, maybe even forever. I would have worked with Pa at the pawn shop.
I would've been alone. Or maybe I'd still have Ma and Pa.
But I wouldn't really have anyone, no one I could talk to or be myself around, and no one who needed me.
I wouldn't have seen that scared kid on the streets, ready to go to sleep and probably freeze to death. I wouldn't have been able to help her. I wouldn't have known she existed and she wouldn't have known I existed and maybe neither of us would've known there was still good in the world.
I lost my home, but I could have given up hugs and holding her as she fell asleep and slowly earning her trust and babying her while she made sarcastic comments at me and all her snark and mess and kind-heartedness and inexhaustible rage and attempts to seem tough that I always saw right through because I was there, thumbing tears off her cheeks and listening to her vent about all she'd been through and telling her that it was okay now, that she'd never go through any of that again, and anyone who would try to put her through that would have to go through me first, and no one was getting through me. I could have given up cups of soup and wrapping her up in blankets and quoting bad movies back and forth at each other.
So maybe it was for the best that I broke Ford's project. Maybe it was for the best that I was on the streets for ten years. Maybe it wasn't so bad.