The Right to Be Forgotten: Twelve
Helen offers me a bed for the night. I didn’t realize anyone did such things today. My bed at the hotel thirty miles away beckons me. The cool night and distance grant a release from Helen’s life, so I decline.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then?” Helen says.
“I’ve taken too much of your time.”
“What other good will my time do anyone?”
“You do plenty, I’m sure. If nothing else, your time serves Virginia a world of good.”
“Come on by about eleven. We’ll check and see if Virginia feels any better then.”
I agree, though I probably shouldn’t. I’ve already promised not to capitalize on Virginia’s story. What purpose do I serve here?
I wonder, too, about Helen’s changing attitude. After refusing so many, why did she let me in?
Wind whips through the windows as I drive across countryside. I cry over Virginia’s story. Over Helen’s dashed dreams. I rail at this stupid human race for adding insult to injury. I pull over to throw my fit in the privacy of the dark, sparse landscape. The fight in my spirit sheds with my tears until I have nothing left.
When I regain myself, I am a soggy, snotty mess, but I am also resolved to make a difference. How? I have no clue. Why would that stop me?