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She sounds like she’s talking more to herself than to me, so I say nothing.
She turns to face me. “Antonio wasn’t born here. Mitch, the old town doctor, and his wife, Abby, adopted him after he had an accident. Until now, he still doesn’t remember anything about his life before the accident.”
My jaw drops. My heart sinks to the pit of my stomach.
I knew I was missing something about Antonio. I got the feeling there was a tragedy in his past, something terrible that hurt him, changed him and made him into the man he is now. It never occurred to me that he was suffering from amnesia.
Antonio doesn’t remember anything from his childhood? He doesn’t know who his real parents are?
I can’t think of anything sadder. True, I’ve been through hell. I’ve been thrown away, abused, locked up, starved, treated like dirt. There were several times I wanted to die just to end my suffering. Even so, there were some good memories that kept me sane, flashes of light in the darkness that gave me hope – memories of a happy childhood before everything fell apart, of a mother who loved me before she was taken, of a boy who sang to me before Jim got rid of him.
What if I didn’t have those? I can’t begin to imagine how hard life would be. As for the bad memories, the stuff of my nightmares, I wish I hadn’t had to experience them, but now that I have, I know I can’t just throw them away either. They’re a part of me, too. They remind me of how much I’ve overcome. They’ve made me tougher, wiser somehow. Because of them, I’ve learned to endure, to not let anyone break me, to not expect anything of anyone, to know when to tell the truth, to lie or to stay silent, to count my blessings and make the most of them, to find peace in solitude and be wary of company, to make myself useful and find ways to fight back. I might not have been able to live, but because of all the dreadful things I’ve been through, I’ve learned to survive.
Without them, maybe I wouldn’t have this pain in my chest, but then it would be empty instead, and that’s worse. How can you know real happiness if you haven’t experienced real suffering? How would you know what to feel if you can’t remember anything you felt before? How can you be anything if you don’t know who you are?
So this is what Antonio meant when he said he knew what it felt to have nothing.
Now, I understand, and I can’t help but be overwhelmed by sadness. I can’t breathe. My head spins. Tears sting my eyes.
“Don’t,” Sally warns me as she places her hand on my arm. “Don’t give Antonio that look. Feeling sorry for him won’t help him. It will only make him feel worse. Trust me, he hates it.”
I understand. I would hate it if people felt sorry for me. It would make me feel even more helpless, weak. The last thing I want is to make Antonio feel that, especially since he’s never done it to me even though I must have looked so weak and helpless when he found me. He’s only treated me with kindness and respect. I should do the same.
I wipe the tears from the corners of my eyes. Then I draw a deep breath and nod.
“Of course.”
I try to push my sadness aside as I reach for the red paper bag on the table, the last of the several Sally brought. The first item I pull out of it is a frilly yellow bonnet with butterflies.
My frown turns upside down. Cute. I guess Sally really does have an eye for these things.
“What about you? Is there anything you want to share with me?” she asks. “I’m a good listener, and I promise I won’t share it with anyone else.”
I look at Sally.
Like Antonio, she’s been kind to me. She hasn’t said a bad word about me. She dotes on Lara. She teaches me things. She’s like the big sister I never had, actually, and something tells me that I can trust her. She’s just confided in me about Antonio’s past. I want to tell her all about my own past. I do. It would be nice to have someone listen to and understand what I’ve been through. But I don’t feel ready.
“I…”
“It’s okay,” Sally cuts me off with a smile. “You don’t have to tell me anything right now if you’re not ready. There’s no rush.
My eyebrows arch. Did she just read my mind?
“Also, maybe I’m not the first person you should tell it to,” she adds. “I’m not the one who saved you.”
My lips curve into a soft smile. Sally really is a kind person.
