by R. K. Ryals
“Strong?” I scoffed.
Rosa reached for me, laying her hand over my shaking fingers. “Don’t let being here make you think you’re weak. Strong people know when they need help. Strength isn’t always how we deal with things. For you, the cutting. Strength is what you manage to accomplish despite that.”
My gaze met hers. “I know you’re getting paid for this, but thank you.”
She laughed. “I’d do it for free if I could, but there are these things called bills. Mean little devils.”
I could see she loved what she did, and I was thankful Pops knew someone like her. It made it easier to look past her shrink-dom.
“Same time next week,” she chirped. “But if you need to see me before then, don’t hesitate to call.”
We stood.
Leaving the shrink was more awkward than arriving because my emotions were sitting on the floor of her office, all trampled over. Spilled out like the contents of a cracked egg.
Snapping the band on my wrist, I climbed into my Buick, glanced in the rearview mirror, and left. Driving toward my ever-changing life. Pondering weird things. Like why did some people call therapists shrinks? After my appointment, I felt raw, but I certainly didn’t feel small.
FIFTY
Eli
Ray met me at the door of the boxing club, a huge smile plastered on his face. “So, I hear my capo will be doing extra time now.”
I grimaced. “Temporarily living here has proved detrimental to my personal life. There’s no secrecy.”
“Small town issues.”
“I feel the sudden need to hashtag those words, Boss.”
He grinned, the prolonged smile becomingly increasingly creepy.
“You’re in a good mood,” I noted.
He rubbed his hands together, still grinning, and I knew I’d said the right thing.
“I called in a few favors, and got a quick drop from a place in Atlanta,” he spouted.
“Meaning?”
“I’ve got your punching bags, but you owe me extra. A fast delivery like that costs more.”
Excitement surged through me. “You’ve got a deal! I’ll get that to you by the next class.”
I’d already given him the money for the initial order, and I didn’t mind the extra. It paid to have a rich grandfather who supported the cause. One day I was going to make it up to Pops.
“Also,” Ray added, eyeing me expectantly, “I’ve got you lined up for a fight. An amateur match to raise money for the troubled youth program.”
“You didn’t say anything about a fight.”
“I am now.” He clapped me on the back. “It’s for charity, capo. Now, enjoy your classes.”
Making a mental note to confront Ray about his sudden news later, I sauntered into the gym, found the punching bags laid out against the back wall, and grinned. The bags weren’t hanging up, which was good because these kids were going to take them home. Even if I had to deliver them myself.
The door to the gym burst open, and I glanced up to find Deena slinking in.
“You’re early,” I called.
Catching sight of me, she grinned. “Don’t get too excited. I’m not turning into an overachiever or anything. Tansy had an appointment, so she dropped me off early.”
Approaching me, she eyed the bags on the floor. “That’s taking up a lot of space. What are those for?”
“Your class.”
“All of us?”
“That’s right. You’ll find out why soon enough. Want to do some exercises with me? Get a jump start on warm-up.”
Dropping the duffel bag hanging from her shoulder, she nodded. “Sure.”
I took her through a few stretching techniques, noting the way her cheeks glowed, rosy and excited.
“You like this whole boxing thing, don’t you?” I asked.
She shrugged, all noncommittal. “Whatever. It’s growing on me.
I snorted. “You’re going to be good at this sport, kid.”
She froze, sobering instantly. “You mean that? Like really mean that?”
I chose my words carefully because the look in her eyes told me these were going to be weighted words, the kind that stuck with her during defining moments.
“If you put everything you’ve got into this sport, all of that fiery personality, you’re not just going to be great, Deena. You’re going to walk away from this changed.”
Inhaling, she let her gaze roam the gym, taking in everything. “Tansy and Jet … even during the rough times they’ve always had their niche, you know? Tansy’s always been a regular eco-friendly plant whisperer. Jet and basketball … he flew. Like his name. I want a niche.”
Reaching out, I gripped her shoulder, nodded, and said, “This could be it. Anything you do is like investing in the right stock. Invest enough money in the things you want, you make bank.”
She stared at me. “Just because I know what the word niche means, doesn’t mean I understood a lick of what you just said.”
I laughed, knowing she got it more than she wanted to admit. “One day, kid.”
Her classmates started arriving, each of them pausing when they reached us, their gazes on the white punching bags resting against the back wall.
“Dude—” Carrot began.
I shook my head. “Nope. Warm up first.”
Leaving them to stretch, I entered Ray’s office to fetch the permanent markers I’d picked up the day I asked him to order the bags.
Ray was on the phone.
Grinning, he flicked his chin at me, and winked.
True crime boss style, he covered the receiver, his fingers spread wide, leaned forward in his seat, and hissed, “Where do we need to hide the body?”
“What?” a female screeched from the other end of the line.
“I love doing that to her,” Ray mouthed, chuckling quietly.
