That Was Then...

by Melody Carlson

  “What do you mean?” I asked. “What now?”

  “What’s Natalie going to do now?”

  “Do now?” I thought about this. “Well, I guess she’s going to recover from the birth experience—which was not easy, by the way.”

  “I didn’t expect that it would be.”

  “And she and Ben will get their annulment. And maybe she’ll want to go back to Harrison now and graduate with her class.”

  “You think they’ll allow that?”

  “I don’t know why not.”

  “Seems to me she’d be too embarrassed to show her face there…especially considering all she’s been through.”

  “I think she can deal with it,” I said with a slight edge to my voice, “especially considering all she’s been through.”

  “I know you think I’m a terrible mother, Kim.”

  Now this made me feel slightly rotten, like why was I being so hard on her, and what about my prayer to say the right things? “No, I don’t think you’re a terrible mother, Mrs. McCabe. And I know you’ve been through some rough times, and it’s not easy raising kids on your own.”

  “That’s true enough. Then having a pregnant teenager on top of everything else. Sometimes I wonder how much more I can take.”

  “You’re not the only one who’s been hurt by all this. I mean, I don’t think anyone was too happy when Natalie got pregnant. Other than her worst enemies, anyway. And I’ll admit that I was really mad at her for a while too. I felt like she was ruining my life as well as hers. But I had to forgive her and get on with it. And once I did that, I started to realize how Natalie was the one who was suffering the most. I mean, if you think she needed to ‘deal with the consequences of her sin,’ as you put it, you should be really, really happy. Because she’s been beat up—a lot. And she’s still hurting now. She thinks you hate her.”

  “I don’t hate her…”

  I just stared at Mrs. McCabe then. I wanted to accuse her of lying, but I controlled myself.

  “I hate the sin,” she continued, “not the sinner.”

  “That might sound good to you, but, you know, we’re all sinners. Don’t you remember when the crowds brought that woman to Jesus, and they wanted to stone her? Don’t you remember what Jesus told them?”

  She kind of blinked then.

  “What’s so different about Natalie’s situation? Well, except for the fact that she wasn’t an adulteress and she hadn’t slept with a bunch of men?”

  Mrs. McCabe nodded.

  “Why can’t you forgive her?” I finally said, my last desperate attempt to bring some resolution for my best friend.

  But she didn’t answer me. So I stood up, excused myself, and left.

  But later today, Mrs. McCabe came over. And she and Natalie went into the guest room where Nat’s been staying and had a long talk. They were in there for a couple of hours. And finally—finally—they came out and announced that all was forgiven and that both of them were sorry and that they’d hugged and made up and everything was just fine. Just like that.

  “I guess I’m going home now,” Nat told me with a smile. And she and her mom packed up her stuff, and with my help we moved her back home.

  And now it looks like it’s just me and my dad again. And I get to go back to living my own life. And that’s totally cool with me!

  Dear Jamie,

  I’m making my New Year’s resolutions now. Actually, I’m just making one. But I’m worried because it seems like every time I make New Year’s resolutions, I just end up blowing them the following week. Anyway, I thought if I secretly told someone (like you), I might make it work this year. My resolution is to quit smoking. My parents both smoke, and it doesn’t bother them that I smoke. Except when I sneak their cigarettes. Then they get mad. I’ve smoked for two years now, and I’ll be seventeen pretty soon. I really want to kick this disgusting habit, and I think I can do it. Any suggestions?

  Sick of Smoking

  Dear SOS,

  Congratulations! They say half the battle of breaking a habit is deciding to do it. But I’ve also heard that smoking is VERY addictive. So you might need help. Have you considered using gum or a patch? Or are you sure you can really pull this off cold turkey? Anyway, here are some tips I found online. I hope they’re helpful. Good luck!

  Set a quit date and stick to it.

  Avoid being around smokers.

  Make a list of your reasons for quitting.

