Her Smile Like Sunrise

“I don’t know how it started,” Adelaide admitted.

Her fingers were knots in her lap. Mostly, she hated talking about herself. But also, the sound of her own voice never quite felt real.

“That’s okay,” Ms. Calle said.

“Is it?” Adelaide spat suddenly.

She recoiled in her seat, covering her mouth with her hand. That wasn’t like her. Adelaide was softly spoken like a breeze disappearing in a moment. Yet, in the still silence of the empty classroom, Ms. Calle her only audience, she discovered sudden motivation to speak.

“Adie,” Ms. Calle began in her usual collected way. “You do not have to explain yourself to me.”

Ms. Calle stood from her desk and turned to her filing cabinet. Adelaide let out a careful breath of relief in the second of privacy. Somehow, Ms. Calle knew she needed help. Adelaide was never great at asking for it.

“I want you to fill out this application.”

Ms. Calle placed a slender folder on the desk between them. The cover had two emboldened words stamped across it: Happiness Nationwide.

A rush of shame took over Adelaide, writhing in her gut.

“Do I really need this?” She wondered as goosebumps covered her arms and legs.

“Will it work?” She asked Ms. Calle, finally raising her eyes to the kind woman’s soft face.

“It did for me,” Ms. Calle sighed, shrugging humbly.

Adelaide never imagined that the woman who greeted her students every morning with a smile warm like the sunrise and doled out stickers to anyone who seemed under the weather had ever struggled with happiness. In those vulnerable minutes, her favorite teacher was asking her to look into a mirror of sorts and see that anyone can become miserable. It was like learning how to long divide; sometimes, you need a refresher on how exactly things go, even something as simple as being happy.

“I don’t want my parents to think it’s their fault,” Adelaide explained, reaching out to brush her thumb on the corner of the folder.

“It can be helpful to include your parents in this decision,” Ms. Calle began, lowering carefully like a cat into her seat. “There are options if you wish not to.”

“I’m just afraid,” Adelaide muttered, palming the cover of the folder.

“Afraid of what?” Ms. Calle asked, thumbing through a stack of colorful notecards.

“Of telling them how I feel,” Adelaide said, gentle sobs rolling through her chest.

“I understand,” Ms. Calle finally responded after a long pause. “If you decide to do this on your own, I can help you submit it tomorrow morning.”

Adelaide nodded graciously and dabbed her cheeks dry on her sleeve.

“I will think about it,” she sniffed, finally pulling the folder into her grasp.

Adelaide stood awkwardly and started toward the door with her book bag hanging from her elbow and the folder dangling in the clutch of her armpit. The twisted bun she placed so delicately atop her crown that morning was now lolling at the nape of her neck. She felt as chaotic as she looked just then. What made it worse was that Ms. Calle, often the only person she felt ordinary among, had witnessed it all.

“Adie,” Ms. Calle called.

Adelaide had just reached for the door knob then turned halfway, looking back at Ms. Calle like a portrait in a museum. Perhaps she would go home after this, or to a café or train station, but Adelaide suddenly couldn’t picture her anywhere else but right there, sitting at her desk, waiting for her students to return.

“Everything is worth giving a shot,” Ms. Calle added with that sunrise smile.

Adelaide grinned back. It didn’t matter that she was wrong; Certainly not everything was worth trying. Adelaide hadn’t known optimism for quite some time. Years later, she would look back to that moment and be grateful that Ms. Calle had seen it for her.

In her empty home, Adelaide clutched the folder against her chest — a pessimist trying to hide her heart. She emptied the folder and arrayed the pages on the counter across from her. At even the slightest sound from the surrounding neighborhood, she jolted. What if her parents came home early from work? She couldn’t explain to them what was going on in her head. At that moment, not even she knew.

There were only four pages. The first was a single sheet with three simple questions: Are you happy? Have you been happy? Would you like to be happy?

She grasped her pen so hard it felt like it would snap when she considered the first question. She knew what was in her gut, but voices of hypothetical strangers surfaced. You are so privileged. Toughen up. You’re just being dramatic.

Did she really need this? Sweat seeped from her cheeks as she looked around the kitchen. Their island counter was as big as the room one of her old friends shared with their sister. She was never hungry. And although they didn’t always understand her, she had two kindhearted parents. Did she deserve this?

She thought about Ms. Calle’s kindness, how she didn’t make Adelaide explain herself. What if Happiness Nationwide did the same? What if they didn’t need any sort of grand explanation? Her chest quaked. She scribbled her answer to the first question so quickly it was like the paper would catch fire: No.

There it was. Despite all the things that had gone right in her life, Adelaide was unhappy.