Old Mr. George

          He was an odd man to look at.  I could tell in his prime he could wear a suit and he wore it well while he was in New York trying to make something of himself.  He had been a part of a group of Southern men who felt the need, had an obsession with going north and making something of themselves.  My momma had told me all about it when she explained Mr. George to me.  She said that while a few men stuck it out, worked hard, and made it that he hadn’t been so lucky.  He was determined to have a fairy tale life, and failing wasn’t an option.  What started out as a five year plan turned into twenty before he knew it.  He had failed at job after job and the girl waiting for him back home stopped waiting, and he kept trying.  Mom said that he didn’t stop until he got word that his momma had died and came home for the funeral.  Momma said that she saw him looking out at the Mississippi sunset and though it wasn’t much she said she saw his shoulders slump and his body sigh.  She said that’s when he gave up.

            I saw him now sitting in front of old Ms. Dorothy’s general store, but I never said anything to him.  Momma thinks a failed man is dangerous, says no telling what he’ll do when he has nothing left to live for.  He always made me wonder if I had or would have a fairy tale ending to live for, and made me fear what would happen if I failed like Mr. George.

Love of the Road

I like when people use journey metaphors.  It always makes me picture this long empty road in the middle of the desert leading to the most breathtaking mountains that almost don’t seem real.  I love that picture in my mind, just me and the stereo flying along, top down, wind in my hair, and I smile.  But the one thing that bugs me is that no metaphorical journey is like my mental picture.  Real journeys usually require a lot of walking and the path is never as straight or clear as my road.  And most, unfortunately, real life doesn’t have a soundtrack playing in the background.  Maybe that’s why I like driving so much.  For just an hour or two I can imagine life is easy even when in the back of my mind I can’t forget it’s not.  Maybe a few miles ahead I’ll find answers; maybe just around the bend.

Two Places

This was my first experience away from home for longer than a week or two at a time and when you spend longer than that you are forced to truly adapt to where you are.

You see:
You can pretend for a week even two but when you live somewhere; when you wake up and go to sleep somewhere and it becomes familiar, expected, then you have to become a part of where you are. Now if that place is somewhere positive and accepting then it is an easy transition, but if you are on unfamiliar ground, with unforgiving faces then you try to find a mask that will make the stay bearable, so that maybe they won’t figure out who you really are. They can’t be trusted with that. They may pass judgment over that mask, but because you know you didn’t show them your heart you can hold onto the truth that their critical analysis is a lie. However, in hiding yourself you lose yourself.

But if you can go to a place where love is ever-present, where acceptance is the rule and not the exception then you just might be tempted to put away that mask you’ve been wearing. You might squint from the sun that you can’t remember seeing in so long, and you may smile. The idea is strange to you; the fact that you are loved. You don’t deserve this love, you haven’t earned it and you certainly haven’t been an outstanding person recently. How did this happen? It hits you with just one smile, you are loved completely not because you deserve it, and you know they see you. A knot forms in your throat and tears begin to form in your eyes. What is this? You don’t cry. Still, there’s a chance someone wants to know you, someone loves you, not your mask, you. The walls around your heart begin to crumble; the anger and defenses melt as you are surrounded by laughter and kindness. Every day you are excited to see what the day will bring and when they ask the questions everyone has avoided before you tense up. You hesitate for a moment but then cannot help but answer, because you want them to see you. You want someone in the world to understand your pain. You make yourself look into their eyes looking for pity, but you don’t find it. All you see there is compassion and the tears for your pain. Before you know it you are surrounded by a loving embrace and you are crying too. This is healing you think, it has to be. It must because you’ve never felt more loved, safer and freer than you do at this moment. This is it, spring has come and you will not have to stay in the bonds of winter anymore. When you go somewhere and you are truly loved nothing can stop you from finding who you are, from flying.

Counseling, Who Does It Really Heal?

            “You couldn’t possibly understand!” she screamed.   “No one can!”  Marie looked at the girl in front of her with pain etched across her face.  She saw the tears fighting to escape Sam’s eyes, and how frantically she was trying to stop them.  She saw how desperately the girl was trying to cling to some kind of strength.

            “Yes, Sam, I think I do understand,” Marie whispered.  She leaned forward and locked eyes with Samantha.  “You feel violated, and your parents, religion, society, and even your friends have no idea how to help you make sense of that.  You’ve wandered so far from yourself and the truth you can’t even recognize it anymore.

            “As a girl you were probably raised your entire life to regard sex as something special, sacred, and to be kept under lock and key but within moments it was ripped from your grasp.  Worse, your body may have betrayed you in that moment and felt pleasure, confusing your mind and soul even more.  It made you feel like a whore, and it gave the words, ‘you wanted it and you deserved it’ merit.  You thought to yourself, maybe they’re all right.  Guess what?”

            She looked away, and a single tear slid gingerly down her cheek.  Her raven locks did their best to hide her face from your view.  Her arms braced against her chest for whatever truths or lies you have to tell her.

            “They are wrong.” Marie whispered.  Sam looked up slowly, and Marie gently pushed her hair off of her face.

            “What if they’re not?” Sam said.  Her face was a mass of conflicting emotions.  Sam was angry, terrified, hopeful, and destroyed, but Marie had been there and she knew there was hope.  She smiled at Sam and took her hand.

            “They are and in time we can find that truth together.  Would you like to tell me what happened?” she asked.

            “I got invited to someone’s house for a Sunday barbecue, and even though I wasn’t sure of the guy and his friends I went anyway,” Sam began.  “At first everything was okay, there was a big crowd with food and beer.  I got comfortable, and then I started drinking.”

            She hesitated, and guilt washed across Sam’s face.  Marie gently squeezed her hand encouraging her to go on.  Sam sighed and continued.

            “I didn’t realize how drunk I was getting until I looked up and almost everyone had left.  There was a guy there, and at first I thought he was cute.”

            She hesitated for a moment.  Marie could tell where the rest of the story was going, but she was unsure whether Sam was ready or willing to go to that place again so soon.

            “Everything’s a little fuzzy now,” Sam said.  Marie looked at her and nodded.  She knew that to a degree that was true, but she also knew Sam probably remembered more than she was saying.

            “Whenever you are ready, when you remember we can talk about it,” Marie assured her.  She looked down at the girl in front of her, knowing she was barely holding it together, and knowing there would be many horrible days ahead and a tear slid down her cheek. 

She began to smile though because she knew that eventually the days would become brighter and the memories would hurt a little less.  She knew one day Sam would make some form a peace with that day, and even though it would never be okay it would eventually be alright.  Marie had learned the hard way that sometimes she saw most clearly through the tears in her eyes.