I look to Sharon for answers. She shrugs. “I don’t know, child. The Lord works in mysterious ways.”
“He did.” Simon gives the two of us a pout. “He told me so.”
“Okay, buddy.” I pat him on the head. “Thanks for the message.”
He smiles at me. “You’re welcome.”
And there you have it. My little brother speaks to God. Musta been all the drugs my mother did while she was pregnant with him.
“We better bring him in for a check-up.” I whisper to Sharon.
“Oh, stop it.” She slaps at me playfully. “Ain’t nothing wrong with that boy.”
***
“You got a minute?” David asks standing in my bedroom doorway.
I’ve just opened my journal and was still deciding what to write. I close it up and shove it under my pillow.
“Sure.”
“I noticed at church this morning, you seemed a bit… frustrated?” he says as if he’s not sure he’s used the proper description.
A bit of an understatement but not too far off. “You noticed?”
“Yes. And I think I know where Pastor Bill hit a nerve.”
“You do?”
“It’s a big struggle. Even for a Christian. To understand why God allows bad things to happen.” He has totally read my mind. He continues. “To be honest, I struggled with that same issue myself. For a long time, I refused to accept that God was good, and I grew up in a God-fearing home. But there’s so much tragedy and pain in the world that even the happiest people have a hard time reconciling with the fact that God is loving when so much hate exists.”
“It’s almost like a contradiction. How could He have known me and loved me before I was born, but allow me to go through… the things I went through?”
“That’s the age-old question. I don’t know if I can give you a satisfying answer but I can try.”
I nod.
“When I was a child, I asked my mom the exact same thing. “How can God be good when the world is so bad?’ You know what she said?”
“What?” I fiddle with my blanket. This is going to be good.
“She slapped me on the back of the head and said, ‘you gotta have faith, son’.”
I stare at him, eyes crinkled. “That’s it?”
“That’s it. Can you believe it? Here I was a seven or eight-year-old kid with the weight of the sinful world on my shoulder and that’s all the advice she had for me. Don’t sound very fair does it?”
“No.”
“So, I’m gonna try to do a little better than my mom did but you will have to bear with me because it’s not easy to resist a good ole slap on the back of the head.”
I smile.
“It is true. God has known you from before you were born. He knew what you would struggle with, and what you would go through. He knew you would be abused, homeless and hungry. He didn’t ordain it, but He knew it would happen. But…” he holds up a finger. “He also knew you would come through it. He knew you would have a little brother who would be the light of your life, and he knew that you would find us and that we would share Him with you. He knew that there would be a time in your life that you would question Him and He wants you to know that He does love you. Isn’t that what Simon told you?”
“That was creepy.” I rub my arms as goosebumps form. “Why would God speak to Simon. Why didn’t he just tell me Himself?”
“Maybe because you aren’t ready to listen. Yet.” He pats my back. “Or maybe it’s because Simon is a little guy and he don’t think it’s totally off the wall for a spiritual entity to speak to him. Or maybe we will ever know.”
“He has a horrible way of showing His love, that’s for sure.”
“Oh, sweet girl,” a voice sounds from the doorway. “You haven’t even seen the beginning of God’s love for you.”
I look up and Sharon is smiling at me. Her eyes so aglow with love that I almost wonder if all that I have suffered is worth it. I’m not ready to throw all my eggs in one basket yet, though. I’ve been hurt before. More times than I can count.
“Do I really have to go to school tomorrow?” Please say no.
Sharon guffaws. “Girl, you are too much!”
“Of course, you do.” David answers.
Drat! It was worth a try. As the two of them leave, I pull out my journal. This time I don’t bother looking at the clock. I won’t be able to use the entire fifteen minutes anyway.
I was living on the street when I met him. I’d just ran away from a foster home. (Another story for another day) He promised me a hot meal and a shower. I hadn’t eaten in days so I went. Biggest mistake of my life. If only I had known.
If only I’d have known… If only I’d have known… the understatement of the year. I turn the page and write. God spoke to Simon today. He told him that He loved me. Weird, but it somehow made me feel better.
Chapter 13
“How was your first day of school?” Minnie asks.
“Uneventful.”
“That good huh?”
“Yup.”
“I want to apologize for my outburst in our last meeting. That was truly unprofessional.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not okay and I promise you it won’t happen again.”
I nod. Obviously, she’s not going to tell me what it’s all about so I let it go. After all she’s the certified counsellor, not me.
“So, let’s see what you’ve got?” She holds her hand out for my journal.
I hesitate for a second and then give in and hand it over. There are only two entries in it since our last meeting. Last nights and the one about the dress.
She flips through the pages and then is silent for a moment as she stares out the window. It must be something she learned in college. Some kind of focal point or something because whenever she’s going to say something big, she stares out window for a few minutes first.
“Sounds like you had a bit of a rough patch at the mall,” she says. “Wanna talk about it?”
“Not really,” I answer.
