13 Years in America(英文原版)

　　“I don’t know. I guess I have to unwind a bit before I can sleep in.”

　　I head downstairs and find my Laura Secord cookbook and lay it out to look through after I do the dishes. The living room also needs to be picked up, and the floors need to be swept. Then Morgen’s awake. I bring her downstairs with me and set her up with measuring spoons to play with while I finish sweeping.

　　I wonder how I did on my final papers. Dr. Terrill, especially, has me worried. I’m sitting at a ninety-four percent in her class, and if I don’t get at least an eighty on the final paper, I could actually get a B overall in her class. I’m in my last year, and I’ve gotten straight A’s all the way though. It would be a disgrace to get a B now. She’d be just the one to give it to me, too. She’s always acting like I should be giving more of myself.

　　Morgen giggles and shakes the spoons, and I snap myself out of my thoughts. I’m on break. I need to stop thinking about school and worrying about my grades. I did the best I could, and now I have to let it go.

　　But I can’t. I catch myself over and over fretting and replaying scenes from the semester in my mind.

　　“You’re letting it get to you way too much,” Scott says when I wake up from another nightmare. “You just have one more semester and then you’re done with your master’s. You’re doing great. Just get through this semester, and then you’re on to your PhD.”

　　I take a deep breath. “Okay.” I can do it.

　　When my break’s over, I’m once again thrown into the craziness of demands, pressures, and deadlines. I’m still plagued by the restless sleep and disturbing dreams, and I wake up in the morning feeling exhausted. My tiredness lasts throughout the day, day after day, until I practically feel like a walking zombie from sleep deprivation and stress. As the semester goes on, the pressures only increase. Now, in addition to my classes and my family, I also have to prepare for my final exams. And, to top it off, it’s time to apply for PhD programs. I need to talk with my professors and ask them to write letters of recommendation.

　　But for some reason, I don’t. I put it off, and then the application deadlines are next week, and I still haven’t asked. I guess I just don’t want to. I’m too tired. I’m tired of the pressure and I’m tired of the stress, and I’m very, very tired of never having enough time.

　　So I let the application deadlines pass, and I just focus on finishing the year. Then, before I know it, graduation is almost here. I submit all my assignments and take my final exams. Then, I breathe the first real sigh of relief in two years because I’m done with grad school. And, yes, I graduate with a perfect grade point average.

　　Salt Spring Remembered

　　I still dream of Salt Spring. In the long, empty days after grad school’s over, I take Morgen for walks in her stroller and let memories of Salt Spring flow through my mind. I remember the wildflower-lined lanes and the old wooden church that had been converted into a movie house, and I remember, most of all, the people. The owner of the roadside stand where we bought our eggs, the guy behind the counter at the coffee shop bakery, the librarian, the woman who organized the Christmas craft sale at the community center. I remember them all.

　　I would love to live among those people again and be a part of their community. It would be a great place to raise Morgen. After I put her to bed, I fire up the computer and search for jobs on Salt Spring. Nothing but a housekeeper at a local resort and a live-in caretaker for an elderly woman. No professional jobs; nothing that would warrant moving all the way out there. I’ll keep looking, I decide. It’s a small island and there aren’t many opportunities for professional positions, but maybe something will come up.

　　In the meantime, I need to apply for jobs around here. Scott’s picked up an overnight front desk position, but that’s just temporary. It’ll buy groceries and pay our mortgage, but it won’t pay all our bills or my student loan payments when they come due. Armed with copies of my perfect transcripts, strong letters of recommendation, and a polished résumé, I apply for college-level teaching jobs. Two are in Duluth, one in Superior, and two within an hour’s drive.

　　I don’t get called for any of them. June rolls into July and then into August. School will be starting soon, and I don’t have a job offer. I start looking beyond the area, sending applications to North and South Dakota.