Monday, March 26, 2012

Prompt Week Nine: The best part of the story I can't say....

                The first time I met her she was six. She averted my gaze and looked around the kitchen before running down the hall and up the stairs. She cried when her parents left and refused to talk to me until it was time to go to bed when she voiced her strong opinions about why she should stay awake.

                We spent every Saturday night together and for months, they all went the way the first one did. One night she stole her brother’s Nintendo DS and blamed it on me; there was so much chaos I had to call her parents because she wouldn’t cooperate with me. She pushed every button and the harder I tried to break down her walls, the harder she resisted.  Her silence didn’t fool me. She was smart and I was failing her test.

                She rarely smiled and laughed even less. She’d lose herself in the television; it seemed her only joy came from the Hannah Montana repeats on the Disney channel. She’d plant herself on the floor, cross-legged, and stare at the TV but sometimes she seemed lost, like she was staring at nothing.

                Every night before bed we battled to get her through her bedtime routine. Teeth brushed, inhaler, anti-depressant, sleeping pill. The dose on her anti-depressant fluctuated; occasionally new pills were added and old ones were taken away.

                She was acutely aware she wasn’t normal and the uncertainty that came with that caused her to be insecure and riddled with self-doubt.  For as long as she could remember she had heard her mother on the phone with doctors about her behavior or whispering in the living room after she’d gone to bed about her latest diagnosis. Reactive Attachment Disorder, Asperger’s, Borderline Personality Disorder. She’d been bounced around from therapist to therapist, never spending enough time with one to make any progress. At school she had no friends. Her only playmate was the two year old boy who lived next door who she bossed around.

  Six months later, she still refused to make eye contact with me and a flood of happiness overcame me when she grabbed my hand one day and asked me to go outside with her. It was freezing cold and drizzly but I agreed. We hooked the dog up to the runner and watched him prance around. She played on the swings and laughed when the dog went to the bathroom. As she played, I led an easy conversation about her favorite things, school, and her brothers. I had finally broken through.

She didn’t talk to me the next time I babysat. Instead, she threw a temper tantrum when I asked her to eat and told me I had a bubble butt. For the first time she looked me dead in the eye, her glare so intense I turned my head. She pretended she didn’t know my name and said she liked her other babysitter better. Another test.

The push and pull went on for years. In the beginning she was surprised when I came back, not understanding how she could be so horrible and still be forgiven. She eventually learned the art of apology and over time, she learned guilt. Most importantly, she learned how to trust, not fully like most children, but enough to show real emotion and laugh.  

She’s eleven now and every time I see her, she gives me a big hug and a bigger smile.  I still don’t know what’s wrong with her and that’s how I like it. The only thing I need to know, and I know it without a doubt, is that she will continue to thrive. Her story’s just begun.

Prompt Week Nine: A list of things about me

1)      I am named after a television character. My mother was inspired to name me after Samantha from Bewitched because my birthday is the day before Halloween.

2)      I love eggplant.

3)      I killed every fish I ever had.

4)      I am terrible with money, in large part due to my shopping addiction.

5)      I never listen to my voicemail.

6)      I love watching trashy t.v. The best show going right now is Big Rich Texas on the Style Network.

7)      I never remember my dreams unless they scare me.

8)      I have horrible allergies but an aversion to taking medication which makes me miserable for a large part of the spring, summer, and fall.

9)      I hate clutter.

10)   Lilies are my favorite flower.

11)   I was raised Catholic; we only went to church on Christmas Eve and Easter but my Nana always made me give up something for Lent anyways.

12)   I want to own a hedgehog.

13)   I refuse to buy a kindle because I think there’s something special about physically having a book in your hands.

14)   I haven’t travelled very much and my list of places to go is long.

15)   I love to clean.

16)   I am very forgetful and lose things all the time.

17)   I am most comfortable in a dress and boots.

18)   People find it easy to talk to me and say I am a good listener.

19)   My dream job is to be a feature writer for at a food magazine but I’d settle for any job that paid me to write.

20)   I would never want to be a journalist on the news even though I’d make more money doing it.

21)   I used to be a psychology major and wanted to work with children who had been abused. My inspiration was a little girl I used to babysit who struggled mentally due to the neglect she experienced as an infant.

22)   I really enjoy writing research papers.

23)   My favorite nail polish color is black.

