The greatest pain of most trials comes from the uncertainty.
To free ourselves of pain we must first submit to it.

GRACE’S DIARY

WEDNESDAY, JAN. 2

Wednesday morning came like the flu. My thoughts about seeing Grace at school couldn’t have been more divided. Half of me couldn’t wait to see her. The other half was terrified. I wondered what she would do.

I looked for Grace in the halls. At lunch I walked around the lunchroom, then I walked to her locker. I didn’t see her. At least, I thought, I would see her in Spanish.

I got to class early, then I waited outside the classroom until the bell rang. As I walked into the room I glanced toward her desk; it was empty. Then I sat down in my seat, glancing every few seconds at the door. Only after the tardy bell rang did I believe that she wasn’t coming. It made sense that she wasn’t there. After being away from home that long, her parents probably wouldn’t let her out of their sight. Then again, they might have discovered that she was pregnant. In those days unwed mothers sometimes just disappeared, whisked off to other cities so as not to shame their family. Part of me was relieved that she hadn’t come, but it was equally matched by disappointment. I missed her. Even her hating me wouldn’t change that.

I don’t remember hearing anything in class but my mental absence seemed to pass unnoticed. The final bell rang and, like everyone else, I began gathering my books when Mrs. Waller tapped a ruler against the blackboard to get our attention.

“Class, please stay in your seats for just a moment. I need your attention.”

The class quieted.

“As you know, one of our classmates, Madeline Webb, had been missing. We heard today that she passed away over the holiday. For those of you who were close to her, I’m very sorry.”

The class rose around me and flowed past my desk. I sat there unable to move. Suddenly the tears started to come. I covered my eyes and put my head down on my desk and began to shake. I don’t know how long I sat that way before I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, Eric.” Mrs. Waller stood next to my desk.

When I could speak I asked, “What happened?”

She hesitated. “I can’t tell you.”

I looked at her, my eyes wet, dark and direct. “It was her stepfather, wasn’t it?”

She didn’t answer me.

“I’m going to kill him.”

“He’s in jail, Eric.”

I began to sob. She stood there with her hand on my back with no idea what to say.

I purposely missed the bus. I walked home, glad for the pain and cold. I now understood why Grace had cut herself. I wanted to cut out my heart.