Kissing a fellow janitor among the rubbish

“No way,” I said. “He is my friend.”

“Precisely.” She got up, wiped off her snow pants, and wandered off to explore.

Kevin came over and we sat silently watching penguins offer each other pebbles in hopes of winning a mate. After a few minutes, he pulled two plastic-wrapped cookies from his shirt pocket and handed me my favorite peanut butter.

Something, light, rustled in my ribcage—affection, yes, but also fear.

Nikki’s words stuck with me. It became impossible to ignore Kevin’s generosity, enthusiasm, and determination, and I also began to chart my own personal shift. I laughed loud and often, offered a soft ear to other people’s problems, and was always the last to leave the dance floor. After months of working and laughing with friends, I started to like myself again.

By Christmas, the sun stayed up all day and circled above us. The carpenters hosted the McMurdo Alternative Art Gallery at their shop, a celebration of art made from trash and salvaged items. Kevin invited me to come with him and I was nervous when I finished work. While scrubbing toilets, I explored my trepidation. I was afraid that opening my heart would only provoke more pain and rejection.

After dinner, Kevin and I sauntered up the hill, shoulders thumping as we bumped over icy volcanic rock. In the yard of the carpenter’s workshop, people hopped on adult play equipment made from scrap wood. Inside were textile landscapes made from discarded clothing, a corded telephone programmed to make music with beeps, and a fabric made from black VHS tape.

In each revived artifact I saw my own beautiful, imperfect life and knew I was worthy of the same loving resurrection.