Letters to Nowhere #1 (Completed!)

Letters to Nowhere: Part 40

Not a bad way to end our meeting, that was for sure.But I still left feeling a bit hollow about my problems over the weekend. Like Coach Bentley had intentionally danced around them without really hammering into me that I needed to figure my shit out before things got out of control.

Coach Bentley,

Do you really believe in me, or do you just feel sorry for me because my parents are dead?

—Karen

***

            After physical therapy, Blair and I were in the locker room gathering our stuff when she begged me to come over and hang out. "Please, Karen. I'm going nuts, totally nuts! My mom is practically sobbing, saying I'm going to get so behind and I'll never be ready in time for Nationals and she should have taken me for x-rays last week. I can't deal with her right now."

            I kept my eyes on my locker and continued stuffing items into my gym bag. "I'm totally behind in calculus. I got a B minus on the last quiz. And now I've got three assignments to make up..." This was a complete lie. I'd never received a B on anything and I was way ahead in all my classes. I didn't even have any work to do this week.

            Blair folded her arms across her chest and stared me down. "I'm not taking no for an answer, Karen. Are you trying to isolate yourself or something? Because that's not healthy."

            I fumbled with the zipper on my jacket, feeling flustered by her direct approach to a subject she had not been direct about before. "It's not that, I promise. I'm not trying to be alone."

            "You heard what Bentley said," she demanded, stepping closer and invading my personal space. "We need to support each other. Even if it means telling your teammate that she's too injured to participate in camp, or that she really needs to spend the day locked up in her best friend's bedroom, listening to music and possibly eating large amounts of candy."

            Intense anger bubbled up inside me, something so fierce I hardly recognized myself or my voice when I stood up and faced Blair. "If you were my best friend you'd figure out that maybe walking into your house is going to make me think of nothing but those two policemen showing up to tell me my parents are dead!"

          Blair's eyes grew like saucers. She lifted her hands and stepped back. "I'm sorry...God, I'm sorry, Karen."

            It felt so good to yell that at her. Relief washed over me and my legs suddenly turned to Jell-O. I sank back onto the bench behind me. "It's okay. I'm sorry for yelling."

            Both of us were silent for several long seconds and I finally looked up at her. "Can we just go to the mall?"

            She let out a laugh filled with both kindness and relief. "That sounds great."

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