on the couch, tucking my legs underneath me, and turned the TV on. Nothing of interest was on so I ended up settling on some celebrity gossip channel.
I was taking my first bite of cereal when my phone started ringing.
“Crap!”
I plopped my bowl down on the coffee table, milk sloshing over the sides, and ran for my purse. It was still sitting on the floor.
I practically ripped the zipper off in my haste to answer it.
Only two people ever called me.
Rollo.
And my mom.
I figured it was my mom, hence my frantic race to answer it, but thankfully, the caller ID said it was Rollo.
I should’ve known that it wouldn’t be her; she rarely called me anymore, maybe once a year, and usually to request my presence at some ritzy party of hers. But some habits die-hard.
“Hey,” I answered.
“Baby cakes, I’m in the parking lot with Chinese. I got you sweet and sour chicken, your fav-or-ite,” he trilled. “Come down here and help me?”
“I’ll be down in a minute.”
I hadn’t taken my shoes off, so all I had to do was grab my keys.
I locked the door behind me and headed down to the parking lot.
Rollo was sitting on the curb with two paper bags of food next to him.
“How did you get here?” I asked him.
Sophomore students that lived in the dorms, like Rollo did, weren’t allowed to have cars. That was a privilege only allotted to the upperclassman and those that lived off campus, like myself.
“The bus.”
“You took the bus all the way here?” I bent down and grabbed one of the bags. A street light flickered above me.
“Yep,” he said.
“Why? I would’ve come and gotten you.”
“I know,” he grabbed the other bag and we started back inside. “I just wanted to surprise you. Plus, I figured that, knowing you, you’ve probably not eaten yet.”
Rollo knew me way too well. I laughed. “I had actually just sat down with a bowl of cereal when you called.
“Blech!” he made a face. “Is that all you ever eat?”
“No, I can cook. I just choose not to, most days.”
We stopped outside my door and I pulled the keys out of my pocket to unlock it.
“Seriously, Katy? You had to lock the door to come outside?” He looked at me like I was off my rocker.
“Uh, yeah.”
“You are so weird,” he said, as I held the door open for him. He plopped the bag down on the counter and then proceeded to rummage through my refrigerator.
“Hey,” I snapped, “you never know who may be looking for an unlocked door, so they can sneak in, and-”
“Go no further with that statement,” Rollo held up a hand. “You’ve been watching way too many crime shows.”
“You know that’s not the reason I’m so paranoid!” I cried.
Rollo sighed and sat down on one of the bar stools. He fiddled with the lid of a Diet Pepsi bottle that he insisted I always have stocked in my fridge.
“I know, Katy. I do. But eventually you have to realize that not everyone is going to hurt you.”
My throat closed up and tears threatened to overflow. “Just give me my chicken.”
He rummaged through his bag and then pointed to me. “Must be in that one.”
“Oh,” I looked down at the bag I had forgotten I was holding. I pulled out my Chinese dinner and collapsed on the stool next to Rollo. “Ugh! I need a fork!” I hopped back up, grabbed a fork and a drink.
“You know,” said Rollo, chomping on his chicken fried rice, “I really do think this whole self-defense thing is going to be good for you.”
“Except,” I speared a piece of chicken and dipped it in the red sauce, “I don’t like to be touched.”
“You were holding that one guys hand. What’s the difference?” Rollo asked, perplexed.
I shrugged. “I felt safe with him. I feel threatened by most people.”
“Baby cakes,” he shook his head, “you need some serious help.”
“I know,” I sighed. “I’m trying to move past things it’s just… hard.”
“I’m here for you, Katy, if you ever want to talk about it,” he looked at me sympathetically.
“Thanks,” I smiled at him, “but I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to talk about it.”
“You will,” he patted my hand. “One day, you’ll be ready.”
3
“ROLLO! HURRY UP!” I called from my car. “We’re going to be late!”
Even if I was dreading the stupid self-defense classes, I still didn’t want to be late.
He held his hand up in wait-a-minute-gesture.
“Rolland!” I yelled. Rollo hated to be called by