“Wife?”
“Twenty-five years strong.”
I blinked. “God, you’re old.”
“Watch it, capo. I have people.”
Lips twitching, I returned to the class.
They were murmuring amongst themselves, half-assing their stretches because they were too busy passing around theories about the white bags.
“All right, stop,” I ordered, pausing near the wall. “You want to know what these are for? They’re yours.”
They froze.
“Ours?” one of the boys asked.
“What?” Roger added.
I handed them each a black and red permanent marker. “These bags and these markers are going home with you. Like a pet. Only you don’t have to keep them alive, thank goodness.”
I found that funny. They didn’t.
Clearing my throat, I pointed at them and then at the wall. “These punching bags are your friends. They are also your enemies. You will learn to respect the bag, and you will learn to hate it.”
Holding an extra set of markers, I stepped in front of one of the bags and tapped the unopened black one against it. “This marker represents your strengths, the things about yourself you feel comfortable with. The parts about yourself you like. It also represents what you want in life, what you want to save, and what you don’t want to lose. Use it to write those things on the bag. Not all at once. Little by little as you discover them. Every time you throw a punch, you’re going to see those words, and you’re going to remember why you put them there. Beat them into your memory.”
Tapping the unopened red marker against the bag, I told them, “This marker represents the things about yourself you want to change. What you consider weaknesses. The things in your life you can’t control but wish you could. It represents the things that make you angry, bitter, and disappointed. Each time you throw a punch at these, you’re not only going to remember why you wrote them, you’re going to be inspired to change them. To beat them out of your system while letting them teach you why it’s important to remember your past—the good and the bad—but not let it define you if it’s going to hurt you.”<
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Saying that, I paused, staring at my hands and the empty bag. Remember your past—the good and the bad—but don’t let it define you if it’s going to hurt you.
Funny how I could say those words aloud to these kids and suddenly, out of nowhere, understand them myself.
Looking up, I saw Ray standing in his open office door, arms crossed, a smile on his lips. He nodded at me.
“So, we can take these home?” Roger asked.
Shaking myself out of my thoughts, I turned to him. “You can, and if you can’t get the bag to your house, we’ll find a way to get them there for you. Same with setting them up once we get them there. If you need to leave them here until you talk to your parents—”
“I can’t take one,” Roger interrupted, his face reddening.
“You don’t like the idea or you just refuse to take it? It’s not charity. This is part of your program.”
He shrugged. “I’m in the foster care system. I’m not in one place long enough to take it.”
Words failed me.
“We’ll put yours in the storage room, Roger,” Ray called from across the gym. “We’ll cover it when you’re not back there, and when you find a more permanent place to put it, we’ll get it there.”
Roger shifted, his discomfort obvious, and I changed the subject fast, taking the spotlight off of him.
“We’re going to pick up the pace over the next few classes. You need to work at home as much as you do here. Get on a schedule. Start by running every day. Push yourself.”
“Kill ourselves you mean,” Carrot groused.
“You’re an idiot,” Deena spouted abruptly. She tensed. “That’s a terrible way of looking at it.”
Even though, technically, Deena’s father hadn’t committed suicide, he’d given up on life. By the look in her eyes, Carrot’s words didn’t sit right with her.
Carrot stiffened. “What did you call me?”
“Lay off of her, beanpole,” Roger warned, his gaze flicking from the bags to the storage room.
I clapped. “Come on, let’s get in the ring. I want to show you guys—”
“And girls,” Deena inserted.
I smiled. “And girls something.”
Watching them walk to the ring was a profound experience for me. Working with them was opening up a whole new world beyond mine.
I’d lived in a box up until now, figuratively speaking. Shoving the lid off of my box, I realized the world was full of boxes, all of them resting on the earth’s surface, people climbing out of them, staring at each other. All of them trying to figure out the person standing next to them.
My box needed to burn. I liked being free of it, seeing things in a much larger scope.
FIFTY-ONE
Tansy
Everything seemed brighter after my appointment. Not completely better, but brighter.
I’d always been the kind of person, even as a child, who looked at the world in terms of connections. Kind of like that game my mom and dad used to play, the one where they connected celebrities to each other by linking them all to Kevin Bacon.
The world was a giant connect-the-dots. A plant needed water and good soil to grow. Animals needed plants and other animals to survive. Everything depended on the weather, the bugs, and timing. People depended on all of it.
That was how I looked at the garden I was working on at the orchard. The stuff I was doing at the clinic was basic, but the garden here … it was going to connect people.
After finishing the flower beds, I started clearing out spaces at the back of the house. A back door opened onto a mowed lawn full of sunshine and nothing else. It was the perfect place for a garden.
Things were about to change.
With Pops’ blessing, and lots of phone calls to the gardening center, I started by laying a path with stepping stones.
