Please call me at..." I scribbled down the number and sat back in my chair. Did I remember her? Is the Pope Catholic? Where had she been all these yea...s? Claire and I met as roomies in college and were soon inseparable; our dorm mates called us sisters.In the fall quarter of our junior year, I returned to our dorm room from my job at the college bookstore to find her side cleaned out. Not a scrap of paper remained, no note, nothing. I never saw her again. Now here she was and needed my help. I. "No, you don't hate it dear, you hate not being able to be free to beyourself. You're afraid of what everyone else will say if they knew justhow pretty you are able to become. Now then, come sit by me and tell meall about why you feel this way."I sat next to mom like a lump, until she took my hand in hers. Then itcame out. All of my frustrations, fears, denials, then the elation andcalmness I always felt when I dressed up. I told her that I knew shehated me for what I was, convinced that now. More

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