24)   I have died my hair four different colors: blonde, black, red, and brown. After ten years of dying it, it has finally grown out to its natural color and I love it.

25)   I am still friends with my best friends from high school and even after months of being too busy to speak, every time we do it’s like no time has passed.

26)   The night is the best time of day.

27)   I bought mice after I learned about operant conditioning in psychology. I was going to do experiments with them until I came home one day to find the black mouse had eaten its friend; when I replaced the dead mouse with two more, the little carnivore at them too.

28)   I can’t fly without having a drink first.

29)   I have never gotten into a fight and avoid controversy at all costs; usually I'm the peacemaker but playing this part doesn't always make me happy.

30)   I am late to everything even though I try so hard to be on time.

31)   The only place I will swim is in a pool.


Sunday, March 25, 2012

Prompt Week Nine: You don't know what you have until it's gone...

                The summer before eighth grade I went on a diet. I counted my calories and portioned out my food. I lived off dill pickles dipped in mustard and dry cereal. I didn’t need the added calories from the milk. For a treat, I allowed myself to have popsicles. They only had sixty calories and I savored the sweetness in my mouth. I was constantly hungry, tired, and irritable. I spent hours keeping a meticulous journal of everything I ate. I weighed myself five times a day and if I gained weight I would go for a run. I wore a size two.

                My mother was thin with a dark tan. She was beautiful; her hair was long and curly. To me, she was perfect. Her favorite food was homemade granola with almonds; it was the only thing she ate besides salad.  She was constantly complaining about her weight, said she was fat.

                One day I heard her talking to my uncle on the phone and the conversation turned to me. He hadn’t seen me in a while, our family wasn’t that close. My mother didn’t know I was around and she told my uncle I was great, beautiful with blonde hair and long legs, tall. I was short with dark brown hair and muscular legs from gymnastics and cheering. I was nothing like the daughter she described.

                We moved after eighth grade and I spent the summer getting ready for cheering tryouts. I was nervous but I made the team. At the first practice my new coach sized us up, trying to figure out who would fly and who would base during stunts. The girls on my team were tiny, smaller than me and I knew I wasn’t going to be a flyer anymore. At a size two, I was assigned the position of a base, something I had never done. At our first competition I ran into my old teammates and they were shocked to find out I wasn’t flying anymore but their surprise didn’t make sense to me. It was obvious I wasn’t thin enough and I spent the next four years at the bottom of the pyramid, a size too large to fly.

              In college, it became harder to maintain my weight. I wasn’t cheering anymore and the food in the cafeteria was so good. Things I never let myself eat before, like fried chicken, pizza, and bread suddenly became a part of my diet and for the first time, I realized how much I loved food. It was fun to eat without thinking about my pants size, though I spent plenty of nights in front of the mirror disgusted by my weight gain. It was a hard transition but I eventually decided I enjoyed food more than I valued the thin, ballerina’s body I strived to have. I was never going to be a Barbie doll with blonde hair and long legs; I wasn’t the girl my mother described and for the first time, I didn’t want to be.

                I wear a size six or eight now; I’m not as toned as I used to be and I’ve become an expert at dressing to hide my imperfections. I eat a lot more and don’t waste hours recording every calorie in a book or weighing my food. I’m happy.


When I look at pictures from high school I see a pretty girl with porcelain skin and a thin frame. She forces a smile as she strikes a pose she hopes is flattering because she has no idea how gorgeous she is. I want to slap her for wasting her time worrying about a pound here and there, for never accepting a compliment. I want to scream at her for never once wearing a bikini with pride because that body’s gone; I’ll never have it again and I never got to enjoy it.

Friday, March 23, 2012

Theme Week Nine: Literary Pointillism

I don’t remember wearing my first pair of shoes, tiny white slippers with thin strands of ribbon for shoelaces. There’s a picture of me as a brand new infant in these shoes; my eyes are closed and I’m bald but I make up for my less-than-impressive looks by being dressed so well.

I was always excited for winter because I got to wear cute boots. My favorite pair were bright purple with rubber soles that almost hit my knee. Different shades of purple ran in stripes up and down the boot and the inside was fuzzy; they always kept my feet warm and I thought they looked pretty cool with my matching snowsuit. My brother and I would go sliding in the backyard and he’d stand on his knees to tie my boots up because I didn’t know how to do it. He tried to teach me but grew impatient when I took too long and ended up doing it himself.

