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Quarter-Light -- ©Brenda Carter  Rin is far too levelheaded to make such an offer, so I am grateful to Jonelle for being so free with the anger I'm not sure how to feel. "She's so afraid," I answer gently, as if harsh words from my mouth have the power to hurt Sandy.
"She's still a perp," Jonelle points out. I don't argue. Intentionally or not, Sandy is perpetrating on me, and I can feel the weight of it. I try to explain why I think Sandy's actions spring from fear rather than hatred or contempt, but it's not something Jonelle wants to hear, so I let it go. After we hang up, I'm left wondering about the difficulty of feeling love and anger at the same time. It's not that one cancels the other out; neither one is strong is enough to make the other disappear. But I don't understand how two emotions so at war with each other can coexist within a single heart. *** Sandy finally calls a few days later when she knows Rin and I will be at work and leaves a message on our machine. When I get home from the restaurant that night, I play and replay the tape, listening for answers to my questions. I only hear Sandy's tight, desperate voice accusing me of trying to silence her with my anger and wishing she could take back her words and start over as if nothing had ever happened. How we have arrived here is beyond me. I find Rin upstairs, reading in bed, and let loose. "This is all Sandy is going to do to put me out of my misery? Nothing more? We're just going to hit a dead end and leave it at that?" Rin lays her book aside as I pour out my frustration over the way Sandy has stonewalled my attempts to reassure her, to help her reassure me. Maybe Sandy is only capable of responding to our situation from a blind spot of panic, but I'm feeling less and less like being the rational one. As I spell out all the things I'm no longer sure I can ever say to Sandy, I find myself conceding that "starting over" may be the right thing to do. Maybe it's the only alternative.
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