Playing Knotty by Elia Winters Page A

won’t laugh?”
    â€œSure, go ahead.” Emma set down her own mug of mocha.
    â€œI was thinking about maybe going back for my MFA.” Bethany winced. “Is that a terrible idea?”
    â€œWhy would you think that’s a terrible idea?”
    â€œIt seems so impractical.” Bethany looked down into her mug. “I got my degree in English lit, and now I’m working at a bookstore, but what I really want to do is write poems and maybe teach creative writing. I don’t know, can someone survive on that? Will I end up living on peanut butter and showering at the Y?”
    Emma tried not to think about how closely her real life resembled Bethany’s nightmare. The peanut butter sandwiches, at least. “Beats me. But if you go back to school, they’ll probably give you a teaching fellowship to help with the cost.”
    â€œI did think about that. And my place is rent-controlled, so that’s something.”
    â€œReally? Lucky. God, I didn’t think they still did that.” Emma picked up her mug and stared down at its milky surface before sipping. “Plus, you’d still work, right? At least part-time?” She couldn’t imagine losing Bethany altogether.
    â€œDefinitely part-time. I don’t think I could manage full-time unless I took all the nights and weekends and stopped sleeping.” Bethany rested her chin on her hand, staring into the distance. “So you really don’t think it’s crazy?”
    â€œNo, I don’t think it’s crazy. You’ve got to follow your dreams, right? It’s what all the inspirational posters say, anyway. And the Disney movies.” Emma took another long sip. “Have you run the numbers? Seen if it’s possible?”
    â€œNot yet. I’ve been afraid to, honestly.” Bethany bit her lip, and her hesitation was endearing. Emma never saw Bethany as anything other than confident and poised. Maybe she’d been reading Bethany all wrong, and Bethany was as insecure as Emma, at least in some areas of her life. “If I run the numbers, it becomes real. Either I find out I can’t afford it, and I don’t get to think about it anymore, or I find out that I can afford it, and then I have to actually make the decision. So I keep putting it off.” She laughed self-deprecatingly. “God, it sounds so stupid when I say it out loud.”
    â€œNo, I understand. I do that kind of thing all the time.” Bethany’s hesitation was all too familiar to Emma. How often had she chosen not to think about something with the hope that she could avoid making a decision? It never worked out in the long run; eventually, she had to choose, or the opportunity passed. “But I think you’ll feel better if you take that step.”
    â€œYou’re probably right.” Bethany took a long drink from her mocha. “It would be exciting, though. Going back to school. If I even get in. It’s almost May; it’s probably too late to apply.”
    â€œWhere do you want to go?”
    â€œThere are a bunch around here that would be good. There’s BU, but sometimes they don’t like for you to do both their undergrad and grad programs. There’s also Emerson, and UMass Boston, and Lesley . . . and there’s this low-residency program at Pine Manor in Chestnut Hill. Ever heard of it?” Emma shook her head, but that wasn’t surprising; she hadn’t been in academics in a while. “Anyway, no matter what school I pick, I’ll have to get in. They’re all wicked competitive. UMass Boston only takes, like, five poets? Something ridiculous like that.”
    â€œYou never know unless you try.” As she sipped, Emma considered her own words. Talk about practicing what you preach.
    â€œSo what about you? We came here to talk about your guy stuff, and we just spent all this time talking about me.” Bethany pointed an accusing finger