The Choice Not Taken Read Online Free PDF Page B

stare.
     
    Ever since that first college semester, she’d been hyper-aware of my moods and connected to my emotions in an almost maddening way. Despite stellar acting performances, I could never seem to hide the truth from her. It was as if that brutal night triggered her protective motherly role from basic natural instinct to one of supernatural intuition.
     
    Even so many safe years later, I still couldn’t evade it.
     
    “I’m good, Mom. Just tired. Had a couple restless nights in a row,” I explained offhandedly.
     
    Intuitively clucking her tongue, she continued into the house with Dad and Joe. I knew she’d be setting the table, serving the men, and then nervously awaiting Jen and I to take our turns for lunch.
     
    “Why don’t you go first?” Jen offered with a sly grin.
     
    “No way, Lady. You go first,” I insisted.
     
    We laughed over our shared joke-neither of us seeming up to dealing with our parents today. She comically hoisted a pretend gun belt and sauntered toward the door with hands at her sides as if ready to engage in a duel.
     
    “See you later, Pardner,” Jen drawled dramatically over her shoulder before entering the house.
     
    ***
     
    With no family or shoppers around, I rested in grateful isolation. Hidden in a back corner of the garage, against the line-up of rusted bicycles and lawn equipment, the disturbing thoughts readily returned.
     
    Only this time they weren’t of Philip.
     
    Seeing my mother and father always brought the gruesome memory to the fore-front. And while I’d come to expect it over the years, it was always the opening of an old, yet still raw, wound that became the most upsetting.
     
    Enrolled in a neighboring state university, my first semester began as uneventful and exhilarating as it should for a soon to be nineteen-year-old girl. Rooming with a local friend made the transition easier, and once that first month was complete, campus became my new home.
     
    Growing up in a relatively decent sized town lent me street-smarts to be safe and follow my instincts when nearing areas that may create undue trouble. As a result, I never roamed the dorms or grounds alone in the night and kept to public areas whenever possible.
     
    I also shied away from the increasing invitations for parties, ever wary someone might drug or get me drunk against my will. And if I did go out, I took extreme care-more vigilant than most-to stay close by my friends, never straying from the group.
     
    So when leaves began to fall, the confidence in my abilities and comfort in my environment slowly began to rise.
     
    Newly independent and inspired by infinite possibilities for the future, I readily embraced classes and diligently worked hard to keep up with their demands, part of which stemmed from the fact that I took on a heavy course-load. I had ambitious plans to accelerate my credits and take summer classes in the hope of graduating early.
     
    Long days were spent in lecture halls. And whenever I wasn’t in class, I was at the library. I basked in the solemn demeanor of stern-faced librarians, soft whispers of typically rowdy students, and musty odors of lofty book-lined shelves. It was home to me...and far quieter than the dorms.
     
    Night-time became the absolute worst since most kids spent those free hours hopping from room to room, sharing snacks, playing music, and flirting voraciously. I joined on occasion, but when I really needed to get work accomplished I’d head to the main library toward the edge of campus.
     
    Shortly thereafter, it was an almost daily practice to trek the worn path between my ivy-covered brick dorm and the matronly gray-stone library. And with an ever-growing desire for knowledge, I became more caught up in my study schedule than the dwindling light of a chilly autumn. I soon failed to notice any changes altogether, preferring instead to ignore shorter days of a coming season rather than forgo precious time with research books.
     
    When I left