A strong gust kicks up around me, whipping my hair over my shoulder. With my hand, I secure the frenzied strands at the nape of my neck, watching the white BMW as it pulls out of the parking lot.
Winds of change, indeed.
I inhale deeply and look skyward, attempting to understand the emotions rolling through me.
Frustration.
Anger.
Disappointment.
But most of all…guilt.
The first day I dig deep and find the courage to look up, I find myself seeing into the eyes of someone so much like me. Yet so different in how we handle our pain.
When the walls we’ve put up are taken out of play, in a way, we’re really the same person. We’re both innocent children, seeking nothing more than the love and acceptance of shitty parents, but coming up with absolutely nothing to hold on to.
I take in the people surrounding me. Some laugh and joke with their friends. Others read silently, on the curb or under a tree, successfully avoiding the masses of people surrounding them. I frown when I see a girl crying while talking on the phone. I wonder how many others I’ve willingly ignored while blinded by my own insecurity. I shake my head, and make a vow to myself.
Never again.
This is my purpose. My defining edge. My mark to be left on the world.
And from this day forward, I will find focus not on the ground beneath my feet, but the souls in front of me, silently screaming with the need to be seen.
From now on, I will see them.
8
Leave it to me to have my grand epiphany at 3:30 on a Friday afternoon, giving me no time to really exercise my newfound ability on my peers. It was kind of…anticlimactic.
It’s been twenty-four hours, and I have left absolutely no mark on the world yet. So, with a new excitement coursing through me, I decide to try my hand at making an impact in group tonight.
The chairs are arranged in an arc. I lift my head, making unwavering eye contact with the person seated in front of us. Sally Gillespie, our counselor, quietly returns my gaze. Her eyes are intelligent, her blonde hair is gathered in an unassuming ponytail, and she’s clad in her usual counseling attire: black yoga pants and a T-shirt with some funny phrase that only a psychologist would appreciate printed across the chest. Tonight, however, I actually understand the joke, and snort when I read it: Pavlov? That name rings a bell.
She’s beautiful. Sweet. Soft-spoken. But best of all, she’s open-minded as we divulge our innermost thoughts and fears, knowing there will never be any pressure to speak before we’re ready.
Our instincts have been honed by hardship, so we’ve all developed an extremely protective nature when it comes to baring our souls. Sally has never once questioned us about it—she just gives us the time we need open up and talk to her. And when she counsels us, it’s always with respect and patience.
So, yeah, she’s good people.
Sally shifts in her chair, and I stubbornly maintain eye contact. While my natural instinct screams for me to look away first, I don’t. I refuse to break our connection. I’m sure my expression is borderline feral, but I will no longer give in to my own weakness.
She eyes me suspiciously, head angled, brows furrowed, for no more than half a second. Then she grins knowingly before clearing her throat and redirecting her attention to the other Wildflowers.
“So, I’m getting an interesting vibe tonight. Anything you’d like to discuss before heading into familiar territory?”
My hand shoots upward, and three heads swivel in my direction. Sally chuckles, leaning to the side to lift the ever-present Speaking Stick from the floor. It’s quite possibly the most horrendous thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.
It’s crowned with worn, wilted feathers in an eclectic array of colors. I take hold, and the bell dangling from the bottom jingles with the exchange of hands. I frown at it. It makes me sad that some poor tree gave one of its branches unto this absurdly decorated afterlife.
Poor thing.
When I lift my gaze, Sally looks insulted.
Genny laughs.
“It is ugly, Sally. Maybe try faux peacock feathers next time. Jazz it up a bit.”
“But there’s a bell,” Sally says, her soft tone injured as she gestures toward the bottom.
I giggle, then stand.
Sally’s disappointment vanishes the moment she hears me laugh. Once she’s reseated, I recount the events of yesterday, starting with the lunch mishap, and ending with my final encounter with Leah.
When I’m done, I smile. A huge weight has been lifted. “I am not a filler piece, Sally. I will use my past to make a difference.”
Sally smiles proudly, practically bouncing in her seat at my revelation.
Adam also grins.
Lukas, however, doesn’t seem to react. His eyes are trained on me as I speak, but his expression remains impassive.
Genny, to my dismay, scoffs in blatant protest at the mention of my shared moment with Leah before reaching forward and yanking the stick from my grasp.
“Seriously?” She jerks out of her seat, fingers clenched tightly around the base, tone incredulous. “After everything she’s done, after all the shit she’s shamelessly put you through, you’re willing to let it go? Just like that?” Genny shakes her head, as though trying to rid her mind of the possibility, before continuing. “Because of one”—she curls her fingers in quotation—“‘woe is Leah!’ moment?”
Her expression hardens. “That’s bullshit. I don’t believe it.”
“Language!” Mrs. Rodriguez chastises from three rooms away.
Genny’s eyes roll in unspoken (for once) frustration. I calmly take back the Speaking Stick and look directly at my best friend so my words cannot be mistaken. “Who are we to judge someone else’s pain, Genny?” I don’t feel sad, yet my eyes well with tears. “Who are we to decide a person’s worth, based on what we see? Because between all of us”—I break to signal toward the others the room—“who could possibly understand more that how a person seems is often just a projected image of how they need to be seen to get by, not necessarily who they really are?”
Genny’s head jolts at my adamant tone, her pink bangs falling loosely over her right eye. She pushes them away and after several seconds of us staring at each other, her brows clamp together. She reaches in my direction for the stick so she may speak.
Reluctantly, I hand it over.
“Like I said yesterday, I am who I am. And who I am not is someone who makes it my mission to better my own pitiful existence by bullying others, like the very person you’re suddenly so focused on protecting. She’s a shit human being.”
My anger flares. Because she’s so focused on Leah, she’s not hearing what I’m saying. And I’m so tired of not being heard. I laugh without humor, yanking the stick back into my possession.
Sally jerks upright and out of her chair, and as much as I would like to think it’s to calm the brewing storm, I have my suspicions that her main concern is protecting her Speaking Stick from irreparable damage.
Her tiny frame enters my periphery as I respond, “Well, Genny, I’m sad to inform you that we all can’t be as perfect as you.” There’s a shared inhalation around me, but I keep on going. “Healing is a process, consisting of many stages. Yet you expect everyone to be at your level. And that’s completely unfair when some of us are just getting started.”