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Teen Fiction: A Journey

Devorah Ritterman

I have moved my thoughts toward last year, to our very last conversation, the conversation where we were supposed to “clear things up”

Tuesday, September 20, 2016

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It is days before her wedding. Although I have told myself that I have let go, a part of me understands and acknowledges that I have not. I have moved my thoughts toward last year, to our very last conversation, the conversation where we were supposed to “clear things up.” The conversation where everything I said was supposed to apparently reflect how I truly felt. However, sometimes words don’t feel like they’re enough to express the hurt one is experiencing.

I recall the way it went. I was told she didn’t want to see me in person. We could text or talk on the phone. Before I go any farther, I need to explain the reasoning for our argument in the first place. It all started two years ago. I was in seminary and it was my last out Shabbos. I chose to spend it with this friend, who was in a different seminary, before I went back home toAmerica.

We planned it together three weeks in advance. Wednesday came around, and I happened to be on the bus during my last tiyul of the year. I called her up in between one of my breaks before another hike to remind her about our Shabbos plans. As we were talking, and I was about to confirm that she was coming, suddenly her voice went quiet, and I heard her friend in the background saying, “Tell her you can’t come.” The rest of the phone call followed with, “I’m sorry, I forgot that I’m planning to rent an apartment for Shabbos in Netanya with my friends and I already put money toward it.”

Nothing I could say or do could convince her otherwise. By Wednesday night I lay awake in my bed, refusing to join an impromptu kumzitz. I was mad, boiling mad. Thursday was just a dawn away and I felt completely lost thinking about making last-minute Shabbos plans. Thursday came and I confirmed the situation with my friends; they all had Shabbos plans and none of them had extra room. I was stuck, and worse, I had to get on the phone with our host in Tzfas and tell her we weren’t coming. She told me I could come next week, but I didn’t have the strength to explain that it was my last Shabbos in Israel. So there I was; hurt that I’d been stood up and ditched for an apartment in Netanya with the simple yet hurtful words, “I made these plans, I can’t break them.” Though breaking plans with me didn’t seem too difficult for her. Obviously she never really cared and her actions proved that.


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