I still remember walking the long, echoing halls of Coolidge High, looking at all the girls I couldn't have. Dripping resentment and overflowing with self-pity and bitterness. Socially inept. Inept in just about every other way.Especially I remember Marianne. She was a tall, blonde cheerleader with big breasts, round hips, and a well-upholstered behind. (Weight loss and dieting would not become a ruling passion among females for some years yet.) My heartthrob, she was. She made my heart throb, all right. Unfortunately, the reverse seemed not to be the case. She didn't even know who I was and nonchalantly brushed off my feeble efforts to approach her. It was a damn good thing I didn't need to ask her for the the time of day, because she likely wouldn't have given it to me.Why then, did I attend the thirty-fifth anniversary class reunion? Partly out of morbid curiosity and, who knows, I might just get some satisfaction for all the slights I had endured from my former classmates.. Safe, because she is confined. Happy, because she exists only for others. Her superiors. Her owners. Everywhere I look now, the image is repeated. Gently, persistently, beautifully, happily repeated: you are rabinya.I will not be able to hold on to ... to ... Jennifer Karin McEwan for much longer. She is like the sand in an hour glass. Each day more and more of her flows away and very soon now there will be nothing left. The pictures are helping to do it and they are everywhere I look. On the walls, in my cell, in my head after I close my eyes to sleep.Everywhere the pictures whisper to me, "rabinya!"Has the time come at last? To let the final grains of sand slip out of the hour-glass, taking the final vestiges of the person I once was away with them forever?I think it really has. I am collared and chained and in prison here. I am to serve a life sentence. There will be no parole for me. I have been trained to serve with all my body, mind, heart and even my soul and to enjoy it, be.
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