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Chapter Forty-Two
Nala
“Our sixteen weeks are over after today. As your mentor, I can say you’ve all made great strides. It also means I have to warn you that you’re never truly healed, that just because you get to leave this group doesn’t mean you won’t need support at different times. Don’t hesitate to reach out.”
I look at the girls, each of them wearing the lei my mother helped me make last night. It’s not a tradition here, but she always told me that wearing flowers made a person feel and look beautiful, and it’s the biggest thing she misses about Hawaii.
“Everywhere, people are greeted with leis. It’s a sign of affection.”
So, I always make my girls a lei at the end of each session—to show affection, and hope they find something beautiful in themselves. Just like I always give them flower petals to release when we do our last check-in; symbols of releasing the past, burying it, letting it go.
I need some of that today.
It’s been almost three weeks since I’ve spoken to Malcolm. Whether he heard me, or someone threatened him, he hasn’t been back to my apartment, hasn’t called or texted. Every now and then I get a delivery, a random box full of food or supplies, or beautifully useless things that I can’t help but admire. The first week it was a hibiscus plant, the second, a year’s worth of granola bars and gift-cards to grocery stores, along with five pints of frozen strawberry ice-cream. Last week, it was rare stones, an entire bag of them, all in differing colors of blue.
I know they’re from him, but no one in the family confirms it, and he hasn’t left a note, so sending a text seems wrong. But remaining silent does, too. Just like being without him feels wrong, but I’m not sure how to go back and make everything all right.
“Last check-in. What tools or reminders are you going to take with you to help your healing process continue?”
As always, there’s a small lull between my question and the first person to answer. Just as it’s Cassie who takes the leap first. “I’m going to remember that people who hate me because I’m fat don’t know me—they don’t know the person inside of my body who isn’t fat or skinny, or ugly or beautiful, but who is just a person, working to survive. And I’m going to remember that when my mom wants to smother me, it’s because she loves me, not because she’s trying to change me.”
I hand her the small basket of flowers from my board and she takes a handful, sprinkling them around her board. The rest of the girls clap, and her cheeks pink with pleasure.
Lena clears her throat. “Yeah, I need to remember that, too. Like, when my grandma gives me rules, it’s not because she hates me, even when that’s how it feels. It’s because she doesn’t want to lose me, like she lost my mom. Like I lost my mom.”
She blinks rapidly then, clearing those misting eyes because Lena considers herself the badass of the group, and this moment—the one she just acknowledged about losing her mom—is huge. Grabbing a handful of flowers, she throws them unceremoniously into the water, and unlike Cassie’s that sprinkle like beautiful-colored drops, hers clump together like a pack of weeds.
Mya giggles, and so does Lena. “Shit—I mean, shoot—I’ll go next. I’m going to remember that no matter how bad it seems, I can wait it out. I mean, frick, I hope I can. It’s not worth going back to juvie, or coming down from drugs again.”
She grabs flowers, but pauses before throwing them. “Oh, and I’m going to remember that just because someone tells me they love me, doesn’t mean I have to give up everything for them. Especially when they’re an asshole.”
She grins cheekily, spreading her flowers with flare.
Liza goes before Nora, which isn’t usual, but feels fitting since her story is similar to Mya’s. I can see her face now, because she cut her hair and pulled it back in a half ponytail. It’s still black, but it doesn’t look as bedraggled or unwashed, like maybe she’s able to look in the mirror and start seeing something besides the girl she was. “I’m going to remember to call someone, to stand up for myself, to keep sayingno, for me and for others. And I’m going to remember to do something positive, every day, just to remind myself what it feels like to be happy.”
She grabs so many petals they overflow onto the water, and her eyes shine with tears when she spreads them like glitter.
Nora nods, licking her lips lightly before speaking. “I’m going to remember that not everyone who hurts us means to. I’m going to remember my mom as she was before she died, and my dad as he was before he couldn’t look at me. And I’m going to remember all of you, and your stories, so when I’m thinking of cutting, or wondering if my dad will ever be able to talk to me or hug me again, I’ll know I’m not the only one who feels this way. And maybe…maybe it will help.”
Her hands sprinkle the petals delicately, as if she’s afraid of bruising them.
My heart is thudding, my eyes are glassy, and my hands are trembling when I take my own handful of flowers. I can’t share my story—as a mentor, a counselor, it’s important to show compassion and empathy, but never to use the group as a crutch or a sounding board. Still, I can give them one last piece of me, and hope it helps them.
“I’m going to remember all of you, too, and the way you worked together to heal. And I’m going to remember these words you’ve said, and use them in my own life when things are hard. Because things are always at least a little difficult,” I warn, both for them and me. “No life is perfect; no life is easy. The important thing to remember is that every life is worth it, even when it seems like maybe it would be easier to stop living.”
Or stop loving. Stop caring. Stop fighting.
Is it easier, though? I wonder this when I say goodbye to the girls, and when I pack up the last of the paddle boards to go back to the rental place. I’ve let Malcolm go because he broke my trust and hurt me. But like Liza said, he didn’t mean to. This time…it wasn’t like last time. He didn’t forget about me, didn’t stop thinking about me, he just loved me in the way he knew how.
He fought for me, and whether it was right or wrong, he stood up for me. And I made him leave because fighting like Malcolm fights scared me, it opened me up and reminded me I’m vulnerable. But that’s what life is about…being vulnerable and still standing. Being scared and moving forward. Being hurt and healing.
My phone beeps and I look down, reading the alert that flashes across the screen. Then I get into my Jeep, and cross back toward Mission Bay, and Ocean Beach skatepark, calling Jordan on my way.
I need a favor.
