I hope the education fund gives you a beginning with less fear.
I hope you become whatever kind of helper you want to be.
But I hope you never confuse being helpful with being used.
I had to stop reading.
The paper shook in my hands.
Mr. Gideon looked away, which was his way of giving privacy.
I pressed the letter to my chest and cried without making much sound.
My father had known me.
He had known the trap before I had words for it.
He had tried to leave me a door.
My mother had opened that door and sold the hinges.
The next morning, I did not go to class.
I emailed my instructor, used one of the personal days I had been saving, and walked to the river trail behind the old mill.
I carried all three letters with my name.
I read them on a bench while joggers passed, dogs sniffed at leaves, and the world continued being normal around my private earthquake.
