"I really needed to talk to you this morning, Christy," she said.

I immediately went on the defensive, thinking that she was going to lecture me about the lack of time I devote to her. But instead, her voice got weak and her tone softened; "I had a really bad morning and you are the only one who I can talk to- the only one who understands."

The silence between us filled with the painful knowledge of understanding what only two surviors can. At that moment I wanted to drive as fast as I could to get to her, to comfort her, to listen, until no more could be said.

"I'm going away for the weekend and I won't be back until sunday," she said. I offered to come visit when she got back and she told me maybe- that she would call and let me know if that was necessary. And at that moment, I felt the anger- the same anger I felt after it happened to me, after I was raped. The same anger that I thought had dissappeared with time. But who was I kidding? The anger, the sadness, the memories- they will never completely go away.