On My Own (10 page)

“So did she break it off with you?” Now even as I asked this, I wondered why I was continuing this conversation when it actually felt a little more personal than I was willing to get into. I mean, I like Bryce just fine, but a tiny red flag went up inside of me, like a warning signal that maybe I shouldn't go here. Still, he's the one who brought all this stuff up, and may be he just needed a good friend to talk with.

“It was mutual. I think we both knew it was time to end.”

“Even so, it must be kind of hard, letting the relationship go.”

“Yeah, it makes me sorta sad. We'd been together for a long time.” He stirred the ice around with his straw.

Suddenly Stephen leaned over. “Hey, are you getting all gloomy over Amy again?”

Bryce smiled a half smile. “No, not really. But it takes some adjusting.”

Stephen winked at me. “Well, I'm sure Caitlin can help you with the transition period.”

Now for whatever reason, this made me mad. I knew Stephen was only joking, but the idea that Bryce was suddenly not as “safe” as when we'd first become friends made me feel uncomfortable and slightly irritated. Suddenly I felt like maybe I should say something about my nondating commitment. Still, it seemed kind of ridiculous to get up on my soapbox and tell everyone at the table about my private and personal convictions. Besides, as all my old friends will attest, I've been there
and done that. And most of the time it just backfires right in my face.

Not only that, but how would that make Bryce feel? Would he think I'd assumed he was coming on to me when all he wanted was a friend to listen to him? Or would he think I was judging him for having been involved with a girlfriend? Whatever the ramifications, I simply did
not
want to go there. And so, for a refreshing change, I kept my mouth shut.

I guess if the time comes or the need arises, I can always let Bryce know where I stand–privately, that is. Until then I hope we can just be good friends. But since I'm still human, I must admit that I don't mind the idea of Bryce being attracted to me. I mean, he's a great guy who really loves God (and he's good looking too!). I'd be less than honest to pretend that I don't think it's nice to think he's interested in me. Still, I know I need to maintain my boundaries. And the truth is, I'd still be more interested in Josh than anyone. Blush!

But speaking of Josh, I'm feeling a little slighted since his e-mails have been decreasing too. In fact, when Bryce said that about Amy, I got a little chill thinking that perhaps Josh and I may have reached a similar fork in the road. Oh, I know Josh and I don't have anything serious going on. We both know that. But I know that underneath everything (and here's gut-level honest!-), I'm kind of hoping we'll end up together eventually. And I don't think there's anything really wrong with that. That is, unless God has other plans. And I suppose that's a distinct
possibility. But it's a possibility I'd rather not think about. That's probably why I usually try to keep these thoughts at bay, since they usually only serve to confuse and frustrate me.

Disaster, disaster, disaster. No, my roommate hasn't shot herself. But let me tell you, it's a good thing I didn't have a gun in
my
hands this evening, because I just might've shot her myself! Okay,
not really!
Good grief, I would never do that. Still, I was seriously mad! Furious even! Actually I'm still pretty angry.

This is what happened. I went with Kim and Lindsey to get deli sandwiches for dinner tonight. Then, worn out from what felt like a very long week, I came home to just kick back and relax. But when I walked into my room, I found Liz sitting at
my
desk–reading
my
diary!!!

“What are you doing?”
I demand, tossing my backpack onto my bed and planting my hands on my hips in an I'm-very-angry pose.

But she doesn't even budge, just looks up at me with dark and narrowed eyes, like she wants to kill
me.
Suddenly I wonder how far she'd gotten in it. How much has she read that is about her? I know I've ranted about her quite a bit–especially since she tends to be my greatest cross to bear of late.

“Give it to me!” I stick out my hand with a look on my face that I hope adequately conveys my outrage.

She closes it, and from the best I can tell, she's only read about twenty pages or so. (More than enough to read about herself and my opinions of her.) “You can really get to know someone by reading her diary,” she says as she hands it back to me, still scowling.

“I cannot believe you'd stoop so low as to read someone else's diary! What in the world is wrong with you, Liz?”