“Okay, that’s okay. I want to teach you some techniques to work on when you encounter a ‘trigger’.”
A trigger? I stare and wait for her to explain further. She does. “Certain situations can trigger an emotion or a reaction. The dress for instance, and I am sure there are others you are not even aware of. You may not realize what they are until you encounter them.”
I get it. “Okay.”
She teaches me a few breathing techniques to practice. I feel silly doing them, and I have my doubts they will work, but she’s doing them with me so I do them so she doesn’t look crazy alone.
“You got the hang of it?” she asks.
I nod. I can’t see myself actually doing it, but I don’t dare say so.
“Good. Whenever you identify a trigger, I want you to put it in your journal. That way you will be able to recognize it ahead of time and be able to deal with it better. Try not to avoid triggers unless you absolutely have to. The more you get used to them, the better you will be able to respond.
“Now there is one other thing I’d like to talk to you about.”
“Okay.”
“Diagnosis.” She hands me a pamphlet that displays a picture of a distraught woman on the front and says PTSD – It can get better.
“What you have is an acute form of PTSD. Do you know what that is?”
I’ve heard of it before. “Isn’t that what soldiers get when the come home from war? Like all thinking they are still in battle and stuff?”
“Yes, often soldiers get it, but it’s not just for military. Anyone who has been through a traumatic situation, is vulnerable to it.”
“So, I am crazy?” I knew it!
“No honey. You are not crazy. Your brain is just reacting to the trauma it’s been put through. It’s called a ‘fight or flight’ response. It’s very common.”
“Okay.”
“B
ut, here’s the good news.” She leans forward and folds her arms on the desk. “You have been through so much in your young life that you have built up a… shall we say… a resilience that enables you to respond much better than the average person.”
“What do you mean?”
“What you went through was enough to drive anyone crazy. But you, on the other hand, you coped with it, handled it, and I don’t think you will suffer any serious long-term effects.”
Well that’s good news.
“That’s not to say that you will never have any ‘triggers’, but some people… well some never get over it. Never heal enough to lead a productive life.” She leans in closer. “How do you feel about medication?”
I turn to the window myself, conflicted. She’s telling me I’m going to be okay but on the other hand she’s offering me medication. I don’t answer.
“It’s just a mild antidepressant. You won’t feel any different. It only dulls your heightened senses, helps you to control your reactions a little better. It might even help with your bad dreams.
I nod. “If I don’t like it, can I stop?”
“Absolutely. It will take a couple of weeks to start working and you probably won’t even know when it does. I’ll start you on the lowest dose.”
I nod again.
“So, how is the writing coming?” She changes the subject
“better than I thought.”
“Good. Keep at it. What about this other incident with Simon. You say God spoke to him?”
“Weird, right?”
“No, actually not really. Kids are more receptive to listening. That’s one reason God says we must be like a little child to come to Him. They don’t judge like we do.”
“Makes sense, I guess. You think God really meant me, though? Maybe Simon just got confused.”
“What do you think?” she asks.
Wait a minute who’s the counsellor here? She’s supposed to be the one with all the answers, not me. “I don’t know. Maybe it was, maybe not.”
“Know anyone else in Simon’s world that might need a message from God as much as you?”
She has a point. “No, I guess not.”
“Well I’d take it as a sign then. Be thankful. It’s not every day God audibly speaks to a person. Maybe he has bigger plans for you.”
“I’ve been thinking about something.” I say totally off topic. “That first journal entry, the one where I said I wanted to be a teacher. I’ve changed my mind.”
“Sure, it’s allowed. What are you thinking?”
“I want to be a child advocate. You know the ones who deal with abused children.”
“I think you would be great at that. Are you sure you could handle hearing all the horror stories after what you’ve been through?”
“I think so. I was thinking, you know, that I could sit with a child and say ‘I understand what you are going through’ and actually mean it.” I hesitate and then continue. “No offense to you or anyone else, but it’s frustrating to have an adult tell you that they understand what you’ve been through when they’ve never gone a day without a meal. Or suffered at the hands of a monster.”
“You are so right. But when someone like me, who hasn’t been through nearly as much tragedy as you, says they understand, they aren’t telling you they’ve been through it or that they feel your pain, they are saying they want to help get you back to a right place again.”
“What if you’ve never been in a right place? What if you have never known a single person who loved you? What then?”
“It’s unfortunate. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, me too.”
She glances at the clock. I have made her feel uncomfortable once again. Seems, I have a way of doing that.
“Well, it looks as though our time is up. I think we are making great progress. What do you think.”
“I feel like it.” That is, until I close my eyes and Easy Money is staring into my soul, or I see something that triggers a memory and go completely ballistic. Other than that, yeah, things are just peachy.
