florence of calamity and joan of arc

We were drifting around Salt Lake City together, and it was something like falling in love. Or falling into a sudden friendship, even though we've been considering it for a while now. Her frequent and rushed phone calls that were always on the verge of tears.
"Its funny that I even met you at all," she said, while we were eating noodles and staring at one of those bored couples that don't have anything left to talk about.
"Yeah, I guess it is," I say, smiling to myself. She is so small and thin that she looks breakable. Like a delicate structure made out of sugar, or something equally blond and fragile.
Somehow, even in my shyness with her, and my fear of saying the wrong thing, fear of saying something that will freak her out, we are in the cab of my truck in sugarhouse, drinking coffee.
"When we were in there, I felt as if all those people were going to get me," she says simply and honestly. I know she's not making it up because she's spent the last three days in her bed, not leaving her apartment to eat or even get her mail. "I mean, I called my work and told them I had to have my tonsils out in an emergency. Who does that?" She grabs my arm suddenly. "Can I use your phone?" She asks me. And I let her.
"Yeah, I'm in sugarhouse," she says, "with my friend Rachel....no....no...she's a good influence. Shut up you asshole....no.." she starts searching through my purse all of the sudden.
"Do you need a pen?" I ask her, my head on the steering wheel, I'm not sure what is going on.
"No, sorry, just a twitch," she tells me, going back to the phone.
"Okay, we'll meet you at the library. You're a jerk." She hangs up. "That was the boy I am in love with."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. You'll come visit me won't you?"
"Of course I will. I'll bring you cookies, and CD's. Will you have a CD player there?"
"I might have an iPod."
"Oh."
"I don't want to go, it's stupid." We are in a window well on the fourth floor of the library, and I am staring at her profile. I'm scared that she will break my heart, a little, even though I barely know her. She always looks like she could start crying at any moment.
"Three months of rehab is better than six months of jail," I finally say.
"Can I give you a hug?"
"Please."
I hug her and wonder how I did even meet her. How she happened to me so quickly, and I start to think that maybe God knows what He is doing...