“Why don't you read it for yourself. It seems you have me all figured out in there.”

“I will
never
have you figured out!” I stuff my diary into my backpack, promising myself never to leave it out of my sight again. Even my own little brother had never dared to step over this line! And it's not like I'd left it out in the open either. I had put it where I sometimes do, in the second drawer, tucked inconspicuously beneath a spiral notebook.

“Oh, I thought you had everyone and everything figured out. You and that amazing God of yours.” Her tone
of voice was acidic, poisonous, lethal even.

“What I want to know is, do you go pawing through my things all the time or were you just particularly bored this evening?”

“The truth is, you really don't interest me that much, Caitlin. I was simply looking for some printer paper. I'm all out.”

I reach over to my printer where a small stack of paper is clearly visible, grab a handful, and thrust it toward her. “Here, I guess you didn't see this.”

“As it turns out, I'm glad I read your diary. It confirms that I was right.”

“Right about what?”

“You.” Then she walks over to her side of the room, sits on her bed, casually crosses her legs, and looks up at me with what seems like totally unveiled hatred. In that moment, I feel almost as if I'm looking into the devil's eyes. To say it is unsettling is a total understatement.

I sink onto my bed (with rubbery knees) and just look at her. Is this a conversation worth having, or would I be better off to simply run the other way? I knew that Kim and Lindsey would gladly put me up for the night, or longer, since they're both seriously concerned that I'm living with a raving maniac. Kim actually thinks Liz is demon possessed. (Her home church is really into that stuff.) But the truth is, tonight wondered if Kim might actually be on to something. And so I sit here and pray silently, begging God to tell me what to do–and to protect me.

“What do you want from me?” I finally ask, not even sure why I said this. Maybe it was just a God thing.

“Nothing.”

“Then why are you doing this? Why would you read my diary? Do you not understand that a diary is extremely personal?”

“Well, I'll admit it was wrong. But then we know that I'm the bad girl here, don't we? You make that perfectly clear in your diary. Oh, poor little Caitlin, the darling saint who has to room with the evil Liz. It's all there in black and white.”

I just shake my head. How do you respond to something like this?

“And the fact is, I'm really not all that surprised by what I read. You're exactly who I thought you were–a freaked-out religious hypocrite!”

Now I am
really
wondering what I'd written about her. I mean, it's not as if I go back and reread all the stuff I write. A diary is supposed to be a place where you can freely express your feelings–good and bad–without the fear that someone will be looking over your shoulder. That's why I made sure I wrote again tonight. Kind of like getting right back onto the horse that just threw you off. I was worried that if I didn't write tonight, I right be too afraid to write later. And I'm not willing to give Liz that victory. I will continue to express myself honestly and openly. I'll just make sure I don't ever leave this where she or anyone else can get hold of it! But back to our conversation.

“I don't know how you can call me a hypocrite,” I tell her. “What I write in my diary is the truth–for me anyway–it's how I feel at the time. Right or wrong, it's the stuff I'm going through. How can you judge that as hypocritical?”

“You don't think it's hypocritical for someone to go around acting like she's all sweetness and light, Goody Two-Shoes, Pollyanna–and then to write nasty and vicious things about someone else in her diary?”

“Look, Liz, maybe you don't quite understand the purpose of a diary–”

“Don't get on your high horse with me!”

“A diary isn't meant to be read by anyone
except the author!
Those thoughts are private and personal. I've never said I was perfect. Believe it or not, things can get to me.
You
get to me. And sometimes I just need a place–what I previously considered a safe place–to relieve some of that pressure.”

She rolls her eyes. “Whatever.”

“You're not even sorry, are you?”

“Why should I be sorry? You're the one always pretending to be perfect. I'm only living according to my own personal standards.”

“You mean you think it's okay to get into my things? Is that your standards?”

She shrugs.

Well, this is really feeling like way too much for me, and I am about ready to stomp right out of here, but then I remember something that Tony had said last
week when I called and told him a little about my situation with Liz. “Sometimes when a person really goes out of their way to push you away or hurt you, it's a sign that they're a lot closer than you think to making a real breakthrough. God may be using you a lot more than you realize right now.”

