Round II

So here's the follow-up to Alyssa's brief church session.

She's caught in an awkward situation. She can't ignore Kevin's e-mail, but she can't let herself get too involved in the response, either. She has to find a balancing act. Somehow, she must prevent her heart from breaking any more than it already has.

She's also got an annoying little habit of not sleeping at night. There's a lot I can't relate to concerning my main character, but when it comes to sleep disorders...well, we're totally on the same page, sister.

Love, Lisa



Kevin, thanks for the e-mail, I type. I hunch over in the metal chair, eyes to the ground as I consider how to say the things that need to be said.

There are no good words at a time like this. I hate that Uncle Chris is gone. And it’s frustrating being a million miles from home.

On a less depressing note, I love Trinidad. The girls in my dorm are nice. School starts tomorrow, which is exciting. But I feel guilty enjoying things when Uncle Chris is dead. It doesn’t make sense, you know? How can he hug me one day and disappear the next?

Maybe prayer will help.

As soon as I type those words, I delete them. Kevin’s e-mails are censored and I don’t want him getting in trouble. It’s better to be safe.

But death is part of life, right? I type. No way to avoid it. Oh well. I hope things aren’t too bad in Iraq. Take care and write back whenever.

I send the e-mail before I have a chance to edit it. I tend to drive myself crazy with revisions. It’s so silly, so obsessive. I shouldn’t spend extra time poring over a five-line e-mail.

Sighing, I rise from my seat. The computer lab is the only part of Trinity Hall that’s air-conditioned. My body rejects this artificial air; goosebumps cover my arms. I eagerly dash from the cold room.

I head back to the first-floor lounge. Throwing myself on the couch, I sink into cloth cushions and turn on the television. There’s nothing on. That’s fine, though. I’m not really watching anyway, just letting the noise and images soak over me.

An advertisement fills the screen. Skinny girls parade around in striped sweaters. I crack a smile, because it’s almost fall in certain parts of the world, but Trinidad has no autumn, winter, or spring. It’s always summertime here. Thankfully.

And soon I will look exactly like those girls, down to the last detail. Bones and angles and edges. I will be their twin sister.

Except, of course, for the sweaters; I’ll be wearing a tank top.

***

I wake up, gripping the sheets in one fist. A layer of sweat covers my forehead and nose. I want to wipe it away, but my hands are too shaky. My heart pounds so loudly I wonder if it’s going to explode.

The room is so dark, so desperately lonely.

At first I take short breaths, shallow ones. Then they’re deeper. I sit up, propping myself against the wall. As much as I tell myself I am fine, there’s still a lingering hollowness in my core. My stomach screams at me, but that pain is tolerable. It’s the aching in my chest that is unbearable.

Why are you doing this? I ask him, knowing I’ll never get an answer. Leave me alone.

Kevin’s face remains etched in my brain. I can see it so clearly, every fleck of green in his eyes. His shaggy hair has grown so long that it’s almost messy.

I lie back down. The tension in my chest decreases a little, but not enough. I stare out my slitted window. The silent world stares back at me, offering no condolences.

I’m sure there’s something that can take away this pain. There is a solution, a cure I’ve turned to in the past. There must be. But I can’t recall what it is.

So I face the window. I close my eyes and wait for morning to come. I tell myself that once the sun rises, this isolation will depart. But that’s like tossing confetti in the air and expecting it to never fall.