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After writing my last entry, I spent some time trying to figure out exactly why I was still angry with Katie. I had this vague sense that I was waiting for her to apologize about something, but could not think of anything concrete. There have been plenty of times where she's said or done things that could be interpreted as offensive if i was being over-sensitive, but they were all too ambiguous to worry about. I wanted to call a truce of sorts, or just ask her why we act the way we do, but I knew that this wasn't the time for that.

She had to address the Student Fee Comitee today. I didn't want to give her any reason to be distracted, as our student group's (actually, it's more than just a student group, I just say that because I don't want to get googled with the name of it) budget for the next year depends on the success of this meeting. She doesn't know it, but she's an excelent public speaker. I saw her a few minutes before it all started. We exchanged the first words we had exchanged in months:

"Hey."

"Hey."

"You're gonna do great, I know you will."

"Thanks."

She didn't believe me. She did, however, do great. My heart was pounding from the second row. She was up there at the podium describing our $150,000 budget to a group of graduate students who barely understood the nature of our organization. They asked a lot of questions, a lot of tough questions. I tried as hard as I could to concentrate all of my thoughts onto the comittee so that by way of whatever telepathic energy might possibly be floating around the room, if such a thing even exists, they might more graciously give Katie an audience.

My heart beat through my shirt. Our future as an organization, as a collective of student minds, as a political force depended on this meeting.

Suddenly, there was information they were searching for--campus activities--I knew exactly what to say. There was a pause.

I had to interject. Every atom in the room required it. My concentration was still wrapped up in that silly excersize.

I spoke. I gave all the information I thought was necessary and not a sylable more. However, I did it without putting on my public speaking voice. I was still carrying my nervous voice that jumps into my throat whenever I'm not looking.

As soon as I was done, Reinna delivered an eloquent speach on another topic.

Saved.

The meeting finished up, we wiped the sweat from our palms, and started talking preperations for audit meetings.

Katie and I walked back to our building. I was tempted to ask her why we hated each other, but realized that she probably didn't know either. I told her she did a good job. "I was scared," she told me. I knew this. She's scared of many things.

"You're an excellent public speaker," I said, "I understand how it can be scary, but I've always believed that you have a gift for it. That's why we picked you."

"Thanks for your vote of confidence."

The subjects changed quick on the walk home: the weather, politics, how people walk. She darted out into the street at every intersection, a practice she has picked up recently and I have abandoned. I laughed, but didn't point it out. As we approached the overpass, I squeezed between her and the guardrail without saying anything and she continued the conversation with her chin on her chest, eyes on the sidewalk until we reached the other side.

This cordialness, this "nice day, isn't it" is the way I've always wished we could interact. I guess I just never realized that all I had to do was provide it, and it would be there.

But history tells me that it may vanish at any time.