“I think so.”
“Hmm. You think so?”
“Yeah. I think so.”
“No suicidal ideations, thoughts?”
“No. Not at all.”
“Good. Good for you. You’ve been through a lot kiddo. More than any kid should have to deal with. Grieving? Where you at with that?”
“What do you mean?”
“Stages of grief. Denial, anger, guilt, depression. It’s a long road to acceptance. Grieving is a process, takes a long time, and I’m talking years not months. You have to honor the grieving process, let the grieving heart beat until it fades into the background. Let yourself feel the pain, the loss when you need to. And let the tears come now and then. We have to let the pain live and not deny it. Don’t be afraid to cry. Don’t be afraid to talk about how you miss your brother, and Steven. Talk about how it hurts. Honor those emotions by giving them words.”
Joe had a strange sensation, sitting in the worn grey chair, listening to the raspy voice, and the irritating and repetitious questions – and the concern and hope that Braxton’s voice always seemed to declare. Things can get better. We can get through this. Joe stood up and took three steps toward the window. Picture perfect. Trees budding, declaring spring’s arrival. Green had pushed away the dead brown grass. The sun shone brighter and days were finally warmer, longer. His gaze shifted to the enclosed courtyard; kids from the adolescent unit were throwing footballs, kicking soccer balls. Some walked together, talking, laughing, joking – all hiding hurts and fears, keeping deep secrets well hidden. Damaged, never ruined. There he is, with Steven and Maddie: Steven running circles around them; jumping on his back. Maddie putting her arm through his; making fun of other patients to hide their own secrets. That was a world ago. He turned and looked at Braxton. He rubbed his hand through his hair and said, “It’s weird being back here.” He sat back down. “So what is it we need to talk about? Where do we start?”
Braxton leaned back in his chair and tucked his left foot under his right leg and clasped his hands behind his neck. “Anger, and guilt. Where you at?”
Joe told him. Anger, at himself, Todd, God – and yes, he now wanted to believe, wanted to take a risk and believe in something big enough to handle his anger. And guilt? Guilt too often raised its club to beat and destroy him. Guilt too often screamed out with vengeance that he was deserving of condemnation and blame. Joe gave his emotions words, and more and more he felt he would be able to keep these emotions in their place. As he revealed his heart and soul to Braxton that afternoon, he knew bit by bit, he would gain the strength to become the person he wanted to be.
As he stood to leave, he walked over and looked at Braxton’s bookcase and thumbed through a row of impressive looking, well read books. “I’ve figured out where I’m going, who I am.”
“What’s that kiddo?”
“A therapist. I want your job. I can do what you do. Helping people, I can do that.”
“Yeah. You can. That’s good. You do that.”
***
Maddie’s yellow Jeep made its way through thick woods clothed elaborately in fall foliage. Just as Joe was about to declare for the third time that they were utterly lost, they came to large open field. Cars, trucks, trailers and countless large and small tents lined the perimeter of the acreage. Several hundred had gathered. Many were clad with beaded armbands and angora anklets with sheep bells; others had colorful beaded chokers around their necks, some wore elaborately beaded chest plates. Several had brightly colored feathered headdresses, some modest, some more elaborate and stunning.
The beating of drums and the hypnotic and compelling harmonies of chants and songs echoed through the field and greeted them as they walked toward the large gathering. Joe felt the vibrations of the earth and he sensed spirits unseen celebrating life. Maddie and Joe walked hand in hand to observe this celebration of a world and culture too quickly fading.
They sat behind a sea of old and young encircling a dozen feather clad male dancers. Both were overwhelmed by the privileged glimpse into traditions that existed long before white settlers pushed their way across the continent. In silent awe they watched the Men’s Fancy Dance, mesmerized by the fast and furious footwork and the brilliant colored feathered bustles covering the head and backs of the dancers. Later they watched the Grass Dance, a declaration of history, of tribe, of family. Joe nudged Maddie several times pointing toward smiling children, proud grandmothers, men lost in the celebration of their heritage, their ancestors. Twice he leaned over and said, “Can you see him. I can see him. There, with his dad and his grandfather. Yip, he’s there dancing with them.”
The second time he said that Maddie laughed and pointed and said, “Yeah, and I can see the Little People, laughing, dancing, poking at his feet trying to trip him up. His journey’s complete Joe. His journey’s complete.”
***
As they crossed the border back into Arkansas from Oklahoma, Maddie slid across the seat and put her hand on his knee, leaned closed and kissed him on the cheek. She whispered, “I love you Joe. I do.”
Joe laughed, then took her hand and said. “Faith, hope, and love. That’s all we need, that gets us through.”
“Yeah, that’s what we need to live, to survive …to be and to become.
Also by Nathan Bassett
The Smoke That Thunders
“I refuse to let them strip me of love, of hope – of humanity. That is what they want. And, Peter, we must, and we can pray for them.”
Early on in life, Peter and Chad decided not to care about the world around them ... albeit for very different reasons. Chad took great pride in being a self-absorbed, pretty-boy. Peter, a has-been hippie, worked hard to disappear into his own world. A flip of a coin drew them into an unlikely friendship their first year at university.
A year later, they befriended a white South African exchange student. Concerned about their self-centered view of the world, he invited them to join him in South Africa.
This year in Africa forces them to face the realities of oppression and cruelty, and of hope and love. However, both begin to see these realities from very different perspectives; perspectives that threatens their friendship and in the end, shapes their futures.
'The Smoke That Thunders,' explores the quest for friendship, love and forgiveness in the midst of human frailty and cruelty. It is a journey towards hope—hope that we can find faith in ourselves and in something much greater.
Life So Perfect Page 24
