So much sorrow and pain, still I will not live in vain. Like good questions never asked is wisdom wasted on the past. Only by the grace of God go I. I am blessed, I am blessed, I am blessed to be a witness.

- "Blessed To Be A Witness" by Ben Harper

If you've ever woken up in a complete stranger's bed, not knowing how you got there or what has transpired since your arrival, then you'll know how alarmed I felt the next morning when I opened my eyes and found myself in a strange place, in a strange bed. At first I thought it might be Jarrod's and I scrambled to sit up fast, my heart pounding. Right at that moment, I thought he had somehow gotten me into his house, and everything that happened last night had happened all over again, but rolling over on my side I saw that the bed was empty, and I fell back under the covers with my hands to my face.

Where am I?

It didn't take me long to remember that Trevor had taken me home after the dance, and that this must be his room. The last thing I remembered was falling asleep on his lap in the garage. I was still wearing his big black hoodie. Snuggling my arms into the warm sleeves, I pulled the covers up to my nose and breathed in. They smelled like Trevor, all right.

Curiosity was getting the best of me, and there was no way I was going to get back to sleep, so I decided to get up and explore. The fact that Trevor wasn't in his bed made me wonder where he possibly could be. I sat up and looked around.

It was a pretty big room, I thought, but in retrospect it really must have been about normal for a middle-class person's house. The walls were painted dark blue, but there was enough light coming in from the window behind the bed to light up the room. Everything was pretty clean, which surprised me. There were a few posters on the wall with pictures of musicians that I didn't recognize, and a desk with a lamp where Trevor must have done all his nerdy homework. His messenger bag was sitting in the chair next to it.

I got out of bed and I was going to snoop around some more when I noticed a pair of checkered pajama pants and a white t-shirt neatly folded at the foot of the bed, with a little yellow note stuck on top. I picked it up, recognizing Trevor's skinny cursive handwriting. It read, Wear these.

Looking down at myself I noticed that I was still in my ruined white dress underneath Trevor's hoodie and khaki pants. For some reason I felt embarrassed, but I was relieved at the same time. I don't know why. I guess I always figured that if any guy, even Trevor, had a chance at getting alone with me while I was asleep in his own bedroom, then he would jump all over me. But Trevor was nowhere to be seen, and there was no sign that he had even been in the room at all.

I picked up the clothes he had left out for me and suddenly noticed a gleam of white behind the door on my right. I stepped over to the door and pushed it open, peering into the room.

Ah. Trevor had his own bathroom. I almost smiled when I saw the shower. The prospect of being clean and possibly not hurting so much seemed too good to pass up. I glanced around. Well, as long as no one's in the room...

I opened a few cabinets until I found the towels, pulling one out and shutting the bathroom door behind me. I pulled Trevor's hoodie over my head and caught a glimpse of my reflection in the huge mirror. My white dress was spotted with dark red stains, clinging to me like a tattered piece of wet cloth. I started to peel it off my skin but had to stop when I felt the dried fabric ripping off the bloodied scabs. My eyes filled with tears. I gave up on the dress and stepped into the shower, still wearing it.

The shower head sputtered and shot out warm water as I turned the knob. It felt pleasant on my hands, but when I turned around the hot water sent searing pains into the scrapes on my back. I arched my back and winced, turning the knob down so the water came out lukewarm, and I let the droplets hit my face and run down my neck. The water ran pink into the drain. I began to feel the soreness of the bruises all over my body, and I shut my eyes as I tried once again to peel my soaking dress off and clean the blood from my skin.

Twenty minutes later I stepped out of the shower, wrapping the warm towel around myself carefully. I dried my hair and picked up Trevor's clothes to change into them.

Trevor wasn't much bigger than me, so his clothes actually fit me pretty well, aside from being kind of loose and floppy (which was how Trevor tended to wear things). I folded his hoodie and put it on the edge of the bed, then remembered my manners and tried to straighten up the sheets and covers that I had kicked away during the night. I've never been good at making beds, even my own. When I got done it almost looked worse than when I'd started, and I thought begrudgingly to myself, I bet Trevor does it better.

The bedroom door was closed, so I opened it quietly and tiptoed out into the wide, clean-smelling hall. I couldn't remember ever hearing anything as quiet as that great big house. There was always noise in the trailer park, if not our own then somebody else's. Trevorуs house was completely silent. I felt like I must be waking the dead just with the sound of my own breathing.

Around a corner I began to hear a soft sound whispering in the silence. After a moment I could tell that it was music, and I wondered if someone was listening to a record. But it kept stopping and starting up again, and the voice sounded so real that I knew it wasn't recorded. I peered around the doorframe into a big white room, and that's where I found Trevor.

It took me a minute to put the pieces together. He was sitting cross-legged on the carpet, still in his pajamas, and his back was turned so he couldn't see me standing at the door. There was something that looked like a guitar, maybe an electric guitar, in his hands. And the music was coming from him.