  Tell everyone you’re quitting. Don’t be secretive.

  Talk to your doctor for additional help.

  Replace smoking with other activities, like taking a walk, calling a friend, or starting a new hobby.

  Reduce stress in your life by doing things you enjoy.

  Reward yourself every day for not smoking.

  Drink plenty of water and other fluids.

  Take it one day at a time.

  Just Jamie

  Fourteen

  Monday, January 8

  If I was happy to go back to school last fall, I think I was even happier today. And that’s because Nat came back to school with me. Okay, it was a little awkward at first. She got the standard stares, whispers, glances, catty comments, snide smirks…But I was so impressed with how she handled it. We’d done some “rehearsing” of funny comebacks to prepare for those inevitable moments when someone stupid might say or do something totally moronic. And Nat pulled it off brilliantly. Humor can really take the edge off.

  At lunchtime we sat with Cesar, Jake, and Allie, and just as we expected, Marissa and Spencer showed up and took their jabs at Nat.

  “Something is different…” Marissa said to Nat with this evil twinkle in her eye. “Oh yeah, you’re not pregnant anymore.” Then she frowned, eying Nat’s baggy shirt, which is helping to conceal her still-rather-bulky waistline. “Or are you?”

  “Actually, I was pregnant with twins,” Nat told her with a straight face. “One was born during Christmas break, and I’m waiting to have the other one during spring break.”

  Fortunately this made the guys laugh. And I think it actually made Marissa see Nat in a different light.

  “So are you and Ben still married or not?” Spencer asked Nat.

  “Turns out we never were,” Nat tossed back at him. “I think it was just a figment of everyone’s imagination.”

  “So where’s Ben now?” he persisted.

  “Ben’s going to graduate from McFadden,” Cesar informed him.

  “Big chicken.” Spencer made a face.

  “Actually…” Nat turned serious. “He’s been pretty brave if you think about it. I mean, how many of you would’ve been willing to go through what he went through?”

  “Get married and have kids while you’re in high school?” Spencer rolled his eyes. “You can call it brave if you want. I call it plain stupid.”

  “Yeah,” Nat agreed. “I can’t really argue with you on that.”

  “Even so,” said Allie, “it’s good to know that God is bigger than our biggest mistakes. He can fix anything—if we let Him.”

  And then, just like that, the subject changed, and when no one was looking I winked at Nat. She smiled back. And I’m thinking life is going to get back to normal soon. Well, whatever “normal” is. Maybe it doesn’t exist.

  Not to suggest that Nat hasn’t been affected by all this. She definitely has. And sometimes I see this really sad expression in her eyes, and I know she’s hurting inside. Probably in ways I’ll never understand. And yet she seems to have changed in some really positive ways as well. She’s way more humble and compassionate. She even treats Marissa differently—and she used to hate that girl. And I don’t think she’s going to be preaching at any of us anytime soon. Not that she’s turned her back on God. If anything, I think it’s the opposite. It’s like she’s gotten deeper in a spiritual sense.

  I think Nat’s relationship with God went to a level that she’d never before experienced. Not that I’d recommend going through what she went through to reach th
is place. But I have to agree with Allie—God really can bring good out of bad if you let Him. But He definitely won’t force it on you.

  Friday, January 19

  I got to jam with Redemption at the Paradiso tonight. It was so cool. We played some pretty mellow stuff—a real change from the rockier kinds of things they usually play at concerts. But I thought it sounded awesome. And, okay, I suppose I entertained this teeny, tiny fantasy that maybe they’d invite me to join them on tour. Of course, I’d have to really think twice about that since I’m pretty committed to finishing high school here and they’ll be leaving to tour again in March. Allie will do her schoolwork on the road and then come back to walk with our class at graduation. So even if they did ask (which I’m sure they won’t), I’d probably have to decline. Oh, well.

