Our Ability To Know About Ourselves And

I Think He Came To Die With Me," I Say. I Clamp My Hand Over My Mouth To Stifle A Sob. If I Can Keep Breathing, I Can Stop Crying. I Didn't Need Or Want Him To Die With Me. I Wanted To Keep Him Safe. What An Idiot, I Think, But My Heart Isn't In It. "that's Ridiculous," He Says. "that Doesn't Make Any Sense. He's Eighteen; He'll Find Another Girlfriend Once You're Dead. And He's Stupid If He Doesn't Know That." Tears Run Down My Cheeks, Hot At First And Then Cold. I Close My Eyes. "if You Think That's What It's About..." I Swallow Another Sob. "...you're The Stupid One.

I Know Some Things--i Know That I'm Not Alone, That I Have Friends, That I'm In Love. I Know That I Don't Want To Die, And For Me That's Something--more Than I Could Have Said A Few Weeks Ago.

I Cross My Arms. "it Was A Two Minute Conversation." "i Don't Think A Smaller Time Frame Makes It Less Unwise." He Furrows His Eyebrows And Touches The Corner Of My Bruised Eye With His Fingertips. My Head Jerks Back, But He Doesn't Take His Hand Away. Instead He Sighs. "you Know, If You Could Just Learn To Attack First, You Might Do Better." "attack First?" I Say. "how Will That Help?" "you're Fast. If You Can Get A Few Good Hits In Before They Know What's Going On, You Could Win." He Shrugs, And His Hand Falls.

Come On,'he Says.' I Have Something Else To Show You.

It Will Be Difficult To Break The Habits Of Thinking Abnegation Instilled In Me, Like Tugging A Single Thread From A Complex Work Of Embroidery. But I Will Find New Habits, New Thoughts, New Rules. I Will Become Something Else.