Bearing the Weight

I was running — actually running, full sprint, everything burning — down Cedar Lane because my brain had apparently decided to stop functioning.

"You're such a golden retriever," Maya had said in chemistry, laughing like it was the cutest thing in the world. "All happy and oblivious."

She meant it as a compliment. I think.

But I'd spent the rest of the day spiraling. Because golden retrievers are the dogs of people who have their lives together. People whose parents don't force them to take vitamins every morning because "we're worried about you." People who don't still think about their dead goldfish from seventh grade.

His name was Fin. He lived for three years. I found him floating one morning before school, and it felt like the first real thing that had ever happened to me.

What kind of person holds onto a goldfish memory for four years?

So I was running. Because moving feels like progress, even when it's not.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. Probably our group chat, blowing up without me. Probably Cameron making jokes at my expense again, subtle enough that I couldn't call him out but sharp enough to leave marks.

I hate how much I care what they think. That's the thing nobody tells you about growing up — you don't stop needing approval, you just learn to hide it better.

The woods behind the neighborhood loomed ahead, dark and thick. I'd never gone in there. But suddenly the idea of disappearing for an hour sounded like actual heaven.

I barely made it fifty yards before something crashed through the brush.

A bear. An actual bear, rearing up like it owned the forest.

I didn't run. I couldn't. I just stood there, heart hammering, thinking about how ridiculous it would be to die while running away from a compliment.

The bear snuffed, dropped to all fours, and lumbered away.

I sat down right there in the dirt and started laughing. Because honestly? What even is my life.

My phone buzzed again. Maya: "hey where did you go??"

I sat there a while longer. The woods felt quiet. Real.

Then I got up and started walking back. Not running. Walking.

Some things you bear. Some things you don't.

And some things, you just figure out along the way.