Tristan Yoder

Professor Hoffmann

Honors 2109

18 February 2018

A 46 Minute Story Coauthored by a Stranger

0 Minutes

Emilia.

The name leaves his mouth. Emilia. A stranger. We look at each other across the room and smile

in synchrony. Emilia. A complete stranger. What story should I tell her? What story do you tell a

complete stranger? Emilia. We meander out of the building. I take a deep breathe, hoping to

inhale some sort of inspiration. I exhale. Sadly, Just air. I ask her where she wants to walk and

we casually decide on a trail up-campus towards the Bonneville shoreline. Each crisp footstep

towards the hills accompanied by hesitant silence adds to my increasing anxiety. What is a good

story to tell? What story tells her all that she needs to know about me? Me, with my odd

complexities and hard-to-understand nuances. Nuances and complexities that are only

understood in time. It is time for me to take another breath. Inhale, Exhale. Luckily, this time

more than oxygen reaches my brain. This time a bit of common sense binds to the hemoglobin

and reaches my head. I do not need to give a crash course on myself. An introduction seems like

the natural precursor to opening the floodgates of the defining trials, triumphs and tribulations of

my life. In a moment of cathartic release, I tell her about— my major.

11 Minutes

Biology. Its progress. I continue, covering the superficial basics of my life. I’m an Idaho

boy, born and raised. I was a state cross country runner and wrestler. I have an undying devotion

to my husky Denali even though she is 250 miles away from me. I love my family and suddenly

there’s a crack in my voice and there’s a water filling my eyes and I realize—I know what story I

can tell. I tell her about my older sister Sydney.

Sydney, my role model, confidant, best friend, mentor, sister. She is the single most

influential person in my life. As I tell Emilia about her, my smile widens, my eyes glow, and my

step livens. As stumbling blonde-haired blue-eyed toddlers, I was Sydney’s shadow. I wanted to

do everything she did and be everything she was. I only saw her strengths. She was intelligent,

driven, confidant, athletic, successful, and compassionate. She excelled through high school as

valedictorian, varsity soccer captain, and lead in the school play. I was incapable of seeing her

struggles. In my star-filled eyes, she was perfect.

Once Sydney moved to Utah for school, my perception of her shattered. Now, I’m sure

Emilia can notice a quiver in my lips, a somberness in my eyes, and a heaviness in my step. Once

separated I was forced to witness my sister battle depression. Watching her suffer was the worst

pain I had ever suffered. My sister’s superhuman image was gone. She was broken. Strangely

this did not alter how I feel about her. If, anything it enhanced all that I had previously felt.

Seeing Sydney conquer her demons and rise victorious caused me to love her and look up to her

more than I ever had before.

I look up at Emilia through foggy eyes and apologize for the sincerity of my story. I

apologize because I don’t know what my candor says about me.

 Who bears witness when

a caterpillar first flies.

I hope all buds bloom.

22 Minutes

I feel a burden lifted. An albatross’s weight leaves my shoulder as I see it take perch on

Emilia’s. I cannot help but feel responsible because, now, she feels obligated to match my

emotional depth and severity. She breathes. Inhale. Exhale. Her eyes meet mine and she smiles.

The bird takes flight. She smiles and I know understands.

Emilia has a cousin, Toby. As she tells me about Toby her smile widens, her eyes glow,

and her step livens. As young children, growing up in rural Utah, they were inseparable. She

beams and describes how Toby’s intelligence and capacity for knowledge are only matched by

his empathy and capacity for compassion. She wanted to be smart and kind, just like him. But –

Toby was not perfect.

He was homeschooled in the small town of Vernal, Utah. He was isolated from most of

his community, most of the world. His brilliance was occupied by cycling interests: botany,

ornithology, geology, paleontology. Each ran it course and his mind was left with excess

amounts of spare time. Tragically, counting calories occupied the vacancy. Soon Toby’s new

interest collapsed into diagnosable anorexia. Emilia was forced to watch as he suffered, starving

himself. His weakened body could not withstand. He gave out.

Toby was quickly relocated to a Salt Lake City rehabilitation hospital. Emilia was no

longer able to recognize her beloved cousin. As she recounts the event I can see her jaw tense
and her language become rushed, terser. Her teeth clench and a pained smile holds back the well

of pooling emotions. It hurts. She hurts, remembering how her role model broke. She hurts

remembering how her role model became human. But – then she smiles.

This time she really smiles, not the same as before. This smile is fueled by the very

emotion its predecessor held back. Her grin parts and she tells me that Toby won. He beat

anorexia.

One leaf drops—it falls

twirling above the current.

Reflected eyes meet

34 Minutes

We reach the peak of out stroll, turn around, and descend back down the trail. We

walk in silence. This silence is different than before. This silence is complete. Complete and full

of breath and connection. Complete and full of meaning. A meaning that I try to understand—but

I cannot seem to qualify. I see common themes, ideas, and motifs in both of our narratives but I

cannot bring myself to reduce our individual and shared experiences into a trivial assertion about

the nature of storytelling. Inhale. Exhale.

We keep walking. I still cannot decide what to write my essay about. I need to tell my

story and I need to tell her story. I need to share my experience, but I need to relate it her

experience. I need to talk about what she feels and what she felt and how I love and how I hurt

and how she loves and she hurts and what I feel and I felt and we are back at the honors college.

We look at each other. We smile. She thanks me for our walk. I thank her for sharing a beautiful
afternoon together. We breath together. Inhale. Exhale. Luckily something more than oxygen

gets to my brain and I know—I am going to write about our story.

Wrens’ harmonies blend.

Two silk strings weave together

—a strong crimson thread.

46 Minutes