I’m standing in front of my own locker when I feel the tap, hard, on my shoulder. I’m standing in front of my locker not because I need to put anything in it or get anything from it but rather because I have no idea where I should be anymore.
I turn around and see Aurora standing there.
I’m so happy to see her. She must have forgiven me, or at the very least, she must be willing to talk to me some more about it. Maybe she just wants to try to understand. That would be like her.
I open my mouth to speak. I want to tell her how relieved I am that she wants to talk to me.
That’s when she reaches out with an open palm and slaps me hard across the face.
“You are . . .” She is so angry, she has no word to describe what I am, leaving vacant space to describe me instead.
My face is still stinging from the slap, but I couldn’t care less about that.
“I just can’t believe it,” she says. “I can’t believe you would be so hateful.”
I have done more than one hateful thing in my life; I know this, and I am trying to get better.
But in this moment, I have no clue as to what she’s talking about.