Simply Complex

"I just don't know what to do Rach," I sputtered through my tears, "I'm literally so scared."

She sat there on my bunk, my head in her lap, her eyes cast downward toward the mattress on the floor. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then I heard her take in a shaky breath, as the door was opened, and my camp roommate came in, intending to turn in for the night. Rachel spoke up, and asked if she would wait just a minute, and thankfully, she consented, closing the door behind her as she went.

Rachel turned to me, and through the fog of tears in my own eyes, I saw her large brown eyes glistening, yet they were looking hard at me.

"How long has it been since...you know.." she stammered. I couldn't meet her eyes; I felt so ashamed of myself. Instead of answering her, I began to cry harder. I felt her hand resting on my shoulder, cool against my warm skin. We sat in that moment for what seemed like forever; eventually I calmed down enough that I could breathe normally again. I looked up into Rachel's face. She took a deep breath and wiped away the tears lingering on her cheek. Then she spoke, with a voice I had never heard before. I think she may have even surprised herself, judging by the way her words flowed so much more easily than usual.

"I don't know what to say," she began, "but all that matters right now is that you know that I am here for you, no matter what happens from here on out. I think that we just need to take this one day at a time, because all we can really do now is trust God for the best. We make our choices, we live with the consequences, but God is the only thing that will get us through our own messes."

I was taken aback by her words. This was the girl that always came to me with her problems, though I must admit, it did take some coaxing to get her to speak. She wasn't the type to just dump her problems on people; at least not until they asked. Even then, there was always something she held back. This was the girl that fell mute near strangers, and even around me, her talk consisted of frivolous things, things of no consequence to the value of life. Yet when she spoke that night, she did so with an even voice and a determined tone.

I sat up on my bunk, and she unfolded her legs and let them dangle to the floor. We talked for a few more minutes, and realizing that lights out had long since passed, she said good night and left me on my bunk, entering her adjoining room.

The next day, she wore a smile on her face, as if nothing had happened that night. Anyone who didn't know about our exchange would have thought so. I knew better, and when I looked in her eyes that morning, I saw the question in them.

"Are you okay?"