A Not-So-Simple Life (20 page)

“Hey, if you ever want to talk at school or wherever,” he told me as Kim and I were getting ready to leave, “I’m around.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

And I will keep it in mind. In fact, as I record all this in my journal, it seems to be dominating my mind. Or maybe I’m just using it as a smoke screen to keep from thinking about the other topic of the evening: God. I’m just not sure what I think about that yet.

I actually went to church with Kim and Uncle Allen today. But only because it was Mother’s Day and they were both a little down. Unfortunately, I think all three of us were pretty down by the time the service ended. With the focus on mothers and with all of us feeling deprived in one way or another…well, you’d think preachers would be more understanding!

Uncle Allen invited me to go to lunch with them afterward, but I begged off. I told them I had homework, which was a lie. Although I did want to work on a sketch for art class tomorrow. Mostly I wanted to be alone. But once I got home, I puttered in the garden, which is looking really good. I needed to get out of that house. It’s like the walls were closing in on me. So I borrowed Kim’s bike, which she had given me permission to do, and I put my sketching stuff in a backpack and took off.

I ended up at this pretty park by the river, found a vacant bench, sat down, and opened my sketchpad and then just sat there like a stone, staring at a blank piece of paper. Finally I forced myself to move the pencil across the page. I decided I would draw the tree near the river, but I barely had the trunk sketched when I couldn’t continue. I just stared down at the unfinished tree until it became this blur. And because tears were pouring down my face, it became a soggy blur. So I set it aside.

Okay, I knew I was doing some sort of grieving. And as weird as it seems, I knew I was partly grieving the loss of my own mother. Oh, Shannon’s not dead. But she’s been convicted and moved to the state penitentiary. She’s doing time. My dad called me Thursday night to inform me that she had been sentenced to five years for possessing and delivering a controlled substance—cocaine.

“Delivering?” I asked.

“Yes. Apparently she was involved in some sleazy business venture to make some fast money.”

I’m sure I swore when I heard this. And Dad acted like he hadn’t heard me. I’m also sure Lynnette had as much to do with this as Shannon. Not that it matters. My mom is a fool.

“Shannon could’ve been sentenced for as much as twenty years,” he told me, like that was supposed to make me feel better. “And according to her attorney, she’s going to appeal her sentence anyway.”

“Does she have much of a chance?”

“I doubt it.” He sighed loudly. “I feel really bad about this, Maya. I feel like you were dealt a pretty sad hand when it came to parents.”

For his sake I tried to brighten up a bit. “Hey, it’s not your fault that Shannon’s a mess. At least she had a decent sister.”

He kind of laughed. “Yeah, there’s something to be thankful for.”

We talked a little longer, but I could tell he had other things to do. Like getting some sleep since it was the middle of the night in Paris. But before he hung up, he gave me the address of the prison. “Shannon would love to hear from you.”

I told him that I’d write her. But even as I said it, I knew it was a lie. Why should I write her? Why should I care if she rots in prison? And yet as I sat there on that park bench, all I could think was that my mom was locked up, probably
wearing one of those ugly orange jumpsuits, probably completely depressed—on Mother’s Day. Sure, it was her own stupid fault that she was in there, but how could I not feel sorry for her?

So I picked up my pencil, and although the paper was still soggy, I wrote over the unfinished trunk of the tree, “Happy Mother’s Day, Shannon. I’m sure you’ve seen better days. Take care. Maya.” Then I folded it and stuffed it into my backpack. I may send it. Or I may not. I doubt that a note like that would bring her much comfort. Mostly I don’t care. I don’t want to think about her. I can’t.

I
’ve kept pretty much to myself these past couple of weeks. I haven’t gotten into any big arguments with Natalie about anything. I don’t even open my mouth. I know Kim thinks I’m depressed, and she’s tried to encourage me with some little pep talks and even suggested counseling. I pretend to listen to her, but I think I’m permanently tuned out. Apparently her dad told her about Shannon’s sentencing, because the two of them have been treating me like an explosive device, like they don’t want to set me off. Whatever.

