There I went again. Against all odds, completely defying the
voices of reason which told me to keep my views to myself. I
threw it out there. And oh, how it backfired. A sea of
challenging faces before me, I felt the light from the
windows blind my eyes. The normally warm, familiar room felt
icy. The multicolored posters hanging on the walls offered
me no comfort. While my defender was gone it had turned into
a battlefield. I tried to shield myself from attacks but the
weight of the moment overwhelmed me, as did rage. I yelled,
I shrieked, I kicked a chair. Surprise. I don't believe they
were expecting that. I don't think they realized we were at
war, and I was left alone in the combat zone. But I was
beyond rational thinking in that moment. Wet, salty tears
ran down my cheeks. It had been a long day, and that battle
utterly cracked me.
My defender was back, failing to notice the withered state I
was in. He's not my defender, I thought. He doesn't care. We
had to go away and he stayed behind as I dragged myself
after my only friend, the one who chose to watch the battle
silently. Only she understood my pain. Pretty curls, she
remained unruffled, as she nearly always was. Words rolled
out of my mouth like stones. "I hate him. He doesn't care
what happens to me or how I feel. I hate him!".
We staggered along the empty, lonely halls, down the stairs.
Suddenly I couldn't hold myself anymore. I just sat, leaning
against the solid wall. People passed me. I could feel their
stares burning a hole through my green shirt and into my
heart. I could not stop crying. My clothes that day, a
childlike bright shirt; jeans which didn't quite reach my
ankles; and sneakers revealing colorful socks, epitomized
how I felt at that exact moment: like a child whose toy had
been taken away, sulking, craving paternal attention and
comfort.
My friend tried to talk to me but I couldn't hear her. I
would not hear her. Suddenly he was there. He stopped as he
saw me, and took notice. He did care. I lifted myself from
the cold stone floor and forced myself down the stairs and
into the large room of knowledge. Shelves stacked upon
shelves, packed with countless books. So much knowledge, yet
none of it of any help to me now, I thought bitterly. The
stuffy air and the chatter of people alienated me as I came
in. He led me to a corner where we could sit and be isolated
from the rest. Warmth was returning to my veins, but the
salty taste still filled my mouth. All my defenses were
down, but one. I let myself cry, speak, share and question.
I let myself be who I was; I exposed my solitude, my passion
for life and my truths as I saw them. He listened when I
needed to be heard and spoke when I needed to be affirmed,
thus restoring my faith in myself.
As I sensed his eyes upon mine I felt the safest I had in
months. With such few poignant words, precious words, he
sent my spirit spiraling; only this time it spiraled
upwards. Although the large room was filled with chattering
voices and rolling laughter, I could not hear their
senseless jabber. We were the only ones there; nothing else
mattered. I was the only one he was focused on at that
moment. No distractions, no apathetic zombies using up his
valuable time; no, his time was well spent that day, that
hour, that moment. The time I most needed him, my knight in
shining armor was there to save me from myself as a true
friend would. Only he wasn't my friend. He could never be my
friend.