By Vendela Vida
A gun is pointed at 21-year-old Ellis as she walks via a brand new York park. even though she escapes unhurt she is left psychologically reeling. Over the following few weeks Ellis retains each person at bay: the police, suitors who are looking to keep her, and the college therapist who tricks that her sweaters are too tight. but if Ellis accompanies her mom, a nurse, on a project within the Philippines, she unearths the existence - whether held up - can't be held again, and neither, ultimately, can she.
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I pretended to be asleep but I could hear Nicholas getting up and doing various things—watching TV, taking a shower. m. In the morning I woke up and couldn't find him. The door to the room with the bat was still closed and I didn't want to open it. I looked outside the window to make sure he hadn't left, leaving me stranded. But the Saab was still there. Finally, Nicholas ascended the basement stairs. "What're you doing down there? " "Looking for something," he said. " I asked, and that's when I saw what was in his hand.
Nicholas took the shovel and, now holding it properly, maneuvered the bat around. He walked toward the kitchen. I followed him and watched him slide the bat off the shovel and onto the chopping block in the kitchen's island. " I said. He got out a knife and started cutting the bat into small, square-inch pieces. " I screamed. He didn't answer. I wondered if he could hear me—he was so involved in chopping up the bat I feared he couldn't. We drove back to campus in silence. A few miles after we'd stopped for gas, at a junction where I knew I could catch a train if need be, I told him I thought we should take a break.
I'd tell the story of his last night, how he sat with me while I soothed my feet. I try to appreciate my father, his stories, his love, all of it. I swallow it in like I'm holding my breath before diving under water. I've given the police in New York, and the doormen, my number at home, so when the phone rings, I put down my book. I hear my mother running to answer the phone and I wait to hear her call my name. She doesn't and I relax. I go back to reading about the history of worlds fairs: "The first world's fair was held in England in 1851 at the Crystal Palace, so called because of its stunning iron and glass structure.
And Now You Can Go by Vendela Vida