And I haven’t really talked to anyone at school either. Not even Dominic, who always waves and smiles. I’m sure Marissa and Jake think I have a serious personality disorder. Or that I’m a witch or a zombie girl since I won’t even sit with them at lunch anymore. I’ve been packing my own lunch and eating outside. And maybe they’re right—maybe I am disturbed. Or maybe I’m simply depressed. Maybe I do need some kind of therapy. Or maybe I just need time.

Most of my focus has been on school and getting everything ready for my emancipation, which looks like it
can happen this summer. Also, I’ve been getting in my driving time. Uncle Allen has been very accommodating. And he doesn’t even seem to mind that I don’t want to talk. He actually takes along a book or a crossword puzzle to work on as I drive around like a mute girl and slowly log in my hours. I’m up to almost thirty now. And some are at night.

I feel like I’m seriously losing it tonight. Like I may be cracking up. That, like my mom, I may need to be locked up. Oh, I haven’t broken any laws. But I cannot stop crying. No one is home tonight. Uncle Allen is playing poker with his buddies from the newspaper where he works. I’m sure he was relieved to get away from me. I feel bad that I am contaminating their home with my gloom. And Kim begged me to go to youth group with her tonight, but I put on my blank face and declined.

Since they left, I have done nothing but cry…well, that and consider the easiest way to end this pain. I mean, really, what is the point? As I mentioned when I started this journal of craziness, (1) life is not fair, and (2) it’s not going to get any better. Really, why should it? How can it?

But one thing is clear. If I were to end my life—which is a distinct possibility—I would not do it here. Not in this
house that has already suffered a severe loss just a little over a year ago. No, I couldn’t do that to Kim and Uncle Allen. I couldn’t do that to my deceased aunt Patricia either.

I’ve been thinking about my aunt a lot tonight. I’ve wandered around the house and wished that her ghost would appear to me and tell me something—anything that could make sense of this madness that is called my life. But she hasn’t shown up. Then I began thinking of Grandma Carolina. But I know what she would tell me—the same things she told me when I was a little girl. “You just lean on God, baby girl. He’ll never let you down. Just hold on tight to His hand, and He’ll take care of you. He always does.”

But I don’t believe that anymore. For one thing, God has let me down. Again and again and again and again. And yet…there is this small part of me that’s not sure. Maybe I’m the one who let Him down. Maybe I’m the one who let go of His hand.

I pretended to sleep in this morning. I knew that if I were up and around, Kim would ask me to go to church with her and her dad. But I didn’t want to go. Yet as soon as they were gone, I started to cry again. Really, I don’t know how long I can go on like this. What is wrong with me?

“I want to talk to you,” Kim told me in a serious voice. She found me sitting out in the garden…rather, hiding in the garden. Or so I thought. I was sitting on an upside-down bucket behind a section of raspberries that her mother must’ve planted years ago.

“Is something wrong?” I asked as I stood up.

“Yes.”

So, worried that something might be wrong with her dad, I followed her over to the picnic table, and we sat across from each other. “What is it?” I asked.

“It’s you.”

I let out a sigh and tried not to roll my eyes.

“You’re depressed, Maya.”

Okay, then I rolled my eyes. “Ya think?”

She actually smiled then. “Yes. And I think you need help.”

“Help?”

“Like I said before, you need counseling or something.” I just shrugged.

“And I talked to Caitlin Miller about—”

I quickly stood up. “You’re talking to other people about me?” I said, towering over her. “Behind my back?”

“It’s not like that. I only asked—”

“Look, Kim, I may have problems, but they are my problems, okay?” I glared down at her. “And I’m sorry if my
problems are putting a damper on your perfect little life. I’m sure you’ll be so glad when I’m not living here anymore, and I’m working on it. Okay? I plan to be out of here by the end of June. Will that be—”

“That’s not it, Maya.” She was standing now too. “It’s just that I’m worried about you.”

“Well, don’t be.”

“You’re so unhappy, and I know why.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “You know why, do you?”

“Yes. You really do need God in your—”

“You sound just like your stupid best friend now!”

