The library is nearly empty, so I have plenty of time on the computer. Casper has finally sent a message.
I may not be able to respond to you as quickly as youâd like. I look at her list of resources: Alateen, a therapy group for survivors of suicide, a womenâs shelter. Alateen? I think about sitting in a group of kids talking about drinking. About what happens if you drink.
And then I think: Iâm probably what happens if you lose control. A kid will end up on the street, no home, etc. I donât want to sit in a group where Iâm the whole thing theyâre trying to not be. I look at the survivorsâ group on the Web: a lot of pictures of sad people sitting in a circle on the grass. I donât even look up the shelter, because I do have a place to live now, even if it isnât the greatest.
I start to write back, but then I delete the message. What could I tell her? Whine more about messing up with Mikey? Sheâd say Make another friend, probably. Sheâd tell me to go to one of these groups. Frustrated, I click on another message, from Blue. Itâs a week old.
I stare at the message. She wouldnât come out; thatâs just Blue being a poker again. Right? I look at the list of Blueâs messages on my email. For someone who started out being so mean to me at Creeley, she sure does seem to like me. And she might, I think suddenly, and kind of sadly, be really lonely, too. Iâm not sure what to do with feeling sympathy for Blue.
Make a friend. What would be the harm in answering Blue? Sheâs the only one I have right now who could possibly understand what itâs like to live this way.