I did finish the papers, in case you were wondering. The scenario just wasn't pretty. Most of Saturday I was distracted and fretful, wracking my brains about what I could do when I would be forced to disappear from Rob's life for an entire month. I didn't come up with very many answers, either. It was torture, sitting there hour after hour, staring at a blank computer screen, and being unable to focus on anything except the inherent fear that Rob would be completely, totally lost without me. The deadlines loomed closer, and I did nothing to prepare for them. I stared and I stared and I worried; I nearly panicked. Then Rob would call and I would talk to him for a little while, and he would try to cheer me up and make me laugh and convince me that it would be really constructive for me to come over and see him.

But I didn't go over, I stayed levelheaded and calm (at least when addressing him), and I decided on a course of action -- well, the only course of action that seemed possible. And then I had to set it aside and concentrate.

And then I finished my papers. I know for a fact the lit paper came out better than the biology paper, because by the time I got to biology it was about one AM Sunday morning, and I was pulling my first bona fide all-nighter, and sentences certainly flow better when you have no idea what you're saying. Still, I conked out at about six AM (pulling one of those “rest my eyes” tricks, because the glare of the computer screen was killing me) and didn't wake up until a little after noon because my phone was ringing. (It was Rob, of course. “Happy Sunday! See you tomorrow,” he said, and my only reaction was being proud of him, because he remembered what day it was.) After finding food, coffee, and splashing myself with cold water, I settled in again for the final stretch -- just as Rochelle was getting back in. She gave me one look and a priceless expression crossed her face. It was a mix of concern, fear, and downright horror. I blinked slowly at her and realized I was still in my pajamas, and had been for days. I hadn't showered since Friday. The front of my shirt was stained with coffee and pizza sauce from the previous evening's midnight snack, and I still had bed head.

I looked at Rochelle with her stylish designer clothes, her black beret perched jauntily on her flawlessly coiled raven hair, both still dusted with the snow that fell lightly outside. I looked at her and I smiled because I knew she wasn't seeing me but Rob, since I was certain I looked exactly as he did the day I brought him into this very room.

“Hey,” I said, and my voice sounded perfectly sane, which made me smile wider. “How was your Thanksgiving?”

Rochelle gawked at me. And gawked. I tried to keep from laughing but it was impossible; this was suddenly all too funny for me. I giggled as she stared at me, so hard that tears pricked the corner of my eyes and I wiped them away and laughed some more.

Over my uncontrollable laughter, Rochelle declared the first direct statement she had given me in weeks. “You're losing it, Tara! You're really losing it! Soon you'll be as crazy as him!”

“Thank God,” I said, and just giggled harder.

“This isn't funny! You're really starting to worry me,” Rochelle said, dumping her bags onto her bed and inching as far away from me as possible. “I know we're supposed to hate each other and everything, but really, really -- you're starting to worry me. I wouldn't wish what you're putting yourself through on my worst enemy.”

“And just what am I putting myself through, Rochelle?” I asked brightly.

“Letting--letting yourself get dragged down into madness by someone who is way, way beyond your help,” Rochelle said indignantly.

I waved my hand in the air dismissively. “I've got it all under control,” I announced, and then broke into a new fit of laughter, because I was beginning to realize I had absolutely nothing under control.

Rochelle rolled her eyes at me and flounced out of the room, no doubt to socialize with everyone on our floor and tell of the new low her crazy roommate had reached. I laughed for a good five minutes after she had left, but then the humor ebbed entirely out of the situation.

And then I fought tears for another ten minutes.

But I got the paper done. I did. I printed the whole mess out at quarter to midnight Sunday night, stapled it and put it with my other paper in my notebook, flopped onto my bed and promptly fell into a deep sleep, where I dreamed about piano concertos and Rob singing Ring Around the Rosie on a huge empty stage, in an arena with no audience.