The day before kindergarten started my grandmother took me to Kmart to buy school clothes. I was allowed to pick out one outfit, whatever I wanted. It took a while for me to decide what to buy but I finally settled on a pink floral pajama set and a pair of red, faux-leather shoes with a strap around the ankle. They were the most beautiful pair of shoes I’d ever owned; my mother never let me buy anything like them. She’d say “they weren’t the type of thing you could wear every day.” It quickly became obvious my mother didn’t know anything because I got a lot of use out of them. Every day when I came home from school I wore those shoes.

When I was eight I got the most spectacular pair of black leather tap shoes. They were so shiny I thought I could see my reflection in them; they were far superior to quiet dullness of my ballet flats. They had a slight metal heel and a flat metal sole and I loved the sound they made when I danced. I practiced all the time.  A thick piece of black ribbon tied around my ankle into a beautiful bow.  For the Christmas recital my tap class and I performed a routine to “Up on the Rooftop."  On the polished stage our synchronized steps played a cheery melody for the audience.

In middle school my mother and I battled over my shoes. She didn’t understand that I needed to wear heels. To me, it was pretty obvious. I was short and my pants dragged on the ground if I didn’t wear them. She said they were impractical, that I’d give people the “wrong impression.” I told her they could think what they wanted but I was still going to wear cute shoes. She said my priorities were warped, that I cared too much about materialistic things; she was wrong. I wasn’t materialistic at all, I just liked shoes.

I won the war a week before my eighth grade graduation. She bought me a pair of strappy, white sandals with a stiletto heel. They looked perfect against my tan and were made for my dress. They gave me blisters and once graduation was over, I took them off and put on a pair of flips flops. I wore them for a total of three hours and after that they spent their days in the back of my closet with all the other rejects who failed to live up to my expectations.

My love affair with shoes became serious in high school. I hadn’t really committed before but I knew it was the real thing when I slipped on a pair of black leather booties embellished with three shiny buttons that ran along the outside. They  had a zipper alongside the inner ankle and a practical three-inch heel. They cost me sixty dollars, more money than I had ever spent on anything. It was also the first time I bought myself anything with money I earned. I bought them on a Saturday and  I couldn’t wait for school on Monday to show them off. They looked perfect underneath my jeans, making my feet look tiny. Everybody loved them. By the end of the day, I could barely walk down the ramps that led outside. My toes were crunched together, numb. I had blisters on the back of my ankles that were aggravated with every step I took. But I was in love and for the first time, I wasn’t going to give up that easily. We worked it out and after a few weeks, nothing felt better on my feet. I wore those boots for four years. They travelled with me to college in Canada and back; I wore them almost every day and I cried when the heel broke. It took me three months and dozens of stores to find an adequate replacement but nothing found their way into my heart the way those boots did.

 I found love again in the most unexpected place, with an old pair of Converse All Stars sitting in the corner of his living room. They’d been there a while, collecting dust. Old, mint green high tops with a thin pink strip around the white sole. The laces were frayed; the rubber toe was stained with mud and dirt. He had bought them at a yard sale for two bucks and joked they were his glass slippers and the girl whose feet fit them was his princess. I slid them on, sure they wouldn’t fit. The tag said they were a size seven and a half, I wore an eight. I laughed when they fit like a glove and he checked my toes over and over, sure I was lying. Unintentionally, I got the comfort and dependability I was looking for without paying a dime; all it took was the courage to try on something new and see how it fit.

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

Theme Week Eight: Vignettes

                The room was filled to capacity and dozens of people were being led to another room where they could view the service via video camera. Behind my sunglasses I saw his mother greeting every person with grace; even though she had lost so much she still had gratitude. Or maybe it was easier to whisper "thank you" in their ears as she embraced them than think about her loss.

                It was hot. My grey peasant skirt fell around my feet and there didn’t seem to be enough air to breathe that July evening. Meaghan gripped my left hand hard, the way a child squeezes their mother’s hand when they’re getting a flu shot. She crushed my knuckles and I was grateful for the pain; for a second I didn’t feel the ache in my stomach or anxiety in my chest.

                It was too early to cry, I didn’t want to cry there. The pastor made a joke and people laughed uncomfortably wondering why he was trying to lighten the mood when the veil of sadness was so heavy. His mom smiled though and she whispered something to his sister, a happy memory. They both laughed.

