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this will help her
accept that she is gone.
    Claire speaks at the podium,
but I cannot hear her.
I see her mouth moving, but there are no words.
All I can think about is how blond her hair looks
against her black cotton dress.
Joelle’s boyfriend is last to speak.
    He says yesterday he went to Joelle’s favorite restaurant
and ordered a bowl of chicken soup
for an empty seat.
    All I want to do is sleep
and that makes me want to cry—
makes me remember how bad it was first semester,
when I hid under my blankets
in the darkness of drawn blinds.
I need sleep.
I need silence.
I need away.
    I want to rest my head,
but I am afraid to sleep.
I am afraid I will wake up screaming.
I know it must be black under my eyes,
but it doesn’t matter.
Things like my face do not matter.
    This is different.
This is not panic.
This is sadness.
I can do this.
I will not get lost in the fog
because this is real. Dying is real.
    It is dark at the playground
and the only sounds are from the crickets.
The air is cooler than usual, moist.
I take my shoes off and swing.
Nate watches me from under the monkey bars.
I jump off, walk in the wet grass.
Nate puts his arms around me from behind,
kisses my neck, my shoulders.
My bare feet dig into the cold sand.
His hand touches my stomach,
under my tank top,
and I am electrified.
He lifts my shirt up,
exposes my chest to the cool air.
All the hairs on my body stand up
and I dig my feet deeper in the sand, ground myself.
    Nate is work.
He is confused about everything—
especially his ex-girlfriend.
    He thinks he still loves her
and because I love him
I say it’s okay if he wants to go back to her.
Nate says he needs to take care of himself,
says he cannot deal with romance,
and a moment later his hand is reaching for my belt.
I want to do whatever I can for him.
I want to fix him, make him whole.
I want to teach him
that he doesn’t have to fear people.
My actions are a lesson to him about love.
    I crave broken men.
When I try to save other people
am I trying to save myself?
Am I covering up for my lack of strength
by putting people back together?
I am tired.
I want someone to save me—
build an intricate web
and place it beneath me in case I fall.
    I feel better today.
I know that Nate cannot be
what I need him to be.
The waiting, the wanting,
and the desperation are familiar.
It is all too real, too soon.
My body cannot endure another Jason—
especially not this one, his best friend.
    I’ve always wanted
to have my hair braided—
a whole head full of the long, skinny kind.
And after a summer of work, I have enough money
to go to one of those salons where only black women go.
I won’t tell anyone how much it costs, though—
it’s embarrassing that I would spend that much money,
but I want a change.
Rebecca goes with me to the salon,
sits down on the leather couch and waits
for eight hours as two women pull my hair and twist
in fake pieces so the braids will be longer, fuller.
    When it’s done and I walk out onto the street,
I feel people staring and it makes me uncomfortable.
    Rebecca reminds me that I can’t be upset.
“What did you expect?” she says.
“You’re a skinny white girl
with a head of braids.”
    I’m not sure what my parents
thought I would look like,
but I can tell they hate it.
That they want me to look normal.

i.
    Move-in day is like a sorority party.
Rebecca’s friends and I are living in a suite.
Rebecca and Rachel and Amanda and Tara are in doubles,
Jennifer and I are in singles.
There is so much laughing
and loud music,
and running from room to room
to borrow a hammer or some tacks.
    I love that I have my own room,
that I can do whatever I want to these walls.
I am committed to making this space mine.
I hang a giant tie-dyed tapestry over the back wall.
It’s too bright, but I don’t care.
My dad got me a futon and a rug
and this space looks good,
looks like me,
and I am the only one with a key.
    Almost instantly the girls and I
establish ourselves as a