“Well, it comes down to a decision,” she said.
“What kind of decision?”
“A decision about whether or not you want to be brave enough to tell your story and take upon the task of healing from it. It is a moment that can change the course of everything.”
I shook my head, feeling resistant to her suggestion. “Yeah, I don’t know. That seems like a pretty big deal.”
“Yes, you definitely have to be ready for it. It can’t be forced. Although, this may be the very moment that I am talking about. The moment that comes after the abuse happens, and you come to a place where it is safe enough to explore what has occurred. What will become of you now, Sam? There is a choice to be made. You get to decide whether or not you will always be a victim, or if you will use the resources around you to become a stronger version of yourself. Of course, I could be one of those resources. I am interested in seeing you grow and would be honored to help that process start for you.”
I felt irked by her suggesting that she already cared about me in the single day that I had known her. “That decision really isn’t up to me, though. What’s done is done.”
“Is that true?” she challenged. “What specifically isn’t up to you?”
I challenged her back. “I don’t know what the hell is going to happen to me now. I didn’t chose this place or choose to be talking to you about stuff. I didn’t choose to get hit over and over again, or abandoned by people who were supposed to stick around, or have my sister taken away from me. I didn’t choose this life!”
“No you didn’t, Sam. But this life has happened to you, hasn’t it? So, now what?” She held her ground and made sure I was listening. “Sam, it isn’t what happens to you, but what you do about it, that defines you.”
I stared at her angrily, knowing she was right, but being too mad to reply. I felt pushed on suddenly and didn’t like it much.
Before I could change the subject or tell her I was angry though, she kept going. “Here you are now, standing in front of me, having gone through what you’ve been through. You’re standing in front of a story collector who is offering her time to you. Do you think this is a coincidence? How will you use her, Sam? What action will you take toward thriving instead of simply surviving?”
Wham! I slammed my fist on the table beside me.
Theory grew quiet, but held her stance. We stood in silence, both stubbornly waiting for the other to make a move that would define our future.
I slowed my breathing and calmed my heart rate down enough to take my hand back from the top of the table.
Theory then bowed her head. “Too fast,” she offered. “That’s my fault.”
I looked at her, confused by her apology. My head cleared a bit and I relaxed the rest of my body just enough to breathe easily again. I had never known an adult to outright admit their faults and surrender to a standoff so quickly. This was new.
She meant it, though. And I appreciated it.
Not knowing what else to say and wanting to be polite, I mumbled. “It’s okay, me too.”
I watched Theory slide Grandmother Dove back onto the desk and wondered if they had ever shared in such a forgiving moment together. She looked at her watch then extended a peace offering. “Shall we feed the cats?” I grimaced and nodded my head, still feeling too awkward to speak.
I followed Theory out of the printing room and turned to hit the light switch off. I took a final look at the stacks of books, wondering if I would one day be brave enough to share my story. Unwilling to answer that question now, I clicked the light off and closed the door behind me.
CHAPTER FOUR
Theory had left me to my own devices in the library as she made tea for us elsewhere. I was surprised that she left me alone again after having found me snooping through her things downstairs, but I wasn’t about to question her judgement call. I hoped she had sensed that I was just being curious earlier. I still felt guilty about losing myself so deeply in her things, especially since she was so understanding about it all. There seemed to be a magic here, though, that I couldn’t quite ignore. Was it really possible to find magic when the world around you was buckling under its own weight?
Cautiously monitoring my footing, I approached the corner of the library where a weighty metal table rested under the soft glow of artificial lighting. The filaments in the bulbs above resembled the frozen aftermath of a firework that had just burst and was still falling toward earth. Spread about in organized clumps on the desk were tiny glass bottles with cork tops, each housing their own treasures. Dried wildflowers, miniature pinecones, miniscule crab legs and different colored sands created their own quilted tapestry of nature’s elements.
I touched the top of the cool table, inching my fingers toward an illustrated book of butterflies. It sat between a stack of blank notebooks and sharpened pencils. Wary of opening another one of Theory’s books without asking, I simply ran my index finger over the cover. A frayed bookmark poked out from the middle of the pages. I looked behind me, curious about how long Theory would be. Glancing back at the book, I decided to take my chances.
I opened the bookmarked page and was met with a lavish, life-size sketch of a black and blue butterfly. Hues of fluorescent sapphire dusted over a gothic black wingspan, exposing its prominent stained glass-like contrast.
“I see you’ve found the Ulysses Butterfly,” said Theory from behind me. I turned around, mad at myself for getting caught again. How had I missed her footsteps? Did she float into the room on purpose to scare me?
Ignoring my compunction, she handed me my tea and ran her fingers along the text of the page, reading aloud. “‘The Ulysses Butterfly often lives under the canopy of rainforests and feeds on flowers and citrus plants. Although gifted with an ultraviolet color pattern, the Ulysses will turn the shade of brown to blend in with ground leaves while resting.’”
I let go of my anxiety and followed along, entranced by the mysticism this insect seemed to hold. Theory lifted her finger from the book. “They aren’t natives to this region... but, sometimes they make an appearance,” she said, smiling vaguely.
