• My entire life changed in one instant; if I was anything like the girl from room 218- the girl who sat at her desk and drew pictures in silence, too unsure of herself to establish a conversation, and yet too swollen with pride to sit with “those kids”- nobody else would have known it but me. In fact, I can’t seem to think of one thing that didn’t change after the summer of 2006. I can, however, think of all the things that did change when I came back to school freshman year- but we aren’t there yet. Let’s start with the summer after 8th grade, when everything changed for me.

    I was still in Texas then, living with my father for the second semester. Last semester I was back in Canada, trying to figure out how on Earth I was supposed to adjust to the learning curriculum when I went back to Texas. School had ended, and dad still had me for a little over a month. Much unlike most fathers, my dad has always been on the feminine side, and was going on a women’s retreat with his church. And despite the fact that I wouldn’t be seeing him until next year, he didn’t seem to mind leaving me home alone for two weeks while he spent a luxurious time at a spa in Arizona. And so, alone I sat at my house, knowing only the kids from room 218, the kids who had made my life unbearable. And, because of my droll lifestyle choice, I hadn’t anticipated the terrorist attack that would hit my house this very week.

    I was in my bedroom, eight or nine cereal bowls scattered around my bedside, when it happened. I was awoken by the loud crash of a slammed door that shook my room. It had only been one day since Dad had left; he wouldn’t be home already would he? I climbed out of my bed and moved down the stairs and then froze in shock. In my house were three men, each with red bandanas and towels on their head. I started to pace back to my room, when the man with the smallest towel head leered at me and started to scream in Arabian. The other two men ran after me and the next thing I knew I was back on my bed, the familiar smell of Kellogg’s Rice Crispies floating in my nostrils; the smell that made my large stomach grumble with hunger.

    I brought my hand to my face to find that I was bleeding out of my forehead and around my right eye. My facial analysis was interrupted my a deep voice from my bedside.

    “You took quite the head wound, Christine,” the voice said. I recognized the voice; I would have noticed it anywhere. It was the voice of an angel. The voice of undeniable beauty. The voice of the graceful creature that haunted room 218 and my dreams. The voice of David Warner.

    I felt the blood immediately rush to my face. What was David doing in my house? And what happened to those terrorists?

    “They’re gone. The terrorists, I mean.” David answered, as though his brilliant green eyes had seen through my skull and into my brain.

    I was relaxed now. I didn’t know if it was because the terrorists were gone, or if it was just David’s voice.