At one of the banks of the student union building's Internet access computers, I found myself sitting beside someone typing a very long e-mail message. The monitors were placed so closely together that I could not help reading parts of her message using my peripheral vision, no matter how I tried to fixate on my own screen.

A sentence I caught made my heart sink in my chest and my eyes fix resolutely on the blue Internet Explorer icon in the corner of my screen: "I'm still bleeding and lactating, and it's been a month." I wanted to turn and give her a hug despite the old-school punk "don't touch me" look she had so carefully cultivated with safety pins and patches and judicious use of a razor. I wanted to let her know that despite the people condemning her for daring to exercise control over her uterus, there also was someone who felt sympathy.

I didn't touch her, though. That's just not what you do to strangers.