  Thursday, January 25

  Something very weird happened today. As usual, I picked up our mail when I got home, and there was one of those cards that tells you there’s something you need to pick up at the post office. Thinking it could be something important for Dad, I decided to stop by there on my way to work at the Paradiso. But it turned out to be a registered letter for me—in a large cardboard envelope that was sent from South Korea. I was running a little late, so I just stuck the envelope in my bag and drove as fast I dared, since it was icy out, over to the Paradiso so I could relieve Chloe from her shift.

  “Sorry I’m late,” I tell her. “I stopped at the post office.”

  “No problem.” She’s already grabbing her jacket. “It’s been really quiet in here today. But that’s probably because of the cruddy weather. I gotta get going. We’re supposed to be at the church to meet Willy for practice in like three minutes—and our manager can get a little testy if were late. Cesar is supposed to be here by five.”

  “Be careful,” I say. “It’s icy out there.”

  “The forecast is saying snow by nightfall,” she calls as she goes out the front door, the little bell tinkling behind her.

  I glance out at the murky gray sky and figure the weather forecast is probably going to be right this time. Then I look around the cozy café to see if any tables need to be wiped down or bins refilled or whatever. But everything seems to be in tip-top shape. Even the condiment jars look recently filled. And all the machines are shining. It must’ve been really slow in here today.

  I decide to take advantage of this lull by retrieving my mysterious letter from my bag. Inside the heavy envelope is a single sheet of very lightweight paper. I think I’ve heard it called onion skin, but I didn’t know that people actually still used it. The words on this page are typewritten, but not like a computer. More like an old-fashioned typewriter, like the one my dad keeps in his office “for old time’s sake.” With hands that are shaking ever so slightly, I begin to read. I have a feeling I know what this is about.

  5 January

  Dear Miss Kim Peterson:

  I write to introduce myself to you. My name is Lee Jin-Soon. I was born in Po’hang, South Korea, in August 1964. I graduated from Puson National University in 1986. I work for a large international corporation located in Puson. I am not married. I am a modern woman of independence. I enjoy travel and music and theatre and art. I have been on all continents except North America.

  I do not know how to say this, except to simply write it on paper. I am your birth mother. For many years I have pretended that your birth did not occur. But now you are becoming a young woman, and I know you must have questions. I recently contacted the orphanage where I left you almost eighteen years ago. Miss Young told me that you had made inquiries of me. I am happy to make your acquaintance, if that would be pleasing to you.

  Sincerely,

  Lee Jin-Soon

  enclosures: photograph, business card

  Now my hands are really shaking. This letter is actually from my birth mother! The woman who brought me into this world. Her name is Lee Jin-Soon. I reread the letter again, more carefully now, taking in each fact and thoroughly processing it. She’s in her forties. She sounds like a normal, intelligent person, a career woman who lives in a large city. (I know from previous research that Puson is the second largest city in South Korea; Seoul is the largest.) She seems to live comfortably and travels quite a bit. Not a bad life.

  Okay, this is nothing like the pitiful woman I’ve often imagined—the young, impoverished, desperate prostitute who was forced to give up her baby to survive on the streets. As I finish the letter the second time through, I notice the note at the bottom says “enclosures: photograph, business card.” I grab the envelope and look inside, and sure enough, wedged into a comer is a small black-and-white photograph of a pretty Korean woman. I study her features, trying to decide if she looks like me or not. But other than the classic Asian features, I’m not so sure.

  I look in the envelope again and notice a small white business card also wedged in the comer. The name of the company isn’t familiar, but beneath Lee Jin-Soon’s name is what I assume must be her title: Director of Foreign Services. I’m not sure what that means, but it does sound impressive.

  And yet I am not impressed. If anything, I am irritated. I put the letter and other pieces back in the envelope, and just as I slip them into my bag, I’m relieved to see a couple who appear to be coming into the coffeehouse.

