"Public Displays of Convention," chapter 3

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After two weeks of sulking, I resolve to start positive today. I think I cried more during those two weeks than I did in the last year. At first it felt good to let out that pent-up, overdue grief, but after a while my body ached, and I actually began to crave productivity.

     Or at least I thought I did. I made the mistake of checking my email before class this morning, something I don’t usually do because it ends up making me late. My heart leapt into my throat when I saw a new message from Jared, and without Tess there to hold me accountable, I knew I wouldn’t have the strength to delete it without reading it.

     My day had barely started, but these words have now been seared into my mind: “You’re just going to act like a child and delete me from your life, is that how it’s going to be?” I can’t imagine what more he has to gain by keeping me around. He has someone else now, what does he need me for? Does he really think I’ll be fine with simply being “friends”? Or, more likely, does he enjoy the hold he knows he still has over me?

     I won’t respond to his message now, if at all. Not when my emotions are all stirred up again. Turning off my computer, I grab my bag and head to class, but at the end of the lecture, I barely remember any of it. I’m angry all over again; just when I thought the worst part of the grieving had passed.

     This is how I know just how deeply I am wounded: after changing into sweatpants and an old T-shirt, I walk briskly toward the campus track and start jogging. I hate jogging; Jared knew this. The only thing that can propel me to move faster than speed walking is someone chasing me with a sharp object.

     I probably look like a crazed idiot, but adrenaline compels me to keep pounding against the pavement, not caring who sees. I imagine fleeing from every dark moment with Jared that made me question my worth, and I imagine that I’m running him over.

     Actually, I do succeed in running someone over. It must not be a great idea to run when your heart is splintering, when all you see in front of you is pure red. The unexpected thud of my face meeting someone else’s chest happens so suddenly, we both collapse on the ground in an ungraceful heap. Wind bursts out of my lungs so painfully I can’t respond for several minutes when a male voice asks, “Are you okay?”

     Completely embarrassed, I fervently nod yes. “I – I’m all right. Just a…a little shocked.”

     How sad that this man should know I’m a terrible liar before even knowing my name. “You don’t look all right. You look upset.”

     His concern is not unwarranted, but it irks me anyway. “I’m just not used to jogging.”

     “Yeah, well I’m not used to running into pretty girls who look like they’re about to implode. What’s your name?”

     Did he just call me pretty? “I’m Anna-Kate.”                               

     “Nice to meet you, Anna. I’m Collin.”

     I sigh heavily, having to correct someone yet again for not understanding my double-barreled first name, the bane of my miserable existence. “No, it’s Anna-Kate. It’s hyphenated.”

     “Ahh, one of those girls. Okay, Anna-Kate. Is it okay if I call you AK? No, wait.” A menacing twinkle sparkles in his eyes. “I think I’ll call you AK-47 for the way you clobbered me.”

     On a better day, under completely different circumstances, I might have found this amusing. But not today. “Umm, yeah, whatever.” Not like it matters. After this confrontation, the most awkward, literal confrontation of my life, it doesn’t matter what he calls me since I’m highly unlikely to ever see him again.

     Reluctantly, I allow Collin to help me up. “Shoot straight next time,” he says, and with a strange wink he proceeds to sprint away, leaving me to hobble on a scraped knee back to my dorm. I hope I never run into – I mean, see him, again. It’s a decent-sized campus, so I suppose the odds of that are in my favor.

     After I’ve showered and made myself a cup of tea, I sit down to tackle Jared’s email. After careful consideration, I type, “We both know that what we had wasn’t healthy, and I need to get over you. So if you love me like you say you do, please just leave me alone.” Without any hesitation, I click the “send” button. Still, I wonder now if I said too much, or perhaps not enough to accurately convey the hurt I feel. As furious as I am, I don’t want to appear scathing or vindictive. I can’t let him think that I’ll wither into a bitter, shriveled excuse for a woman because I don’t have him anymore. I should be done caring what he thinks.

     Perhaps I should have been clearer that this separation is meant to be permanent. I should have left no doubt that he is not welcome in my life anymore, with or without a new girlfriend in the picture. But even if he tries to crawl back into my good graces, hopefully by then I will reach a point where the thought of taking him back is not the slightest bit tempting.