VEGETARIAN

I finally realized that somehow I never changed enough. I kept that one friend from home who liked my corny jokes, and I held on to that favorite ratty old sweater, and I secretly wrote bad poetry instead of revising my papers thoroughly. I gave up meat, but I kept drinking milk because I worried about bone mass and I really didn't care that much about the cows. I couldn't be as altruistic as Ron was, I never could.

I fantasized about the fights I wanted to get in, the blood of those slutty girls of his running over my hands, although of course even a hint of that made him go all fatherly and serious. And every time I tried to call him on something in turn, every single time he would call me hysterical, or moody, or jealous.

Well, I wasn't hysterical in the end. I was calm, and I was clear, and I didn't cry when I broke up with him. It was on a quiet and empty path in the woods just off campus, a scenic spot right next to a stream. I told him I couldn't be with him, and he looked at me. And he said, "All right." And he walked away. It was what I wanted, and I knew it was best, but I just couldn't bear it. Because I knew that he'd been just waiting for this. That soon those eyes would stop another girl's breath, and tell her they loved her.

I couldn't let that be — I couldn't let him forget me.

So I said, "One last kiss?"

And he came back to me, and kissed me. And I took my knife from my pocket. I had the knife for art, but I guess I brought it because maybe I really knew what would happen. It was supposed to cut cardboard, but it cut his throat okay, too.

You know, he's the one who overreacted to that little moment.

It was a clean, dry day, and I burned Ron with some dry leaves and dead wood, and I bathed in a nearby stream. And nobody noticed the smoke enough to figure it was their problem. And no one saw me go back into my dorm room and change my clothes. Then I went out and ate three hamburgers. I threw them up later, but it was completely worth it.

And nobody knows.

And I don't sleepwalk, like Lady MacBeth, always scrubbing the blood off my hands. I don't remember the blood so much.

What I dream of is his eyes.

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