  I distract myself with waiting on these kids, faces that are vaguely familiar; although, I’m pretty sure they attend McFadden. But I treat them like old friends as I take their orders, and we talk about how cold it is outside, and they tell me about the wreck they saw on Forty-Ninth and Berger on their way over here.

  “There were two ambulances,” the short blond girl tells me.

  “I hope it’s not too serious,” I say as I hand her a cappuccino.

  “Well, it was serious for the car,” the guy says. “It was totaled.”

  Business in the coffeehouse picks up just a little. Not enough to be overwhelming, but I appreciate the distraction from my somewhat disturbing letter. I consider calling my dad, although he’d still be at work, or even Natalie. But I’m not really sure what I’d say. I just feel this need to tell someone about it.

  Finally, just a little before five, the coffeehouse is completely empty and I’m thinking this could be a good night to close early, but then Cesar comes in and looks like he’s ready to go to work.

  “It’s pretty dead in here,” I tell him as I start to take off my apron.

  He nods. “I see that. But maybe it’ll pick up later this evening.”

  “I don’t know,” I tell him. “The weather might be keeping people inside.”

  “Well, if it’s too slow, I might call Chloe and see what she says.”

  I pick up my bag, but as I swing it up, it turns upside down—emptying most of the contents all over the black and white checkerboard floor. I make a groaning sound and stoop to pick my junk up, shoving it back into my bag.

  Cesar bends down to help, finally handing me the large envelope. “That looks interesting.”

  I stand up, still holding the envelope and frowning at it, as if it has personally offended me.

  “Bad news?”

  “Not exactly.” I start to shove it into my bag then stop. “Just something really weird.”

  “Weird?” He kind of smiles. “That sounds intriguing.”

  “You want to hear about it?”

  “Pull up a stool,” he tells me. “I’ll pour you a drink.”

  I laugh. “You sound like a bartender.”

  “I am. Just happens to be a coffee bar. You want the regular?”

  I nod. And as he’s fixing my mocha, I pull out the letter and the photograph. When Cesar sets my mocha in front of me, I hold up the photo. “Do you think this looks like me?”

  He studies the photo, then looks at me. “Maybe…” He studies it again. “But you’re prettier.”

  I kind of blink at that. “Really? You think so?”

  He laughs. “Yeah. But who is that?”

  “My birth mother.”

&nbs
p; He slowly nods. “Ahh.”

  “It’s the first time she’s ever contacted me, and I think I’m kind of in shock.”

  “I can understand that.”

  So then I pour out the story about how I’ve always assumed the worst when it came to my birth mom. “Well, except for the times when I imagined that she was royalty and that I was actually a princess who’d been stolen at birth. But I eventually outgrew those fantasies and just settled on the most realistic explanation.”

  “So, aren’t you pleased to discover that she’s a well-educated, intelligent woman who’s living a fulfilling life?”

  I frown at the photo still in my hand. “You’d think that I’d be happy to find that out…”

  “But you’re not?”

  “It just raises a whole bunch of new questions.”

  “Like?”

  “Like why did she give me up?”

  “Maybe you should ask her.”

  “Maybe.”

  “But you’re not sure.”

  “The truth is, I’m not sure I want to have anything to do with her.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know…” I look out the window and notice that a few snowflakes are starting to fall. “Maybe it’s because of my mom—my real mom.”

  He nods, as if he gets this. “Like it would be disloyal to your real mom to get to know your birth mother?”

  “Maybe.” I take a slow sip of my coffee.

  “I wonder what your real mom would say about that.”

  I sigh. “Yeah, that’s probably a good point. I’m sure she’d encourage me to get to know this woman. I’m just not sure if I’m ready for that yet.”

  “Sounds like the ball is in your court, Kim. It’s not like she can force herself on you—living halfway around the world, that is.”

  “That is a comfort.”

  “Maybe you just need some time to let this news settle,” he says as he wipes a small spill of coffee from the counter. “Take it to God and see what He’s telling you to do.”