This garden was going to focus on a curved path which twisted and then vanished into a cluster of flowers so that it looked like it never truly ended.
All day, I worked, my skin slathered in sunscreen, a headband pushing my hair off of my forehead.
Here and there, Pops came out to watch, often offering me a glass of iced tea or a sandwich, which I accepted.
From a second story window, I caught glimpses of Eli’s mother. She stared down at me, silent and imposing. Her eyes were darker than usual. It sent chills down my spine.
Ignoring her, I laid my path.
The sun had trekked across the sky, the buzzing bees having calmed, by the time I called it quits.
A car sped down the drive, Jonathan’s red Porsche slinging gravel.
Gathering my supplies, I stacked them neatly against the back door and made my way to the front.
Eli was there, leaning against his brother’s car. Seeing him made my heart feel funny. Bigger.
He smiled. “Today, you really do look like a garden fairy.” He indicated my hair. “I like the colors.”
I’d recently redone my highlights in an ombrè purple fading to pink.
The last time I saw Eli, we’d made love. My thighs felt heavy with the memory, my cheeks flushing.
“I’ve got an idea for a garden,” I told him.
He glanced behind me. “At the back of the house? Wouldn’t it be better out here in the front where everyone can see it?”
“It wouldn’t mean the same.”
Intrigued, he asked, “Why?”
“Because this garden is going to grow up strong. Out of the spotlight. To enjoy it, you’re going to have to find it. Then, when you do, it’s going to change you.”
Pushing himself away from the car, Eli took a step toward me. “You talking about a garden or yourself?”
“What do you think?”
Closing the distance between us, he pulled me close, his arm circling my waist. “You always smell like the earth … the sun. Did you know that?”
Pressing my face against his chest, I inhaled. Eli smelled like the gym, but I wasn’t pulling away. Not yet.
“Call me tonight?”
Lifting my chin, he asked, “Do you want me to?”
“Yeah.”
Dropping a quick kiss on my lips, he released me. “Then I’ll call.”
The house’s screen door creaked open. “Hey, Tansy!” Jonathan greeted, waving, a smile on his face.
Backing toward my Buick, I returned the wave.
With the work I still needed to do at the clinic, the work at the orchard, and the steps I needed to do to get out on my own, there wasn’t going to be a lot of time for anything else in the days to come. However, it didn’t stop me from glancing at Eli, my heart on my sleeves.
He mimicked a phone against his ear. “Talk soon.”
I watched him in the rearview mirror when I drove away, the orchard a portrait-perfect backdrop behind him.
The weekend couldn’t come fast enough.
After Monday, the rest of the week went a little something like this:
Tuesday
I planted two new flower beds at the clinic while laughing at Deena’s face when Hetty told her she’d be replacing Eli at the rescue. Her first day was a disaster, her clothes a stinky mess, and her mouth a spouting fountain of profanities. She made Danny cry, and then apologized for it.
He glared at her, but then softened and offered her a hug. His mother told him hugs fixed everything.
Eyes wide with horror, Deena fell into his embrace. When she stepped back, she looked better, whether she admitted it or not.
Later that night, she spent an hour in the bathroom scrubbing.
I spent just as long on the phone with Eli. Talking to him without seeing his face was nice.
I’d heard of restaurants that offered romantic dinners in the dark. Supposedly, it heightened the dining experience. Having to feel for the food, savoring it without getting to look at it, made the flavors fuller because taste and touch were heightened by the blindness.
It was the same with Eli. Not seeing and touching him affected the way I thought
about him. It forced me to listen without being distracted by his scent and his body.
“You don’t like rap music?” he asked me, startled.
“Not really,” I answered.
“Oh, you need to be reeducated, roof girl.”
I laughed. “And if I told you I like new age?”
He groaned. “That’s it, we can’t be …” His words trailed off.
“Can’t be what?”
Friends? Lovers? A couple?
“Together,” he said finally.
I smiled because I liked the sound of that word. Together.
Wednesday
Deena made me wake up early to run with her, which ended with me walking some distance behind her, yelling things like, “You want me to die, don’t you? Do you see any zombies? I’ll run if there’s zombies. Or bears. I’ll run if there’s bears, too. Or lions. Or—”
“Pussy!” she shouted.
“Did you really just call me a pussy?” I yelled back.
God help us if there were little kids around.
Afterwards, even though I’d never admit it to Deena, I felt energized.
I managed to finish the entire path in the orchard garden and clear one plot before having to leave. Eli didn’t make it home before I had to go. His new community service project meant long hours building low income houses for people in need.
I won’t lie. I kept picturing him with a hammer in his hand, his jeans slung low, and his shirt off. Because, you know, hormones and all.
When he called me that night, he sounded tired.
“We can talk tomorrow if it’s better,” I told him.
“I’m good.” His bed creaked. “You talk. I’ll listen. Tell me what you did today.”
