To Protect My Honor

Inherent Resolve II

Once I started my new studies at Pasadena City College, I had a lot of hope for the future, but one thing worried me: I was having trouble making friends. While in high school, I seemed to be everyone's center of attention, in college I couldn't make anything work.

I guess that was just part of going to a private high school with an enrollment of two hundred and then a community college with an enrollment of 25,000.

Over Labor Day weekend, I went to Yakima, Washington to visit Mr. Weatherly.  On the second of September, my first full day, the Internet was malfunctioning, so I discussed personal issues with him, one of them being Victoria. 

"So, do you think that it's your fault," he asked. "Or what is it?"

"I just wish that I had not cared about her the way I did, so that I would not let this get to me."

"You know what they say," said Mr. Weatherly. "Love means never having to say...."

"THANK YOU, JESUS!"

Patti Weatherly, his ten-year-old daughter, came bursting in.

"What?"

"We have Internet," she said.

"Great!"

He paused for a few seconds.

"As I was saying, Milton," Mr. Weatherly continued, "I see the sentence 'love means never having to say that you're sorry' as 'one never has to be sorry for loving someone.' You did all you could do. If she doesn't like that, it's really not your fault."

I noticed that he stopped short of saying that it was her fault.

"Hey," he said. "Do you want to help me with my next story?"

"Sure. How?"

"Well, we can discuss some ideas over the weekend. Then I'll write out an outline, send it to you, and you can tell me what you think."

I could hardly believe it. A published author wanted me to help him.

"What kind of story," I asked.

"A thriller."

"Your specialty."

"You got it," he said.

"What kind of thriller?"

"I don't even know. I want you to help me think. I just had the idea last night."

Between then and Labor Day, we made a list of ideas. That was almost enough to take the ghost of my relationship with Victoria away from me.

But not quite.

On September 10, my personal life took another turn for the worse. I was talking about a plot for a story I had with Alexis on Facebook, when she asked me something.

"Do you know what is the most upsetting thing that could possibly happen to someone?"

"I can only imagine," I said.

"Well, that's an exaggeration. But given that I am four days into my collegiate years, why would a professor tell me that I'm slow-witted?"

"Well, he was wrong!"

"I know, and I decided not to take his class," she said.

That very moment, I saw that I had 214 Facebook friends, after having 215 the last time I checked. This has always been something that troubled me, but after Victoria, much more so.

I soon found out who had blocked me. Lydia Wilson, of all people; we had only been Facebook friends for about seven weeks. What was her problem? 

I knew what it was. It was a political post I made one day earlier.