“Natalie might not have the best approach, but she’s right about that, Maya. You do need God, and you’ll never be happy until you figure that out.”

“I’m glad you know so much about me, Kim. I’m glad you know what I need. I suppose it hasn’t occurred to you that I’ve had one seriously messed-up life. That I have a mom doing time for drugs. That I have a dad who doesn’t give a—”

“We all have something difficult to deal with, Maya. You know that. But without God, we crumble. And that’s what you’re doing right now. You are crumbling…and you can’t even see it.”

I took in a deep breath then, ready to throw some more mean words at her, but it was like they were stuck. So I just turned and stomped into the house, went to my room, and
quietly shut the door. But I knew that she had nailed it. I am crumbling. I feel like I’m being smashed and pulverized into this sad little heap of…misery.

So I did something I thought I would never do. I got down on my knees, and I began to pray. Not the way I used to pray with my grandma, those sweet little prayers before bedtime. And probably not the way most people pray. But I began to just dump it all out. Like I was pouring out all the crud and mess and the stinking garbage of my life—piling it in front of God (if He was even listening)—and not caring how rotten or hopeless it all sounded. I didn’t even care if I was insulting Him. Hadn’t someone in Kim’s youth group said that you couldn’t hurt God’s feelings? Well, I was determined to give it my best shot. If He wanted to strike me dead with a lightning bolt, I was like—bring it!

But He didn’t bring it. In fact, a very strange thing happened when I was finally done. As I was sitting on the edge of the bed, blowing my nose and wiping my eyes, I realized that I had this weird feeling, this almost unrecognizable sensation. So unfamiliar I had to ask myself what it was.

It was peace. I felt a sensation of peace inside me. A quiet calmness that was so tangible, so real…I suddenly became fearful that it might go away. So I decided to take a walk. Don’t ask me why. It just seemed like a good idea. Perhaps taking a walk would somehow seal in this peace. And as I walked, I knew that the peace must’ve come from God.
But I wasn’t even sure why. Or how. Or if it would stay with me. All I knew was that I wanted it to stay with me.

Then before I went to bed, I knocked on Kim’s door. She looked surprised to see me but invited me to come in. She had been working on something on her computer. Something she obviously didn’t want me to see since she’d just turned off the screen, although I could still hear it humming.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” I began.

“I’m sorry too. I probably came on too strong and—”

“No…you were right.”

“I was right?”

“Yes. When you said I was crumbling…well, you pretty much nailed it. I have been crumbling.” “Oh…”

“Anyway, I don’t exactly know what it means, but I actually prayed today. It’s the first time I’ve prayed in a long, long time.”

She smiled now. “Cool.”

“I guess. I mean, all I know is I prayed and sort of dumped a lot of stuff on God. And then I got this really amazing sense of peace.” I looked curiously at her now, wondering if she would get it.

She nodded. “Oh yeah. I know exactly what you mean.”

“Really?”

“It’s a supernatural kind of peace, right?”

“Yeah. I mean, I could really feel it.”

She nodded again. “It’s from God, Maya.”

“I guess I knew that.” I took a deep breath. “Anyway, I was also thinking about what you were saying about Caitlin and the counseling thing…and I think I’d like to meet with her.”

“She’s not a certified counselor, but she’s really good at listening. And then if you need someone with more training, you know, for anything serious, she could recommend some good resources.” Kim wrote down a phone number and handed it to me. “Just give her a call.”

“Thanks.”

And so I’m thinking maybe I will. I’m not sure that it will do any good, but I guess it couldn’t hurt.

I met with Caitlin after school today. I would’ve canceled it, except I had already arranged for her to pick me up, and I didn’t want to be rude. The reason I wanted to cancel was probably just a case of cold feet. I wasn’t sure that I really wanted to take the next step in whatever this is. Also, my week so far has been going pretty well. I mean, I’ve been talking to people again, and I am starting to feel sort of okay.

I suppose the main reason I didn’t cancel with Caitlin was because I was worried about what would happen if I didn’t talk to someone. What if this feeling of peace went away? And already, it seemed to be fading slightly. And that scared me.