Pro-Ralston Rally Today.
She supported us, now we’ll support her!
Bring your signs and support.
3 P.M. The Pavilion.
My body goes numb.
They’re rallyingforher. Despite all of it. They still don’t care.
I ball the flyer up in my fist and hurl it into the trash. Before I can walk away, I rip the rest from where they’ve been hung, wadding them into balls and slinging them one by one into the garbage can.
Once there’s no neon yellow left, I keep walking.
We’re still hours away from the rally’s start time of three, but as I approach The Beacon Pavilion, I hear their voices. My thoughts go quiet as I draw nearer, listening to the steady roar ofthe crowd. When I round the corner, the sight is enough to take my breath away.
It didn’t matter. Throwing away the flyers meant nothing. Stopped nothing.
There are hundreds of people here already, dressed in their Ralston gear, carrying signs made of poster board, cardboard, neon paper, and more. Someone is wearing a giant Ralston mask—like they already had it prepared. Like they always travel with it.
As a young woman shouts into a bullhorn in muffled words I can’t quite make out, the crowd waves their signs proudly.
Our Mentor, Our Hero
We Don’t Defame Our Icons
We Stand with Althea
Girl’s Girls Don’t Fuck with Jealousy
The World is Afraid of Powerful Women, But We Aren’t
Ride or Die for Ralston
RALSTONITES RIDE AT DAWN
One sign has my face on it, crossed out with a bold, red mark. Numbness takes over my body. My skin tingles as if carbonation is building underneath it. White noise drowns out their words. I want to bolt, but I can’t. I can’t look away.
They’re loud. Rowdy. Defiant. There’s chanting and laughter that stings more than silence ever could.
I don’t recognize anyone in the crowd, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. These women aren’t so different from who I was before she destroyed me. The girl who wanted to fight to change the world.
The one who believed she could.
And now they’re holding signs defending the person who killed that version of me, without ever caring to learn the truth. My heart thuds in my chest, and I struggle to draw a breath.
Without warning, a hand grips my arm, demanding my attention.
Everything stops.
I tense and turn my head, my gaze landing on a campus security officer in a black polo. “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“I wasn’t going to bother them.” I don’t dare raise my voice, fearful it’ll bring attention to me. I don’t want to consider what this angry mob might do to me if they realize I’m here in enemy territory.
“You need to leave,” he repeats again. “Not just this event, but campus. You’ll find your things waiting for you in the housing office. They’ll ask you to return your key there.” He pauses and raises an eyebrow. “Do you need an escort?”
I swallow. I’ve known this was coming, but it doesn’t make it any easier. I finally got a step ahead, and she made sure someone was around to shove me back down the stairs.
