Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 66057 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66057 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
I had to fix her.
“Mind your own business, Christian.” Her voice was an equal mixture of anger and sadness as her face frowned, almost like she regretted what she’d just replied. Allowing her memories to speak for themselves.
Her response stung, but it didn’t shock me. We were strangers, and she barely knew me. She’d only heard awful things about me. I couldn’t blame her for not wanting to open up. If anything, I was happy her first instinct was to protect herself.
Her wall was so tall and thick, and all I wanted to do was break through her icy demeanor.
I wanted her to let me in. If only for a second, I’d take it.
“I’m making it my business, Kinley, but I’ll settle for a smile instead.”
She narrowed her eyes at me, and I took the opportunity to sit in the same spot she’d just stood from. Waiting for I didn’t know what.
I did the only thing I could in a moment that felt bigger than us.
I spoke from the heart. “You know we all have sad stories,” I shared, catching myself off guard. I’d never opened up to anyone, but she wasn’t just anyone, and I knew that then. “The first time I realized bad things happen to good people, I was seven.” Outside of my parents and therapist, I’d never admitted that to anyone. “The first time I grasped that I couldn’t do anything but pray for those bad things to go away, I was eight.”
I felt her take a seat beside me, fully aware she was hanging onto my every word. I swallowed hard, never feeling as vulnerable as I did then.
“The first time I understood that prayer wasn’t enough to make those bad things go away, I was nine.” I glanced over at her, needing to look into her eyes.
The concern for me was written clear across her face. She, more than anyone, understood what I was admitting.
“Now the first time I sat in a therapist’s office, telling my doctor I was terrified those bad things were going to take away my best friend, I was ten.”
She jerked back. “Julian?”
I nodded.
“I had no idea.”
“Yeah, nobody does.”
“But he’s okay now, right?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know if he’ll ever really be okay. The shit he’s seen and been through is what nightmares are made of, and it doesn’t just go away. It stays with you and becomes a part of you, and if you let it, it’ll consume you.”
“I’m so sorry, Christian. I can’t imagine how hard it was for you to see your best friend in pain. Sometimes I think that’s worse, you know? Seeing the ones we love the most hurting and not being able to stop it. No matter how hard you try, how much you cry and fight for them, in the end, all you’re doing is slowly dying right along with them.” She paused, letting her words sink in. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Yeah. You can do something for me.”
“What’s that?”
I didn’t hold back, speaking with conviction, “You can tell me your sad story.”
—Kinley—
I walked down to that lake to be alone.
With my thoughts.
My memories.
My trauma.
As much as I hated to admit it, I missed my mom. The sight of her, the smell of her, the sound of her voice, the feel of her warmth, her sadness, her happiness, her love…
Even her hate.
The familiarity of it all.
It was comforting when it was supposed to have been afflicting.
I thought about his request before shaking my head. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
“The beginning, Kinley. I want you to tell me everything.”
I stared into his eyes, feeling like we were on the same side. Both of us knew what it was like to pray and not feel heard. In the blink of an eye, my life changed overnight, and I was no longer living under the same roof as the woman who was supposed to be my mother but acted more like the drunk she was.
I shut my eyes, recalling the last time I saw her.
“Please!” she yelled loud enough to break glass. “Please don’t take her from me! She’s all I have! She’s all I fucking have!”
“Ugh!” I grabbed my head in between my hands.
Those were the last words I heard her say as child services dragged me out of our Section 8. Day in and day out, I lived and breathed her demons until one day I was set free, but I still felt like a caged bird. There was no running away from my memories.
Not then.
Not now.
I hadn’t realized I’d begun crying, tears spilling out over what I could never change. It didn’t matter how much I’d tried, how much I’d cried, nothing ever changed.
Not with her.
Not with us.
I might have been her daughter, but she was not my mother, not in the ways that counted.