I had to listen hard, because he was playing so softly, but when I heard the words I realized: That's Trevor's voice. He was singing.

I am blessed, I am blessed, I am blessed to be a witness.

And the music was coming from his guitar. I had heard the song before, it was one we listened to a lot together, but I had never heard it this way. The real song didn't have a guitar in it, but Trevor was playing the same notes from it, the same rhythm. It sounded so deep, so low that I almost couldn't make it out. But his voice was just soft enough not to cover up the sound.

Glory behold all my eyes have seen, have seen. I am blessed, I am blessed, I am blessed to be a witness.

"I knew it," I said out loud with a smile.

Trevor gave such a start that I thought he'd broken a string. He spun around wildly, searching for me with squinted eyes, and I had to laugh. He looked like the shabbiest thing I had ever seen, in his bare feet with his messy hair sticking up in all directions, and it made it even funnier that he couldn't see a thing without his glasses on. I came over and picked them up from where they were lying on the floor, and held them out to Trevor.

"Here," I said. The lenses were still broken, and seeing them brought back a twinge of pain.

"J-Jenny," Trevor stuttered. "I didn't know you were awake."

I pointed at his guitar. "Caught you."

"This isn't what it looks like." Trevor looked so flustered that it made me laugh again.

"You're such a bad liar," I said. "Why'd you tell me that you didn't play the guitar?"

"I don't," Trevor argued with dignity in his voice. "It's a bass."

I looked at the instrument lying on the floor. It only had five strings, instead of six.

"It's still a guitar," I maintained.

Trevor's face blushed defeatedly as he picked up his bass guitar and tucked it under his arm. "You can't tell anyone," he said.

"Oh-kay..."

"It's a secret." Trevor looked me sternly in the eye.

"Okay." I raised my hands in front of me. "I won't say anything."

"Good."

"...But why?"

Trevor sighed, slumping his shoulders. "No one knows about it, Jenny," he said. "I don't want anybody to know."

I wouldn't stop staring at him, and it made him blush even more. He knew I wasn't giving up that easily.

"It's a really personal thing," Trevor said weakly.

"What kind of personal thing?"

"Jenny..." Trevor sighed again.

"I'm just curious--"

"It's how I keep from going crazy," he mumbled.

"...What?" I paused. Maybe I shouldn't have asked.

"I didn't want to learn until after he died," Trevor muttered. "My dad." He picked softly at the top string of the bass with his first finger. It made a low, quiet sound. "He always wanted to teach me, but I didn't want to learn. So now I'm learning." He looked up at me and smiled slightly. "It's how I talk to him," he whispered.

I couldn't say anything, so I just nodded and let Trevor pick at his guitar for a while. I wondered if Trevor had a lot more sadness in him than he let on. I still didn't totally get the thing with his dad, but it seemed like Trevor had really been angry with him, for a long time. And I felt kind of sorry for asking so many questions.

Trevor's face was turned down toward his bass, but I could see the place around his eye that was turning black from when Jarrod had hit him. I wanted to apologize, but I didn't know what for. It just seemed like I had caused him a lot of trouble, maybe since the very first day he met me, and I was searching for some way to take it all back.

I ran a hand awkwardly through my wet hair. "Hey, Trevor...what happened last night?"

Trevor looked at me strangely, as if he didn't know what I meant. "I, um--I took you home. You fell asleep in the car, so I put you in my room." He blushed profusely. "I--I didn't sleep there, Jenny, I've been in here all night--"

"I know," I interrupted, though for some reason I felt relieved at his words. "I didn't mean that. I meant...at the dance. After I left." I paused, tracing the nubs in the carpet with my thumb. "Why did you go out there? Why did you come after me?"

Watching me quietly, Trevor laid his bass down on his lap and scratched at his beard. "I don't know," he muttered. "I saw you go out the door. I thought you might be cold."

I could tell from his voice that he was lying. I could also tell that he didn't want to talk about last night, but I kept going anyway.

"Why?" I demanded. "That can't be it. You were mad at me. You didn't want to talk to me. Why would you follow me, after all that happened--"

"I felt something, Jenny," Trevor burst out. I quieted down, but his eyes were flaming. "I felt something. Like I was going to be sick inside. So I came out there to apologize to you. To say I was sorry. And then--you were--"

He choked, suddenly. "You were down there on the ground, and he was--" Tears filled up his eyes and he pulled off his glasses, letting the water slide down his cheeks unashamedly.

"I wanted to apologize," he whispered.

It felt like my heart was going to bleed itself to death, sitting there watching Trevor cry like he'd really lost it. And all I could think was, This is all my fault.