***
Eating was a reward for good behavior. If I fought him, I didn’t eat. I soon learned not to fight. Instead, I immersed myself in my own fantasy world. Sometimes I would be a princess in a stunning castle and other times I was just sleeping on a bed of clouds. No matter the scenario, during these sessions, I felt as though I was transported into another realm. One where there was no pain. And then he would leave. He’d come back with some fast food, drop it on my bed and leave again. I wouldn’t see him again until the next time. It became a routine. I know you think I am sick and demented but I came to look forward to his coming. I am sick, how can I say such a thing? It’s true though. I was kept in complete darkness with no one to talk to, no human interaction for twenty-three hours a day. That one hour, that one horrible, repulsive hour, I looked forward to. Maybe it’s my own fault. Angry once again, I throw my pencil across the room. There is nothing good about my life. Nothing. Sickened with myself, I throw the book on the floor, climb under my covers and cry myself to sleep.
Chapter 14
As I sit in my homeroom class trying not to stand out like a sore thumb, I notice the guy across the way. The same black rimmed glasses with the slightly crooked teeth. He’s smiling at me. I smile back before I realize what I’m doing. So stupid. You know as soon as the guy comes toward you and you get a whiff of his cologne you are going to break out into an episode in front of the entire tenth grade.
The bell rings and he heads in my direction. Panic rises from within and the breathing techniques Minnie taught me don’t seem so foolish after all. In through the nose, out through the mouth… in through the nose, out through the mouth. He’s still walking my way. The door is the other way you idiot! I scream at him but he’s not listening. Probably because I’m saying it in my head. And the results are in. I am completely insane.
“Hi,” he says.
I try not to smell him. “Hi.”
“Are you new here? I saw you in the library last week.”
“You did? I don’t remember.” Why did I say that? I looked right at the guy. “Yeah, I’m new.”
“Sean,” he says holding out a hand.
“Melissa.” I answer as I get a whiff of him. He’s wearing something different. I like it.
“I’m kinda new here too. I just moved from California.”
“I’ve always lived here. I mean in Arizona. I just switched schools.” I sound like a complete idiot.
“Cool. Maybe you could show me around some time,” he says as the two of us follow the crowd out the door.
“Yeah, sure,” I agree as if I know Mesa like the back of my hand.
“Okay. See ya around.” He waves and walks away awkwardly.
“See ya,” I answer, hoping I don’t yet wishing I would.
As the day drags on, I remember why I hate school. It seems like all a bunch of nonsense to occupy our minds and keep us out of trouble. I mean really who cares who was the first person to fly in an airplane or what x equals when divided by 2. The struggle is real.
At lunchtime I’m sitting by myself, minding my own business when a group of girls come up and plop down next to me. Their incessant chatter slowly digs into my self-awareness, especially when one of the girls points in my direction and whispers. The rest of the flock stares in my direction.
“You think she’s a cutter?” one girl pretends like she’s whispering but deliberately speaks loud enough for me to hear. The other girls nod and giggle.
Unlike what Sharon thought, wrist sleeves are not all rage. At least not at the high school level. My face heats, and just as I am about to go off on these cackling cretins, my best buddy Sean comes to save the day.
“If it ain’t the vampire gang. Suck anyone’s blood lately?” he asks.
“Shut up, weirdo,” one of them says in retaliation. “Let’s go. Looks like the cutter and the freak want to be alone.”<
br />
The five of them get up with their noses in the air and flutter away.
“Thanks,” I say.
“No problem. I knew they were up to no good.”
“You did? How?”
“I didn’t really. I just wanted a reason to come sit with you.” He grins wickedly.
“Oh, right.” I stare at him for a second. “Why?”
“I don’t know. Why not?”
“I’m really not very good company.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” He hesitates. “If you’ll let me.”
“Sure, why not.” It’s not like I can afford to pass up an opportunity at a friendship.
He stares at my stupid florescent green wrist sleeves and I cringe. I struggled all day as to whether to keep them on or take them off. Either way I’ll be an anathema.
“Is it true?” he asks nodding at my wrists.
I stare in awe of his boldness. I want to tell him it’s none of his business but then again, he’s my only friend. Can I risk losing the one person willing to speak to me in the entire school?
“No, it’s not.” I pick at the sandwich on the table in front of me.
“I didn’t think so,” he answers and opens his own bag of goodies.
He pulls out a sandwich, an apple and a bag of chips and doesn’t say another word about it.
“Hey, Sean. Who’s your friend.” An extremely tall and lanky girl walks up to the table with her tray of cafeteria food.
“Hey Sabrina, this is Melissa,” he introduces as the girl towers over the two of us.
“Are you cheating on me?”
Oh great, what have I gotten myself into.
“Just kidding.” She smiles baring a mouth full of metal. She slaps Sean on the back. “I think I got her.”
“Really, Bree. You are too funny. Have a seat.”
“Cool sleeves.” She nods to my embarrassing attempt at covering my scars. “Are you a cutter?”
“Bree!” Sean gives her an intense stare. “You really have no filter.”
“Oh, sorry. It’s no biggie if you are though.”
Patricia Bell Page 5
