Back at the bus stop I am leaning against the concrete wall, and it is painfully cold. My tears are unstoppable; and they�ve been for the last two hours at least. But now, I am starting to full out sob. A girl standing a few feet from me glances in my direction and looks away quickly. I wonder what she is thinking. I wonder if maybe she understands what I am feeling. Or maybe she just thinks I am a freak.

Time passes. Five minutes, ten. My dad still hasn�t come, and my legs feel weak, so I sit on an empty bench, and start to cry harder. Even my own father has abandoned me. Right then, my mind somehow switches to fantasy mode, and instead of waiting for my dad I am waiting for Cody to pick me up, but he isn�t coming. It is he who has abandoned me. Yet I am still sitting here, waiting, as patiently as my heart can handle. I will sit on this bench forever, if that is how long it will take for him to come.

Three or four buses pass by, and soon the large crowd waiting at the stop has dwindled down to just a handful of people. I stare at every single person who walks by, envisioning Cody, hoping he will for some reason pass by, and I will get to see him again. But all I see are strange faces, people who look normal and happy and my God, what kind of monster have I become?

The wet, crumbled bunch of toilet paper in my hand has been torn into about twenty pieces. I try to wipe my nose with it one last time but it breaks apart again and falls to the ground in little wet balls of tissue. I have to use my sweatshirt to dry my nose and tears, and as I bring my sweatshirt to my nose I smell him. Lying on his bed for so long, my sweatshirt now smells of him, and I frantically take a long whiff of it and begin to cry even harder. I will never wash my sweatshirt again. The smell of him drives me crazy, it reminds me of nuzzling his neck when I hug him hello at the door of his house when I�ve come over to study, and he�s just had a shower after track practice, oh and he�s in sweatpants, his hair is fuzzy, and god he smells so good, like soap and just...him.

Fifteen minutes, my dad hasn�t come. The pain inside of me builds and builds, and it takes everything in me not to absolutely scream, to cry and moan and scream like a wild animal. I notice then that my whole body is shaking.

In the midst of my bawling I see a pair of shoes in front of me, and I look up into a boy�s face. A very good looking guy, dark hair, dark eyes, tall. He is right in front of me, and all of a sudden I feel like a lost three year old, crying like a baby (well you look like you�re 12 anyway! Baby! Baby! Go on and cry, baby!).

"Are you okay?", he says softly, in a thick accent, something European, maybe Spanish. There is something about his face that is so different I cannot figure out what it is. It is gentle and relaxed. It is so soft. It cares.

"I�m f-fine," I try to speak, but the words come out sounding choked and nasal, and I feel even worse then, knowing I am lying. God he must know I am lying (liar!).

Then he hands me a chocolate. A Ferrara Roche. I reach my hand out and he places the gold wrapped treat in my hand, and his face is so soft I think that maybe he is an angel. I cannot remember the last time anyone looked at me like that, with such genuine care. This guy does not even know me, but he cares.

"Thanks," I say and try to smile through my tears, probably the most fake smile I�ve ever smiled in my entire life. I just want him to go away, no matter how soft and gentle his face is, no matter how deep he is looking into my eyes. All I need right now is to be talking to strangers about my fucked up self. I just want to go home. I want to lie in my bed and cry until God feels so sorry for me he will shine his light down on me and my soul will rise into heaven to be happy for the rest of eternity.

He smiles back, such a sincere, happy smile, and then says, "I hope it will make you happy". Then he walks away.

A fresh batch of tears pour down my cheeks now, and I am hesitant to open the chocolate; that nagging voice from my childhood tells me not to eat food from strangers. But then I think, if it is poisoned, well...God, I hope it is! I will not be a suicide statistic. Poor girl, took a chocolate from a hot guy and ate it, then died. She didn�t suspect a thing.

I bite into it, just a little, and it tastes perfectly normal (Fuck!). I glance over then, and see him looking at me, soft, caring concern. I feel like such an idiot. I stuff the rest of the chocolate in my mouth and slowly swallow it. Images of screaming ambulances dance through my head. I didn�t know anything was wrong when she said she had a stomachache, my mom will be crying. I just found her in her room, and she was barely breathing...(suckers).

I play with the gold wrapper now, twisting it into a snake, and then a ball, glancing over at mystery boy every few minutes, and he is doing the same. The next time I look, though, he is walking away. I watch to see if he gets on the bus, but he doesn�t, he simply disappears into the growing crowd of people. In a strange way I am relieved.

Finally I see my dad�s truck pull in, and I get in quietly. As we drive away I look for him, but he is gone.

The whole ride to dad�s work I am fighting the urge to scream again, to throw a hysterical fit as if I am some insane asylum escapee who hasn�t taken her medicine (Krista did you take your pill? Yes, Mom...). My eyes are closed but that doesn�t stop the tears. Once I open my eyes they stream down my cheeks from having built up under my eyelids.