I looked at the floor, then at the dark blue bass guitar lying in Trevor's lap. Something about it lying there made me want to cry, too. Because I knew that feeling. The feeling where youуre so messed up inside that you hate to even think about playing music, the feeling like you want to quit--somehow I knew Trevor was feeling that, somehow I knew it was the whole reason he was crying. But I was there. And I had to do something. Anything.

I reached up and took one of Trevor's hands away from his face, then put it on the neck of his bass guitar. I held it there for a moment, gently. Then I laid my hand on his shoulder. I was surprised at how warm he felt.

"I'm sorry, Trevor," I said, and with the words, my heart finally stopped hurting, and the tears came out of my eyes at last. "I'm really sorry. About last night...about everything." I felt Trevor's shoulders jerking slightly, but I couldn't hear him crying. The sobs were rising in my own throat. "I was...confused," I whispered. "I'm really...really glad you're my friend."

Trevor sniffed, rubbing his hand over his face. I grabbed his hand and held it in my own, then let go and wrapped my arms around his chest. I tucked my chin into his shoulder, breathing in the smell of his clothes.

"And I really liked this," I whispered, hugging him tightly.

I don't know how long we sat like that. It could have been minutes, could have been hours. All I knew was that I didn't want to move. I didn't want to say a word. I just wanted to feel that gentle feeling that Trevor's arms gave me, feel the breath coming in and out of his chest, feel even the scratch of his stubbly chin against my cheek. I wanted to feel all those things forever, remember their sound and smell and touch, and I bottled up their memories in my mind, as if I were memorizing every detail of Trevor Jenkins, his face, his hands, his heart. I committed them all to the shelter of my mind and when I finally pulled away, Trevor was smiling, the tears long gone from his brown eyes.

He stood up, putting his glasses back on, and he held out his hand for me. "Come on," he said softly. "We need to leave soon."

"Where are we going?" I asked, still drowsy from his embrace.

"To the hospital," Trevor said. "We're going to make sure you're okay."

"No way" was my initial answer, but Trevor was not about to be swayed.

"You have to go, Jenny," he said, folding his arms. "Jarrod might have really hurt you last night. And, besides, there are...other things..."

Trevor's gaze faltered and he blushed profusely, but I knew what he was talking about. Frankly, I didn't want to think about it. Thinking about what Jarrod had done to me already was hard enough. The prospect of being pregnant by him was completely unbearable. How would I break something like that to Mom and David? I could never let them know that this had happened. But I couldn't envision myself walking into an abortion clinic, either.

"I can take care of myself," I refused stubbornly.

Trevor cocked his head to one side. "No," he said, his eyes soft, "I don't think you can."

I stood glaring at him in anger. "You--I--" But my voice was getting weaker, and there was no other way to say it.

"I can't, Trevor," I sighed. "Don't you know what will happen to me if Mom and David find out? I'll get kicked out of the house, for sure."

"No, you won't," Trevor said simply.

"Yes, I will."

"No, you won't." He held open the door for me, looking firmly at me over his shoulder. "Because they don't have to find out."

Oh, sure, I thought as I followed him down the concrete steps of the porch. How do you figure that, Trevor? Are you going to get the doctors to pinky-promise?

"We'll have to take the bus," Trevor said to me, unshakable in his delusions. "Mom took the car this morning. Will you be okay if we walk a little?"

"Sure," I mumbled. I wasn't going to admit to Trevor how sore I was, but I could already feel dull pain jarring my legs and up my spine.

"All right. Just tell me if you need any help."

I didn't tell him. We walked for what felt like hours in the stagnant midday air, from the end of his neighborhood down a road past fields of wheat, and finally to the edge of the old downtown area I was familiar with. It was at least twenty miles from the trailer park where I lived, and only a little closer to the school. It was the most city-like place that I knew of in our entire county.

"You live on the rich side of town, Trevor," I noted, trying to keep my mind off the pain.

Trevor shrugged. "I don't know about that," was all he said.

We stopped to wait for the bus on a bench beside the road. Trevor gave me a concerned look when I winced.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said, forcing a smile. "Never better."

The truth was that I felt overwhelmingly tired, and it hurt my backside just to sit down, but Trevor wasn't about to get that out of me. Once the bus arrived and we climbed on board, though, I couldn't hide my exhaustion anymore. The seats were just too comfortable, the cool air conditioning so refreshing on my whole body. I closed my eyes and sighed.

"It's okay, Jenny. I'll wake you up when we get there." Those were the last words I heard Trevor promise before I slid into a drowsy nap against his shoulder.

The engine rumbled underneath our feet. Quiet conversations sprung up now and again, then dissolved into the backdrop of the world moving past us. I had been thinking, for a while now, about what Mr. Joe had said to me about stories, about Trevor and his father, about a world that might be better than the one I was living in. It seemed strange that I would be thinking about all those things at such an awful time, after what Jarrod did to me. But somehow, I felt a kind of peace that was different than anything I'd ever felt before. I was safe.

"We're here," Trevor whispered.