Incommunicado

Now my lip is bruised from trying to choke it back. I hate how ugly they make me look. I hate the shade of crimson my eyes turn. This is truly isolation, not even being able to call someone who could talk some sense into you. Stop feeling sorry for yourself.

But I almost really believed that you would be there to talk to me when I got back. I was almost looking forward to it.

I wonder it has something to do with the holes in my sneakers. When I walk through the rain, the water gets stuck between the rubber of my sole. I skip over puddles, and tip-toe down sidewalks, but my feet are always wet, and I am always cold.

Or maybe its the hair in my face. Its so shaggy I can move it from side to side. I can hide behind it in class. I use it as a pillow, as a place saver: "My Armor," Jeffy might have said once.

I'm not watching him scream bloody murder in a parking lot in Lowell. I'm dreaming of the mountains, and of moving home to Asheville.