Winnie, Not Winifred

03 | Drop It Like It's Going to Goodwill

Over the years, I had found that the best way for me to be productive was to make a to-do list with one of those little boxes next to each task. No other type of list could ever match the gratification one feels by crossing out each box, one by one.

I used to make them when I had a lot of homework or chores to do back in North Carolina, but recently, I had found myself making them more and more. The funny thing about it, though, was that I never even had that much to do. I just kept making them in order to keep myself busy, crossing off each box after completing an arbitrary task.

Brush your teeth? Check. Your hair? Check. Take your Plaquenil? Check.

Now, a psychologist might say, 'Winnie, dear, this is just your own little coping mechanism to keep your mind off of what's really going on. But don't you worry, it's completely normal, I promise,' not derived from a real example. Nonetheless, I knew better than to believe that was the case here.

I knew I had Lupus. I accepted the fact that I had Lupus. There was nothing more to say about it, nothing more to do, other than move on with my life.

And that is exactly what I did.

I was kneeling in front of my dresser, reorganizing my pajama drawer when my mom walked in with a basket of laundry. She sighed when she saw me and the separated piles of tops and bottoms I had laid out. "Winnie," she said in that familiar tone. I knew what was coming. "When in doubt, chill out."

I plastered a smile on my face and let out a faux chuckle. "Thanks, mom." Sometimes I was able to translate her quotes better than others. I reached for the basket in her hands and she held it just out of my grasp.

"Tsk—tsk," she chided. "It's Friday night."

"Oh," I said as the realization hit me. "Pizza night."

"Mm-hmm," she remarked as she plopped the basket down in the corner of my room. "Now, you are going to change out of your play clothes, you are going to get dressed, and you are going out with your father and me to get dinner." She faced me with a smile. "Is that understood?"

"Sir! Yes Sir!" I responded sarcastically, standing up abruptly and giving her the kind of salute my veteran grandfather would be proud of.

She tousled my hair before lying down on my neatly-made bed. "Well, I'm glad to see that your room is looking more like you. I was afraid you were going to be sleeping on a bare mattress with a sleeping bag forever."

"Yeah," I agreed, moving to lie beside her on the bed. "I've just been really busy."

"I know you have." She rolled over onto her side, propped up by her elbow to face me. A warm grin lit up her freckled face. "With your audition," she finished, excitedly.

"Yeah," I said again. "I mean, I don't know. This whole acting thing seems like it could actually be really fun."

I thought about all the work Heidi and I had put into our audition material over the past three days. There was something about the whole process that just appealed to me. I loved picking a song that spoke to both the show, and to me. I loved helping Heidi find the script through an illegal, shady-looking website to prepare ourselves for cold-readings. I loved the singing, even though I was pretty terrible at it.

I loved it all so much that half the time I'd even forget that Scowly Boy was still sitting there in the corner doing what he did best, aimed at me, of course.

"I'm so proud of you," she mused, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "You're always so open-minded about everything."

"Well," I responded, sitting up. "I try."