Momentarily alone in the truck now, with the cell phone (Call him! Call him!), I dial Cody�s number, the conversation ending abruptly, and I close the phone with a click and begin to scream like I�ve been needing to for hours. I scream and shriek and thrash around, God I am fucked, God I am one fucked up piece of shit, if this is living what I am here for? The voices are back (Cody! Call Cody), and I reach for the phone, again, call the number (Cody always helps you). His voice is a little softer now, just a little, or maybe it is in my mind, and this time I merely sob and scream for a few seconds after he hangs up. (Again! Again! You need him you need him) 299- STOP 29- STOP bitch stop it, this isn�t helping, you are making him hate you even more, you are making him mad, you want to be his friend, Krista? You need to get better, if you call him, you are not getting better, GET BETTER GET BETTER (You can�t fucking get better bitch, you are FUCKED! Ha!). Scream, scream, scream. God Cody, I think, what is happening to me, please tell me these last 3 months have been a nightmare, please God wake me up, wake me up, am I dead yet?

(Look what you�ve done you bitch, look at what you�ve done, and your entire fault too! YOUR fault! Ha! Lost your boyfriend as a lover and now as a friend, just LOOK at the great stuff you�ve pulled off! Look at you! Take a good, long, hard look at what you are, what do you see bitch, what do you see? One fucked up, good-for-nothing emotional freak who just threw away the most important person in her life. Take THAT!)

Shut up, Shut up, why can�t I just shut them up, push them aside like the doctor said to. I am Krista underneath this, this isn�t me, God I am trapped inside a body that flails and screams and snatches scissors to scratch her arms, a mouth that screams words of hate to someone I love more than the world itself, a mind that can�t work right, why can�t my mind work right, please fix me, please fix me, please bring my baby back...

The car is rolling so smoothly now, on our way home, my eyes are closed, and I�m in my dream world again. I am not Krista anymore, I�m a girl who is happy, and I am a girl who has lots of friends, who goes to school and pays attention, who wants to live. Tears fill under my eyelids again and I am so numb I cannot lift my arms to wipe them away, so they dribble slowly down my cheeks, running over my soft lips and down my chin.

I let my tongue roam in my mouth and then I taste it. Chocolate, on the roof of my mouth. Ferrara Roche. Another fresh batch of tears.

I think of the boy who handed me a chocolate. A simple chocolate, a soft caring face, eyes of concern, and a wish to see me happy. Was he really an angel? Did God just send me an angel? Only an angel would care for a stranger like he did. How many people on earth are like him, who see a crying girl, who read her sorrow like a book and offer a simple gift out of pure kindness?

I run my tongue again over the teeth and gums and taste the last remnants of the treat. He is just what I need, I think to myself. He didn�t criticize. He didn�t yell. He was so gentle, so soft, the kind of guy you�d be able to open yourself to, and my God he would never interrupt you, he would never look away, he�d look into your eyes and listen to your words, and he�d feel your pain as if it were his own. He�d care about your life, and he�d care about your feelings. This guy would adore you to pieces. He�d ask you questions, but then he also wouldn�t press. He wouldn�t get angry when something out of your control was happening to you. He�d understand. What a concept.

An angel, but he is gone now.

No matter what happens between Cody and I, he is still what I consider my angel on earth. A piece of my heart is missing, and wherever we are, whether I am here, or in heaven, he will always have that piece with him. Cody held me while I cried. He kissed me with desire and pure love; he touched me all over because he wanted me. He called me late at night and he spent evenings with me just watching TV. He helped me with my school work, he drove me around when I was scared to drive, and he wrote me sweet love notes, and he brought me roses. He remembered my birthday and our anniversaries, he wrapped his arms around me when I was cold, and he tickled me and squeezed me and called me the cutest names on earth. He spun me around in his arms, he wrestled with me, and he�d lay outside with me to tan in the summers, and slide down snowy hills and drink hot chocolate with me in the winters. He was my shoulder to cry on, my strength to try harder, my motivation to succeed, and my reason to stay grounded. Cody was, and always will be, my baby. No matter how many cruel words we shout at each other, or how much I say I hate him, or how my heart is smashed into pieces over and over and over again, I will always love him. If I can�t be with him ever again, I hope God sees my pain soon, and shines his light down to save me. I know this is the end.

I�ve met my two angels, and both are gone now, and probably for good. Someday soon I hope I will join one of them. And I will wait for as long as it takes for my last one to join me, where we can be together again.

I am always waiting. Waiting to get better, waiting to be happy. Waiting to see him again this Christmas, and then waiting for my hopes to be crushed (ha!) when I won�t get to. Waiting to miss him this weekend, and waiting to fight this same battle again tomorrow, fighting with my voices (Call him! Call him! Cody Cody Cody), fighting against everything I know is bad for me, but I can�t help thinking anyways. Waiting for my medicine to work. Waiting for the bus that will take me to my new home, somewhere so different than what I�m used to, and then waiting to break down again and call him, crying, and then waiting for him to hang up on me, though I�m stranded in the middle of nowhere. Always waiting.

I can�t wait forever for things to improve. I can�t wait any longer for my dreams to come true. Sometimes waiting just isn�t good enough.

Right now, I wait for God to save me. I am waiting for him to take me away from the hell I am living in. I have learned my lesson, and now it is time to go. I am sitting patiently now, knowing someday it will come.

Perhaps that is the only thing worth waiting for.

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[Unfortunately I never dated this story I wrote, but I believe it was mid-November, 2000]

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