A Semester Abroad by Ariella Papa Page A

waited for him. She banged on his door in the middle of the night, but the he never opened up.
    I must have told Jonas about her when we came in. I must have whispered that she was a stalker disapprovingly. What did he say? I can’t remember. I only remember how Jonas shrugged when I told him he didn’t have to sleep on the floor. Why do so many things from the past go out of focus? You don’t know your past; you won’t know your future. I told myself I would never be like the Stalker. I didn’t understand how someone could go so crazy.
    And I fought it. I ran from it. But as I was sweating and sick in that bed Crazy was catching up with me. I was going to give in.
    “What are you going to do when she comes back?” I whispered. I thought the answer was simple. Remember, I was trying not to be worried. For some reason I thought there were promises in words and kisses. I thought listening to someone’s breath as they slept and feeling content meant more than it did.
    “I don’t know,” he said. “This is so crazy.”
    He smiled at me all the time, until she was back and then I never smiled. I didn’t want to be the Stalker. I didn’t want to be the Someone Else. I just wanted to be me, with him, like I had been.
    But one night Crazy found me. The night started too easy. It was the end of the semester. I thought I had begun to accept that Mono Girl was back. If I could hold out another few weeks, I would be away from it all. I would be in Italy. I was starting to study for finals and write papers. Kaitlin was studying, too. It was her class on Native American art. I peered over her shoulder as I walked to our mini-fridge. There was a portrait of an Indian in vibrant colors. I looked closer at the picture.
    “What’s that on his face?” I asked Kaitlin about the deep red color.
    “It’s a hand. They think it means he killed someone with his bare hands. I guess it’s a reminder. I’m not sure if it’s pride or shame.”
    I nodded. Pride and shame I understood. Crazy seduced me at that moment. She made it all make sense. She had been beckoning me. And maybe all the stress wore me down. With her hand in mine, I snuck to his floor. I pressed my ear to his door.
Know your past
, I wanted to shout.
Know me.
I covered his wipe board with question marks.
    I couldn’t breathe that night. I was holding my breath. But I must have at some point, because there was noise. I thought the squeaks were the sound of the marker on wipe board. Then I realized that it was me and I had no longer confined my question marks to the wipe board, I had covered his door with black lines.
    When he opened his door, he stood there, blinking at me. He didn’t stop me when I pressed the marker into his forehead to draw a question mark. He had killed me somehow, killed something, and I wanted to remember. I wanted him to remember. Pressing. I pressed the marker into his skin. I hit and slapped and spat. I found ways to hurt him. He stood there and took it all. Was that pride or shame?
    I wasn’t sure why I stopped or what I said. When I got back to my room, Kaitlin tried to clean the ink from my hands. I was in a daze. She wiped the sweat from my face. She didn’t ask me any questions.
    “I am not a violent person,” I said. I was starting to cry.
    “I know, Gabriella, I know. You aren’t.” She gave me some Nyquil and tucked me in once again.
    I asked to take my finals early so I could get home, get out. I didn’t see him again to see if the marker had actually been permanent.
    That was as low as I got, that was right before I left.
    “I am not a violent person,” I whispered in that sick, small Italian bed, clutching my hands again. If I held them, Crazy couldn’t take one. But maybe she could help me find him again. Let Crazy comfort me.
I will give in if that’s what it takes.
    And it worked. I brought him back.
    Jonas turned on the lamp and heard me groaning for him. It was real. He was speaking to me loudly. But it was