I realized it while I was doing a perfectly normal thing: I was just now walking back from a friend’s dorm, where I had gone to return some tupperware containers I had borrowed. They hadn’t been there, and I still had the stacked clear-plastic tubs in my hand when I stopped dead in the middle of the street.


I realized that I Could Do It.

I could drop the tupperware and make a right turn, watch the wet pavement melt away under my feet past the football stadium and to the roundabout, let the secluded road and the dripping trees guide my way for a half mile or so.

It doesn’t matter that he was expelled; he still lives in the neighborhood. The address wouldn’t be hard for me to get.


I could knock on his door.

I imagine it’s one of the thin wood ones with geometric shapes – a series of rectangles topped with a half-circle of thin triangles – stained a dark oak color, or painted blue.

He could answer.

And I could…


I don’t know.


I don’t know what I’d do.


I know so many things I could do.


I could just stand there and wait and see what he would do. Would he recognize me again? Would he remember any of the things he did to me?

Would he try to do it again?

Would he close the door in my face?

Would he hurt me?

What would happen?

I could ask him why.

Why did he do those things to me.

Why did he do those things to her.

Why why why why why my god why.


I could scream and cry and pound my hands against the brown fine-knit sweatshirt I know he’d be wearing. I could stare at his table-corner-square jaw and remember the sharp stubble scraping into my thigh, I could see how his facial expressions never match what’s happened and remember how he laughed as he told me to hold the end of the belt he’d tied around my knees, I could relive it and feel something and hate him for it.

I could do something, anything, that isn’t sitting here feeling hollowed out and lifeless.


I came back inside. There was a friend waiting for me. There is test prep and an essay waiting for me. There is so much waiting for me.

Everything except closure.

Everything except what I want most.