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I’d be waving a white flag of mental
surrender.
    The shower shut off
upstairs in my dad’s bathroom. I turned off the TV and raced up the
stairs to my room before he could notice my blotchy face. I closed
my bedroom door and sat down at my desk, pulling Caleb’s last
letter from the bottom drawer.
    I’d read the letter four
times since receiving it two days ago. It was written on binder
paper in pencil. His handwriting had a slight forward slant and he
must push down hard when writing because the pencil marks were
thick and dark. My fingers ran over the word I liked most, love .
    I missed him so much it
was like a physical ache. I realized he sensed the distance I put
between us now, but I couldn’t help it. It was as if a glass jar
trapped the tender words and openness I used to share with him. The
emotions were there inside the glass jar, clear to see and trying
to flutter out, but unable to escape.
    My love for him had only
grown in our time apart. The problem was my belief that Caleb
deserved to love someone more worthy. I’d ruined his life, got him
sentenced to confinement. Loving me had only brought him
trouble.
    If Caleb got to know me as
I existed now, he probably wouldn’t want anything to do with me.
Being stuck in juvie, he didn’t understand how pathetic I’d become,
afraid of my own shadow and on my way to being labeled the weird girl at
school.
    Returning his letter to
the bottom drawer, I slammed it shut and logged onto my laptop. My
email contained another new message alert from Facebook.
Impulsively, I clicked on the link, going onto Facebook for the
first time in months. My inbox was full of messages from people at
my old school, three alone from Seth. I was ashamed of them knowing
what happened to me.
    As I deleted the messages
without reading them, I pretended I’d also erased their knowledge
of the attack. Urgency coursing through me, I then moved on to my
friends list, deleting almost everyone. Cece would notice and ask
me what was going on. I’d probably lie to her again.
    I reached Caleb Morrison
on my friend list and tears formed again.
    It was twisted how I could
talk to him on the phone every Saturday, putting on a strong front,
but totally lose it when I was alone in my room looking at his name
on a computer screen. While speaking on the phone we verbally
tiptoed around each other, making a conscious effort not to upset
the other person. My I love yous were heartfelt but guilt ridden.
    At times there existed a
sense of numbness, a disconnection with reality that haunted me. I
was stuck in a fog that I couldn’t see clear from. It was as if our
relationship never happened, or we were broken up without saying
the words.
    While at school, I went
through the motions in a haze of automatic motions and responses.
Perhaps the same glass jar which trapped my feelings for Caleb also
provided a protective barrier around me around me in public. Only
to be broken when something set me off, causing me to enter real
life and usually act like a spaz.
    The first couple weeks
back in school, even a new school, had been the worst. On my second
day, I’d left chemistry class to use the restroom, walking down an
empty hallway. Rounding a corner, I’d bumped into a guy wearing a
navy blue shirt. I’d completely freaked out. It brought me right
back to the attack. Josh had worn his navy football jersey that
game night.
    The poor guy who’d
collided with me had probably carried bruises from me hitting him.
I pictured him showing them off to his friends as he told them
about the crazy girl who’d ran into the girls’ bathroom after
punching the crap out of him.
    Locking myself in a stall,
I’d missed my next two classes that day. I’d almost expected to be
called to the office in the afternoon for suspension. I could only
guess the boy had no idea who I was or he’d laughed it
off.
    On the phone with Caleb, a
part of me always burned to confide in him, tell him how messed up
I really was. Instead, I