And suddenly I know if God is going to use me, I'd have to take the high road. And so after taking a deep breath and slowly exhaling I say. “You know, Liz, I'm sorry that the things I wrote hurt you–”

“They didn't hurt–”

“Just let me finish, okay?” I stand up. “Really, I'm sorry. I hadn't meant to hurt you. I was only venting some of my frustrations. I do that a lot in my diary. In fact, you should try it. It's a great way to work some things out. Anyway, I know you probably don't even care, but I forgive you for trespassing into my space.”

“You're right!” She snaps. “I could care less.” Then she jumps up and storms out without even putting her coat on.

I was kind of relieved (since I thought I'd be the one who had to evacuate the premises tonight). But at the same time I felt a little worried for her. She seems so hopeless and desperate right now. And suddenly I have the feeling that this is all between her and God. Like she's engaged in this big battle with Him. I know that sounds slightly melodramatic, but it's how it feels to me.

Anyway, I've got everyone I know praying for her, and I've been putting in overtime myself on her behalf. I just hope that something happens soon, because the truth is,
I'm feeling a little worn down by all this. Still, I know we're not supposed to get weary of doing what God wants us to do because when the time is right it'll all work out. I only hope that time is soon!

I don't remember anyone
ever warning me that life is
supposed
to be hard. I guess I should know this by now, but there's this little place inside me that still has this expectation that life should be easy or fun or at the least somewhat pleasant. Now I'm not saying that my life is totally miserable. But it seems that I'm never completely free of problems (or “challenges,” depending on your frame of mind at the time). And I know that these struggles should make me stronger and build up my character and that I should be thankful for them (or greet them like friends as the first chapter of James so clearly says). But sometimes I just want to take a little vacation from it all. You know, cruise off to the Island of Bliss and flop down on a warm sunny beach and totally forget about everything else.

Liz has been giving me the silent treatment lately,
which is perfectly fine with me since I'm not sure I have anything to say to her right now anyway. I keep praying, as much for me as for her, since I often feel as if I'm near the end of my rope, and I worry that I'll do something stupid like explode at her and say all kinds of horrible things.

I pray for self–control a lot these days. But sometimes it feels like I'm this fatigued soldier just trudging along, shoving one weary foot in front of the other, wondering when this battle will end. If it is a battle, that is, because sometimes I think maybe I'm putting myself in harm's way for absolutely no good reason. Like why don't I just pack it all up and find a new place to live? Maybe I could camp out in the hallway until something better turned up.

I'll bet people would feel sorry for me parked out there since by now almost everyone in the dorm knows Liz is a bit difficult to live with. Of course, this also decreases my chances of getting someone to switch with me (because who'd want to room with her?). However, I've heard that things change during winter break, and since Liz is first on the waiting list, I'm thinking my chances of having a new roommate by January are pretty good.

But it's not just the Liz dilemma that's got me down. I'll admit that I'm feeling a little blue as a result of not hearing from Josh for a couple of weeks now. And I don't really want to e-mail him again until he responds to my last e-mail–I don't want to seem pushy or eager.

Because I know he's busy. But even when I'm busy, I still take time to communicate with my friends. Of course, as they all remind me, it's easy for me since I love to write. And not everyone is like that. So I probably just need to be more patient.

On the brighter side, Beanie called me last night. At first she sounded pretty glum (not unlike me), but I tried to cheer her up, lest we both fall into the pity-party trap, which I frankly did not need! Anyway, after about twenty minutes we were both feeling much better. Apparently, she and Jenny had gotten into a little spat. About–guess what? A boy! Ha! I tried not to overreact about this. I didn't give any lectures or sermons or “I told you so's.” Instead I just listened as Beanie told me all about Danny (the drummer in the Christian rock band that goes to their college). Apparently, Danny (the same boy Jenny's had a slight crush on since last spring when we went up there to visit the school) has taken an interest in Beanie.