                The piece of lined paper in my hand was sweat-stained and crumpled and the words I had written earlier bled together. Even the paper couldn’t avoid the tears. On autopilot, I got up like a robot would, mechanical and unfeeling. Still holding Meaghan’s hand I dragged her behind me as I stumbled past Jess at the end of the pew.

                The sea of people in the room were silent, staring at us. Seconds went by and Meaghan leaned towards me whispering, “It’s your line first.”

                I took a deep breath and spoke, “The clouds in the sky….”

                My voice wavered as I stared blindly at his family and friends.  Meaghan spoke eloquently, her voice clear and calm. She never let go of my hand, squeezing it when it was my turn to speak. As I spoke, the anxiety left me; it was the calmest I’d been in days but when I sat down I couldn’t suppress my sadness anymore. I was happy to have my glasses to hide behind as my eyeliner ran down my face.

                It was over too soon, I would have sat in the room forever. It was time to say goodbye and when I walked by I squeezed his hand one last time and lightly touched the cross on his neck. Meaghan’s mom walked us out, her arms around our waists, and the rain began to fall on that sunny evening. He was crying too, we never thought we’d have to say goodbye.

               

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

Prompt Week Eight: The bluebird of happiness flies over the battlefield and lands on a boot left behind.

                My neck was in a knot and as I pulled my body into a sitting position I realized I couldn’t turn my head. I swung my legs off the side of the pull-out couch I called my bed and rammed my shins into the heavy coffee table. The sudden movement caused my body to jerk and sharp pains ran down my neck and shoulder. The snow was falling outside of the glass doors in front of me, the Rocky mountains barely visible in the sea of white. I sat back down on the pull-out and began to cry for all the things I’d left behind.

                Sitting alone in the living room, my clothes strewn around me on the floor, the fighting and the heartache I’d left didn’t seem so bad. I’d forgotten what half the battles were about and I couldn’t smile anymore, knowing I’d given up everything for nothing.

                I’d wanted to be free, independent so I moved thousands of miles away not realizing it was possible to be strong while leaning on others. I got on a cheap, one-way flight and flew to a place I’d never been; I didn’t even ski.  Without thinking twice I vowed to never look back. I’d fought my last fight; I’d gone out swinging, never held back, and packed my heart for the trip.

                I sobbed and the storm broke. The sun came out and the mountains were covered in a light white blanket of snow. It was 8 am but I felt like it should be eleven and sitting there, I realized I’d never left home even though I now slept in a different time zone.  Searching for clarity, my heart and my happiness couldn’t be found in the mountains because they never made the flight. I’d left them at his house, in a pile of boxes full of shoes and memories and it was time to smile again.

Prompt Week Eight: The things I pass on the street that are like Heaven to me...

                When the last clumps of snow finally melt and pale green buds appear on the trees that line the street there’s nothing better in the world than taking a walk. My wool winter jacket stays in the closet and for the first time in months, I can go outside without the restrictions of layers, unflattering hats, and gloves. The freedom to move comfortably is welcome and the new life around me ignites excitement for the coming months.

                With the sun shining in the sky, children play in their front lawns. They chase cats that have been pent up in the house all winter. They scream to each other as they ride their rusty bikes up and down the sidewalk. Games of basketball are underway as neighborhood teens brush up on their skills. The smell of burgers cooking on the grill wafts through the air and families work in their yards, preparing them for summer.

                Couples walk their dogs at a slow, leisurely pace, much different than the hurried walks of the winter when it’s too cold to enjoy the outdoors. Chattering and laughing, they smile as I walk by and the happiness that comes with spring has arrived. Everything has slowed down, the neighborhood has taken the day to enjoy the gifts of nature and the scene sets the tone of a safer, simpler time when children freely played outside instead of staring at the television screen and people said hello when they passed strangers on the street.

Monday, March 12, 2012

Prompt Week Eight: Three of them sitting in complete silence...

                I leaned back in the chair and curled my knees up to my chest. Eyes straight ahead, I stared out the window into the darkness and watched the headlights of the five o’ clock traffic speed by, illuminating the clumps of snow falling from the sky. I massaged the soles of my feet with my hands nervously, unable to stay still but determined to act like everything was okay.

