Cemetery Street

"The guy is a walking suppository," Shannie once complained. She suffered through a semester under his tutelage. "His nickname on campus is Rupunzel. He's brilliant, but take him off campus, away from his ivory tower, and he wouldn't have the faintest idea of what life is about."

Diane politely dismissed her colleague's comment. I couldn't. Out of respect for Diane, I said nothing. Instead I waited, biding my time glaring in his direction. I waited for an opportunity to have a private word with Rupunzel. I figured it was time the fair professor had a lesson in real life. My chance came as he meandered to the buffet table in the small kitchen aside the main gathering. I stepped behind him as he refilled his plate. As he turned, I threw an elbow, knocking his overloaded plate into his chest.

"Watch where you're walking," Rupunzel snapped, attempting to wipe pasta sauce from his jacket. The buffoon didn't realize that I'd purposely elbowed him.

"Sorry," I reached for a napkin. "Let me help," I said patting his chest.

"You've done enough." He swatted at my hand like a Victorian woman.

I shoved him against the kitchen cabinets. "Where do you get off insulting Mrs. Ortolan like that? You fat tub of shit, she just buried her daughter." I raised a fist. "I think you owe Mrs. Ortolan an apology. Don't you agree?" Fear filled his eyes. "Don't you agree?" I repeated.

Rupunzel nodded yes.

"I'm glad you understand." I slapped Rupunzel's face. He watched me as I ran a dishtowel under cold water. "Clean up your mess." I threw the towel at him and walked out of the room without looking back.

***

Somehow Diane, my father and myself survived the torment of Christmas. During lighter moments, we would go through old picture albums and other memorabilia. On Christmas night Diane handed me the page from Shannie's journal written in the Maryland motel room. A tear welled reading her simple description of her complex emotions. After reading it, I knew it was right to leave Beyford. I couldn't live with the constant, concretized reminders of the past and of my emotional cowardice. If I'd only spoken up! Life would've been so different. I'm sure of it.

***

"I wish you would have returned my calls," Krista said. Her bracelets dangled from her wrists. It was December twenty-ninth, Shannie's birthday.

"I had a lot on my mind, I wanted to be alone, I needed to think."

"I understand, but you can't shoulder…"