Confused by her ambiguous comment, I turned my attention to a map on the wall. “Is that where we are?”
Theory smiled more definitively now. “Ah, yes. The Olympic Peninsula. I like to think it’s where fairy tales were created.”
I leaned closer into the map, reading off the landmarks. “Mt. Deception, Warrior Peak, Mt. Mystery, The Brothers peak…are these all real places?”
“They are, indeed. Like I said, a perfect place for fairy tales, no?”
I squinted my eyes, trying to make out the bodies of water. “I don’t see Lake Isabel.”
“Oh, it’s there. It just isn’t labeled. After all, some things are better kept a secret. Don’t you think?” she asked, hinting toward my mission.
I appreciated her covertness. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“No worries, I will give you a map to it myself when the time is right.”
Theory had a map to the lake? I wondered where she kept it. Maybe if I found it, I could somehow get to my sister sooner. After all, every day that I spent up here by myself was another day He might get closer to finding her, if he hadn’t already.
My stomach cramped and I felt nervous about everything again. I had to get out of here soon. I studied the map a bit more, wondering how difficult the journey to Lake Isabel would be, and if it was truly as safe and hidden as Dodger claimed it to be.
“Do you enjoy art?” Theory asked, switching up the mood.
“Hm? Oh, yeah, I like to draw,” I replied, trying to hide my budding anxiety.
“Oh good,” she said, lifting an empty notebook toward me. “Why don’t you take this and sketch some things while you’re here. Take a pencil and explore a bit.”
I took the pocket-sized notebook and savored the cleanliness of the brown cover. “Wow, cool. Thank you!” It had been a while since anyone had given me a gift. I couldn’t help but wonder if there
were strings attached.
My hesitation must have shown up on my face, because Theory interjected. “I have lots of these laying around, so someone might as well use them. I suppose you could always journal in it, too. Sometimes it’s helpful to write down your thoughts when you’re trying to figure things out,” she suggested coyly.
I shrugged, flipping through the blank pages. “Yeah, maybe. I usually just keep things to myself.”
“Hm, that sounds lonely,” she said compassionately.
I glanced over at her, surprised by how quick she had identified the emptiness I had been walking around with for far too long. Lonely. Yeah, that was the word for it, all right. How did she do that?
Trying to hide my reaction, I scratched the back of my neck so that my face was covered by my arm. “Eh, it’s just easier that way. I kinda gave up relying on people,” I said, shrugging my shoulders again.
“How so?” Theory wondered. Her voice held sincerity, making it feel safe to answer.
I looked down at my hands and began to fiddle with the sleeve cuff of my hoodie. “I don’t know. It’s just pointless. They all end up disappointing you eventually.”
“How have people disappointed you?” she asked while taking a seat in her worn leather chair. I looked at her curiously, knowing that she meant well, but suddenly feeling thrown off by her insight.
James and Anna popped into my head, making my heart sink. “Well, not everyone does it on purpose, I guess. Sometimes you get close to someone and they end up leaving you or doing something to hurt your feelings. It happens so much that there’s not really a point in getting close to people anymore.”
“Mm hm,” nodded Theory as she chewed heavily on my sentiment.
An impulse to disclose my grief over my surrogate parents sparked. Whether Theory’s subtle reply meant she was interested in listening to more of my story or not didn’t concern me, I was suddenly ready to talk. “I mean, like my teachers James and Anna. They took really good care of me in junior high. I hung out with them after class and we sometimes did volunteer stuff on the weekends. They were safe and kind…until…”
I trailed off into the thickness of the past, wondering what might have happened to my beloved teachers. Before I drowned too deep in my pain though, Theory realigned me. “What happened to them?”
I looked up and shuffled my feet a bit to ground myself. “Eh, I graduated junior high and had to go to a high school a lot further away. I didn’t see them for almost a year and then I heard that they were having a baby. After that, there was really no point in keeping in touch with them.”
Theory’s face fell flat. “Because you couldn’t see them, you figured they must’ve forgotten about you? Or because they were replacing you with a child of their own?”
My eyebrows furrowed and I could feel the pain of abandonment begin to rise within me. A twist of regret pushed my stomach toward my throat. “I thought I’d always be good enough for them, but I guess it wasn’t realistic to believe that they’d really be my parents one day. I guess I thought that’d they’d just always be around.”
Theory huffed. “Hmph, disappointing indeed. It sounds like you really loved them.”
I bowed my head, unintentionally tearing up. Theory rose from her chair and stood near me. She waited for a moment to see if I would respond, but when I didn’t, she began searching the desk for the pencil she had promised me earlier. “What is it you miss most about them?”
I wiped my tears away with the sleeve of my hoodie, trying to maintain strength in my position. “I don’t know. I guess that they liked me. They were interested in who I was and what I was doing. They were proud of me for doing well in school, so then I started doing better to impress them. They just cared about my life.”
Theory found a pencil and began to sharpen it quietly. “So, ultimately, their legacy to you was making you feel important.”
