Summer's Surfer Girl

The smell of recently prepared food rises toward the rafters in a dining hall designed decades ago. The heat from the uncharacteristically warm winter’s day starts to subside with the setting of the sun as girls discuss the happenings of the day. The conversation at a particular girls’ table is no more interesting than that of the chatter anywhere else in the weathered room. The eight girls are laughing at each other’s misfortunes. Nobody notices the one girl as she answers her beckoning phone. The laughing around the old oak table continues as her face starts to drop. Nobody notices the sheer shock upon her face. Nobody notices the first tear. And then she disappears as quickly as the warm summer’s sun.
“It never rains,” Courtney Brunton says with her legs up on her desk, “It pours.” Last year was one of the most testing years for Courtney and her family. Having never been to a funeral, she attended two, one of which was her uncle’s. The Brunton’s attended this funeral in white, a stark contrast to the rest of their relatives in black. She looks up to the ceiling as she recalls how her father fell ill a couple of months later. She sits in peace on her chair, leaning back speaking about how she couldn’t recognise the fact that her father was sick. She remembers how even passing matric didn’t seem like a big deal anymore. Her family’s strength is unquestionable; their hope fixed, allowing for her father to make a recovery. But this strength was tested again with the ringing of her cell phone.
When Courtney arrived at Rhodes, she had no idea what she was in store for. Life, as she knew it, was about to change. This care-free surfer girl was about to fully understand the importance of family. She’d always been family orientated, but moving 900 kilometres away from home made it a little different. She wasn’t nervous, as she had the cushion of her older sister who also attended Rhodes, but she had never anticipated just how difficult her first year would be.
After what felt like a frosty and lingering winter, it seemed as though spring might make an early appearance to academic little Grahamstown. Out came the shorts and tee-shirts and the talk around the old, oak tables involved planning a trip to the beach on the weekend.
She stands in the now darkened foyer in her slops with her jeans rolled up at the bottom, staring out the window, her phone held desolately in one hand. Her golden hair cascades over her shoulders, falling in her face covering her swollen eyes. Her father’s cancer had reappeared.
After copious tests and scans, she waited to hear the results. As each week etched on, her hope got stronger. Hero’s are immortal; they don’t die, at least not in her books. They simply weather the storm. Except in this story, this was not the case. Stories were continuous; this one had a time frame. Her story had just gotten worse.
Courtney came to Rhodes with the intention to study psychology. She wanted to do this because she believes that even if she only gives one person hope, it’s worth it. She continues to live by the words “the most dangerous place to be is, without hope” as she knows first hand what it’s like to be in that place where nothing seems to matter anymore. Having found God, Courtney was able to weather the storm the first time. She believes that by the grace of God, she will rise above, her hope instilled again.