                Mike stood in the entryway with his coat on. He took off his hat soaked in melting snow and threw it on the floor. He turned his body away slightly and never met my eyes. My stomach was in knots as I wondered what was going through his head. I wanted to apologize, tell him I was sorry but he knew how irrational Ryan could be. I wanted to take him aside so he could tell me he knew I didn’t do anything wrong. I wanted his advice, the same advice I never listened to. Advice I knew I’d never get again.

                The cars were whizzing by, driving way too fast on the slippery roads. People were in a hurry to get home for dinner, eager to park their cars and wait out the storm. Ryan paced back and forth between the dining room and living room. His heavy boots pounded on the hardwood floor and echoed angrily in the silent house. He grabbed a rag from the bathroom and soaked it in hot water. Positioning himself on his hands and knees he began to furiously scrub the mud and salt off the floor, silent. Mike and I watched him, my heart was barely beating; I was afraid to breathe, terrified to move, sure if I did anything I’d make the situation worse.

                The three of us were prisoners in that room, chained by the dread of words we needed to say to reconcile the words we never should have said. All of us breathed in the tension, wondering how so much had changed in twenty-four hours. I wanted to leave. Mike, still in his grey ski jacket, did too. He shuffled his feet nervously as he focused on a magazine lying on the table next to him. His eyes scanned the cover over and over but he wasn’t really reading about the best boots under a hundred bucks. Like me, he didn’t know what to do. As Ryan cleaned up the dirt, we waited for the explosion and the disintegration of our shared relationships. Finally, Ryan stood up, rag still in his hand. He looked at Mike who bravely stared right at him then turned to me. He didn’t have to say anything; the distant, disconnected look in his eyes said it all.

Saturday, March 10, 2012

Theme Week Seven: Character

                The new apartment was a mess. Cardboard boxes littered the wood floor and crumpled newspaper was strewn everywhere. Clothes were piled high in the corner and the mess triggered extreme anxiety in me as I tried to find a place for the junk that defined me. I was making headway; the clothes were hung in the closet and hidden away in drawers and the boxes slowly emptied.

                There was a knock on the door and I peered through the peephole. A group of three people stood outside, two guys and a girl. I unlocked the deadbolt, unchained the door, and turned the lock on the knob, wondering why I was opening the door for strangers when my front door had three locks on it. A guy with scraggly black hair and a deep tan waved at me. “Hi! I’m Paul.” He gestured to the short stocky guy beside him and said, “This is Jay and this here is Little One. We’re your neighbors!”

                “Hi, I’m Sam,” I said, trying to judge the scene. The rich scent of sweat wafted through the door. Coupled with the thick heat, the smell was unbearable and I stifled a gag. Little One was a short girl with long brown hair. She wore a black linen skirt that fell to the ground, covering her feet. On top, she wore a tight black tank top with white spirals on it and a black lace shawl around her neck. Mouse-like and timid, she stood back from the other two with a forced smile on her face.

                 “We saw you guys had moved in yesterday and wanted to introduce ourselves. What are you doing? Looks like you’re pretty bored. Do you want to hang out?”  Paul asked.

                Dumbfounded by his candor, taken aback by his abrasiveness, I scanned my brain for the best way to decline. “I’m actually busy unpacking right now…”I stammered. Noticing a pack of Marlboro Reds in Jay’s hand I said, “I could take a cigarette break though.”

                We walked down the stairs and congregated on the front steps of the building. A coffee can sat on the third step, already half-full with cigarette butts. “So if you’re ever locked out of your house I can go into your apartment through your bedroom window and unlock it for you,” Paul said.

                 I made a mental note to lock the windows in my bedroom as soon as I got upstairs. Staring at him with a grim smile on my face I said, “Ummmm, thanks. I’ll keep that in mind….”

                “Yeah, you know, I try to be helpful. Anyways, if we’re ever too loud just pound on the wall and we’ll be quiet. We stay up all night so I hope you’re a night owl. Usually we’re still sleeping right now too but it’s too hot to sleep.”

                “Oh. Uh, where do you guys work?” I asked.

                “We don’t work. Little One is on disability because she’s a midget and I am on disability because I can’t work either. Jay’s looking for a job but he can’t find one.”

                No wonder the landlord had liked us so much when we met her. I sucked furiously on my cigarette, tempted to put it out and go upstairs. It was my last one so I stayed. “Well….so what do you guys do then, if you don’t work?”

