But still, she wasn't quite ready to get rid of him. She paused. Jasper was staring at her. She could see the hint of a smile forming at one corner of his mouth, and she knew he knew she was bluffing. That smile sent a shudder through her. It seemed like he knew more than he was saying. He knew exactly what had changed for her. He was just testing her, seeing how much she'd actually tell him. "Do you know?" she asked quietly. It scared her more than she'd like to admit that someone out there could know what happened to her. Jasper shook his head quickly. "No, not know, per se," he responded. "I just feel a lot of pain wrapped up in you, and it seems linked to those walls you've constructed around yourself. I'm very observant, you'll find," he added with a grin. "It's not like I put them up on purpose," Sienna replied, ignoring his self-aggrandizement. "Doesn't look to me like you're doing much to try to get rid of them," Jasper said flippantly. "You don't even know me," Sienna. At least when you read, anyway."This depressing thought sent a chill up my spine. For days I would stop at every reflective surface I passed and readjust the frames, to no avail. They hurt my nose. They burned behind my ears. They never seemed to sit neatly on my face. My mother's lack of concern didn't help. Nor did the kids at school, who started calling me "four-eyes" and "spec". Kids who wore glasses on tv and in movies were always portrayed as anemic, brainy misfits. The glasses made me feel ugly and deformed. I hated them.That Easter morning I carried, safely hidden in a zippered pocket inside my quilted carcoat, the latest of three letters from Martha. I kept her mail in a folder with my schoolbooks, not because they contained intimate material, but because I never wanted them to be considered part of the garbage my parents would force me to discard. Sitting on a customer's front porch after preparing my papers, I leaned back against the stuffed bag and gently opened the white.
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