Page 54 of The Cowboy's Cabaret

Dear Dahlia,Wes, and the team at Big Al’s Orchard,

We are pleased to notify you of your receipt of the Mental Health Marvels Innovation Grant. After receiving upwards of one-hundred applications, your proposal stood out to one of our founding members, as they greatly benefited from equine and recreational therapy in their youth. Your narrative provided such a clear picture of your future plans, while also highlighting the importance of maintaining this land and legacy.

It would be Mental Health Marvels’ pleasure to partner with you and your team in navigating next steps as you embark on the journey to starting a program at Big Al’s Orchard.

The rest of the email is a blur of tears as I full out sob. I can hear noise like someone is talking, but it sounds fuzzy like I’m wearing ear muffs. Is this fucking real?

“Dahlia, you fucking queen! You guys did it. Oh, I’m so proud of you two!” Daphne smashes me against her chest in a crushing hug and I come back to reality. Holy shit, we did it.

“Fuck, this is incredible, I’m—” Wes is speechless as he watches me through the video call with glassy eyes. “I’m just really fucking happy.” He lets out a huge breath before throwing his head back in a booming laugh, “FUCK YEAH! Oh my god, we need to tell Jasper and Lorraine, Stone too. They’re going to lose their minds. Dahlia, my beautiful, smart woman. You fucking nailed it.”

Tears are pouring out of me as I take in this moment, because I did something bigger than myself and it might actually work out. I’m sure there will be a million more tears and stressful moments, but this is the start of a new path for us and it means everything to me.

“I know it’s a school night tonight, but you’ll have to come this weekend to the farm, both of you. I’m sure Lorraine and Stone are going to want to hug you enough for two lifetimes. Shit, Jasper might even smile at you. Do you want me to go get them so we can tell them now?” Daphne must give Wes a look because he immediately backtracks and speaks a bit slower. “Or, we can celebrate this excitement now on the phone, and get together to tell everyone this weekend. Is that alright?”

“Yes. If you can pick us up on Friday, we can come down. I don’t have an actual set planned this weekend, so I’m free.”

“I’ll switch with Karina so I can be there too,” Daphne supplies.

My chest feels like the elephant sitting on it finally got up and I can take a full breath for the first time in hours. Daphne kisses me on the head and congratulates me one more time, before she leaves me and Wes.

“Baby, I am so beyond proud of you. This is huge. I can’t thank you enough for even having this idea, for doing all the heavy lifting writing this proposal. You are amazing.” His words caress my skin and squeeze my heart and I try to be presentwithout letting anxiety take over. The fear is still lingering, but for now it’s a little further away.

At school the following day,I head to Professor Walton’s office to tell her the news.

“My, my. Only a few months ago, you were sitting across from me wringing your hands with nerves. Today, you sit with a grant acceptance in those hands, as a graduate student, no less! This calls for a celebration!” She moves to open her desk drawer, retrieving a pack of Reece’s Peanut Butter Cups. “Sorry, I think the administration would frown upon me keeping bubbly in my desk, but chocolate is the next best thing.”

She hands me one of the two peanut butter cups and we tap them together in mock cheers. “Congratulations, dear. I know you will continue to do big things in this world.” Didn’t think I’d be crying over chocolate in my professor’s office before noon, but here we are.

The day bumbles along as I sit through the mind numbing bore of research statistics before finishing out the day in my seminar class.

“Don’t forget, if you have plans to walk at this semester’s commencement, the deadline to register is November fifteenth. The student portal houses the links for you to sign up and request tickets for family members to attend. If you have any questions, feel free to stop by on your way out. Thanks for the invigorating discussion this afternoon. Please make sure to submit your discussion board posts by tomorrow evening.”

The fact that graduation is weeks away is both terrifying and exciting. I have worked my ass off for the past two years and it’s all coming to a close. I’m not planning on going furtherin school, so the thought of leaving academia is weird as hell. My classmates are chattering about graduation parties and the stress of finding jobs and it hits me—this is it. The proposal was a success, so the next logical step is starting the program. It needs a name, we need to start hiring people, probably need to figure out logistics of the farm.

All too easily, my brain runs through the entire gambit of next steps. Like clockwork, my hands are clammy and I’m one more loud noise away from becoming a real bitch.

Graduation and entering the workforce are the logical next steps, yet I feel like I’m preparing to jump out of a plane with no parachute. I pull out my phone to text Wes, before I think better of it. He might start asking questions if he thinks I’m freaking out, or worse, he could decide no partner is worth the level of stress I bring.

On shaky legs, I head out of the classroom and move on autopilot to the subway entrance. With every step, it feels like I have to manually take a breath and remind myself to exhale. As much as anxiety can be obvious, I know the people around me are none the wiser to the crippling fear crushing me.

The way my brain attacks me is subtle—quiet digs about my every move, the cold numbness tingling out to my extremities—it’s not always the fetal position and hysterical crying. Most days, I force myself to move forward—to get school work done, to go to work—when the last thing I want is to exist in a mind that hates me. I probably seem well-adjusted to strangers, but the real me is suffering and riddled with guilt over nothing.

My train arrives with a gust of stale wind, breaking me from my trance. Something’s gotta give. I know this way of living isn’t sustainable, but admitting I need help feels like confirmation I’m a failure. I don’t know how to reconcile the two, no matter how misguided it is.

Awful day behind me,I crawl into bed and bury myself beneath the covers. My body aches from the constant adrenaline of nerves and I feel like I’m crawling out of my skin. My phone lights with Wes’ incoming video call and I ignore it in favor of a text. Swiping away from the call, I see the overflow of texts from my dad and laugh at the timing of his fucked up attempt at parenting.

Unkown:

Dahlia, how long are you going to keep this shit up? We’re jus not gunna talk

Unknown:

I’m sorry

Unknown:

Can we talk? I need to talk to you, it’s important