                Paul paced furiously in front of the steps, as if he was warming up for the greatest secret ever. “Have you ever heard of World of Warcraft?”

                “Yeah….so you guys like games? That’s cool. The last game I ever played was the original Mario, although I must say, I was pretty good at it…Do you like to play games too, Little One?”

                “Yeah, she loves games but she’s not as good as me and Jay,” Paul said. “We play Magic too. Have you ever played Magic?”

                Little One never uttered one word the entire time. She stood behind Paul, staring at him as he spoke, like he was a prophet. He reached out and brushed a strand of hair out of her face and she visibly melted, smiling to herself even though he had just insulted her. I wondered how the girl could stand listening to his incessant chatter, why she let him speak for her. What power did he have over her?

                I felt bad for her as I walked up the stairs, something wasn’t right. Her passivity was unnatural, she was visibly uncomfortable. Paul led her up the stairs, dragging her behind him as he bounded up the steps without concern she was not as quick. I shut the door, turned the lock on the door, bolted the deadbolt, and put the latch in place, happy to be back amongst my piles of boxes.

Prompt Week Seven: When You Look at a Photograph You See...

                When my little brother Jesse was a baby, his favorite place to be was in his walker. He’d sit in the cloth seat and clap his tiny hands against the white, plastic tray in front of him. Then he’d run across the floor and crash into everything; the refrigerater, doorframes, the coffee table. Eventually he’d wear his chubby legs out and just sit in the chair and stare off into space, his brown eyes bright as they looked at nothing.

                Jesse had a large head; in his first year of life the doctor measured his head as being larger than 99% of infants his age. He was also bald. Sitting in his walking chair, Jesse looked like a real live bobble head bouncing around the house. When he was deep in thought, he would suck in his lower lip and puff out his rosy cheeks. I’d laugh so hard when he made that face and he quickly caught on and began to do it all the time, showing off.  When I laughed, he’d giggle and pound his fists on the tray or throw his brightly colored sippy cups on the floor which only made me laugh harder. To this day, I have never seen anything cuter than my baby brother when he made his alien face and though there are pictures, I’d love to turn back time thirteen years and see him do it again.

Prompt Week Seven: The First Person You Remember.....

Nana was sitting on the deck in the white, plastic chair, her black sunglasses covering her brown eyes to shield the sun. Nadia, her loyal Husky, lied underneath the table at her feet, panting heavily in the heat. As usual, she was reading a book, probably another romance novel. I sat down in the chair across from her and set my book down. Propping my scabbed elbows on the table and resting my chin in my palms, I began to read my book too. Out loud, I recited the word to “Good night Moon”, my favorite book and the only one I knew how to read. Nana laughed; it sounded like bells ringing and I smiled proudly. “Honey, that’s so good! You’re so smart!” Of course she knew I wasn’t really reading the book but she encouraged me anyway. I finished that book and started over; she listened to me read it without complaining once and asked me questions about the words. With each answer I received the best prize, better than any sticker in the world. A smile and a wink, sometimes a delighted clap and ice cream.

Tuesday, March 6, 2012

Prompt Week Seven: The Last Person You Ever Want to See...

Every time she saw his smile, his real smile when he couldn’t help grin so wide that the gap in his teeth showed, she was happy. When she was irritated with him all he had to do was flash that smile and she’d forget why she was mad in the first place. She knew she loved him when she got an A on her first big research paper since being back in school and he was the first person she wanted to tell. Same thing when something bad happened. Always her first call. He was her comfort, her joy, her punching bag, her inspiration, and her motivation. She’d never loved anyone more and knew she’d never love anyone the same way again, with that rush-of-adrenaline, like a drug, can’t live without you, intoxicating love. For years he was the last person she wanted to see at night and the perfect way to start her day. She thought they’d be together forever, that they’d overcome life’s obstacles as a team and take care of each other when they got old.

It was the best and it was the worst. Never in between. She saw him the other night at the grocery store. He was picking out a box of eggs in the produce section, back to her. His brown hair was messy and long and he was wearing her favorite coat, the brown one that was soft to the touch, worn from age. Sick to her stomach, she couldn’t face him. There was nothing to say, not even a hello. She didn’t care how he was doing and his smile? It was never sincere. She turned quickly down the bread aisle, disaster averted and prayed that was the last time she ever saw him.