I glanced to the side, watching Theory rhythmically twist the sharpener. “Yeah. I guess that’s it.”
Theory nodded, letting me know that she understood. She lifted the freshly sharpened pencil to her mouth and blew away the dust. Without making eye contact, she offered it to me and sat back down.
I stood in place, running my thumb over the grooves of my new writing tool. We paused in silence for a couple of minutes before I decided to keep talking. “I guess, really, I just miss feeling like I belong to someone.”
Even though Theory held completely still in her chair, I got the sense that my sentiment affected her deeply. She took a breath, speaking calmly on the exhale. “You still belong to them, Sam. It just looks differently now.” She motioned to the seat in front of her. “Come, sit.”
I shuffled toward my chair and sat heavily into the leather backing of it. Theory looked me over with kindness and grimaced with sullen eyes. “You’ve been through a lot, kiddo.”
I studied her expression, trying to figure out how I felt about it. Half of me was concerned that her eyes held such sadness over me, while the other half felt relieved that I had finally told someone about James and Anna. My impulse to fix the moment by making it normal again kicked in. I was always worried people wouldn’t know what to do with my feelings if I ever expressed them out loud. “It’s okay.”
“Mm, but it isn’t,” she said immediately, taking back the conversation. “It’s hard.”
“Yeah,” I tossed back, suddenly unsure how to feel about it all in retrospect.
“This is, perhaps, one of the hardest parts of life that you’ve hit upon. Learning to love someone, only to have to let go of them later on,” Theory stated assuredly. My eyes turned attentive, grateful that she chose to continue. She sat up straight and used her hands while talking. “When people come into our lives, they leave things with us. Some things are good, some are uncomfortable. Either way, people show up to teach us something about ourselves or about how the world works. These lessons are what create their legacy.”
“So, James and Anna left me feeling like I mattered. Their legacy is making me feel important,” I offered, trying to keep up.
Theory smiled. “Exactly. When people leave especially strong lessons in us, those lessons can become a part of our character. Because you were given the message that you mattered to such important people, somewhere inside of you that message has become a part of your belief system about who you are.”
“So, we remember the way people make us feel. And, if the feeling is big enough, it eventually makes us who we are,” I said, thinking out loud.
“You got it,” cheered Theory.
“But,” I said, wincing with doubt. “I don’t always feel like I’m worth something. Sometimes I feel like people still don’t care about me.”
“Yes, that’s natural. But think of why you’ve been able to share so much with me so far.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “I tell you stuff because I know you’ll listen.”
“How do you know for sure I’ll listen?”
“Because you’re obsessed with trying to make me talk all of the time!” I joked. We both burst into laughter, letting my jaunt break apart the seriousness of the conversation.
Still laughing, Theory kept the momentum going. “Well, this is true. But I wonder if it’s also because you’re learning that your story matters. Even if it’s only pieces of it.”
My laughter dissolved into a smile and I took a moment to catch my breath. “Yeah, sometimes it feels like that.”
“Well, in my experience, people are only willing to share things that they think are important. Not only do you value your teachers, but you value the way you love them. So, because you think both are important, you chose to share them with me.”
I smiled and nodded, enjoying the tiny spark of pride I felt in considering that I still had a part of James and Anna with me. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“You know, just because people leave our lives it doesn’t mean it is a black-and-white loss. It doesn’t always have to be a loss, rather a change in roles.”
“How so?”
“Well, your role with them was to be to be their student, and eventually a surrogate daughter. Your role now, perhaps, is to be a messenger for the gifts they gave you to other people in need of the same thing.”
“Like, being a safe person for other people?”
“Perhaps. You don’t need the exact answer right now, but part of a legacy being successful is living it out in a way that honors the person who began it. Does that makes sense?”
“Yeah, it does.” I thought for a moment in silence, appreciating how well she had been listening to me. “Thank you.”
Theory smiled and leaned forward. “Also, kiddo, the part we often forget about is the legacy we ourselves leave in other people. You are kind, smart, funny, and have an uncanny gift for reading people. Trust me, you left gifts with James and Anna, too. It’s why they liked you so much.” And with that she was up and walking out of the room. “All right, time to feed the cats!”
I sat like a statue in my chair, shocked by the idea that I might have left an impression on my teachers. It never occurred to me that the feeling of missing someone could go both ways. It made sense, though. What if they missed me, too? What if they still thought about me and wondered how I was doing in school? What if I hadn’t actually disappeared from their minds? What if I still belonged to them?
I then wondered about Nova, and if she thought about me as well. I knew we loved each other, but it had been a long time since we had seen one another. Did she still laugh at all of our inside jokes? Did she remember the games we made up? Maybe she was in a better environment now and had forgotten about all of the things I had protected her from. Either way, I was confident in how much I still cared about her and that was enough to keep me going for now.
“Come on, Sam! The squirrels probably need more peanuts, too,” beckoned Theory from the living room. I popped up and instantly ran toward her voice, suddenly realizing that in my short time here, I may have already started belonging to someone other than my teachers and sister.
Sam's Theory Page 4
