Bent not Broken (337 page)

“Oh yeah, definitely. He said I won’t have to pay rent or nothin’. It’ll work out great. My girl, Destiny, she’s waitin’ for me, too. I just hope the next ten weeks fly by.” Greg was like a bouncing ball of pent-up energy.

“For your sake, I hope they do too,” I told him.

Greg swayed back and forth on his feet. “Well, I can’t stay. I just asked Officer Harris if I could swing by and say hi. He told me I could.”

I smiled. “I’m glad you did. You made my day.”

Greg grinned ear to ear. “You always make mine too. See you later, Mrs. H.”

“See you later, Greg.”
Let me reiterate. I love my job.

I never knew when I stepped foot into Fairbanks for the very first time just how much this job would end up meaning to me. I loved it in the months prior to Alexis’s birth, but it seemed as though my job had become my saving grace. Every time I thought of home, of my useless husband, of my mentally and physically exhausting role as a mother, of the depression that rotted the very essence of my soul, I would dive further into these clients and bury that hopelessness and despair. These kids were my lifeline—the heartbeat of my empty spirit.

Chapter Six

CHRIS

Session after session, stepping through Mrs. Honeycutt’s door got a little bit easier. My dread lessened and my stubbornness weakened each time I met with her. Much to my dismay, she was slowly but surely getting to me. She would cut into me with those bright, green eyes and I’d bleed my feelings out all over the place like a rare-cooked steak.

Mrs. Honeycutt sat in her usual chair, across from me on the sofa, eyeing me with that same heartfelt compassion that always gripped my fucking heart.
Damn. I’m done for.

“Chris,” she leaned toward me in her seat, “I want you to talk to me a little more about Kaitlyn today. Tell me about her. I know you’ve been struggling with this since you’ve been here. Maybe getting a little more off your chest will help.” She smiled expectantly at me like I’d be eager to rip out my own fucking heart and stomp on it.

I groaned, knowing how hard this was going to be. “You already know about Kaitlyn,” I whined.

She nodded. “Yes, I know how you’re hurting over her, but I want to know more than that. I want to know how you met her, how you fell in love with her—good things like that. I want you to leave with a smile on your face today, remembering the good times.” She smiled as though she could use a pick-me-up too. I wondered what was behind that forced smile and those tired eyes.

She leaned back in her chair. “So, why don’t you tell me about the first time you saw her?”

I rubbed my hands across my face. I wasn’t sure I was ready for this, but Mrs. Honeycutt sat there, eager to hear something good—something happy. She definitely looked like she needed her spirits boosted, and I didn’t want to disappoint her. Besides, remembering the good things about Kaitlyn helped me get through a lot of shitty days. So, I relaxed in my seat and thought back on that day, telling her all about it.

I didn’t know why I couldn’t just go back to my old school after I left Fairbanks the first time, but my mom insisted I needed a new set of friends. It wasn’t like I murdered someone. Damn! I mean, we were just playing with firecrackers. But there I was in that godforsaken town…in that ancient house with creaky floors and old plumbing…in that stupid school where the teachers grew up there and never left. I thought maybe I’d find someone, hell, anyone who wanted to get out of that place as much as I did. I had big dreams. I was gonna make it big.

I slipped my hoodie over my head and threw my guitar on my back. I wanted a chance to walk through the school and learn my way around. Besides, I needed to get my schedule for the next day.

“Here you are, Chris,” the receptionist said as she handed me my schedule. “The last school bell just rang, so you should have a little time to find all your classes before the teachers leave for the day. But please do not be in the hallways after 3:45pm,” she rushed out. “Our custodian will be checking for stragglers and locking up certain areas of the school for the evening.” She eyed me suspiciously, chuckling nervously as if I were wearing a ski mask and carrying a loaded pistol. I could hardly blame her since there was a certain stigma attached to the word “juvie.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied and winked at her on my way out the door. She giggled like she hadn’t been winked at in a long time.

I easily found all of my classes. I even introduced myself to a few of the teachers. My favorite class, by far, would be Theatre Arts. Ms. Carducci seemed like a real gem…a diamond in the rough. She was really sweet. I knew she and I would get along just fine. My favorite parts of her classroom were all the instruments she kept stored around the room. She even had a fucking ukulele!

“You never know when we’ll be doing a beach scene. A ukulele may come in handy someday,” she’d said with a laugh.

I was still smiling when some jerk rammed into me with his shoulder as he angrily pushed past me.

“Dumb little bitch,” he muttered under his breath.

Steam instantly shot from my ears, and I clenched my fists. “What the fuck did you just call me?” Juvie had a way of making the act of balling my fists up become a natural reaction to almost everything.

“Not you,” he grumbled and stormed off.

I knew that punk better watch himself. I stared after him while he stomped toward the field house near the football field.

I walked to the front of the gymnasium where some dudes were skateboarding. Hanging with skateboarders wasn’t really my thing, but I saw some kid beating the pavement with some drumsticks. Another guy was sitting on the base of the bulldog statue, picking out a few notes on his guitar. I knew immediately that I was amongst friends.

I sat down on the retaining wall near the kid with the guitar and started to strum. Together, we all got a melody and a beat going. Before long, several of us broke out into song. Chicks dig that shit. The skateboarders even seemed to enjoy our performance.

I was lost in the music when I saw her. The epitome of female beauty. It wasn’t even her nice rack or that tight ass that I noticed first. It was her smile…that wide grin with the cute dimple on the side of her cheek.

“I will. See you later, Allen,” she called to one of the skateboarders as she walked past.

I stopped strumming and looked her in the eyes, catching her gaze. Damn, she was so fucking beautiful. Dark brown doe eyes that looked back at me. I can’t explain what occurred in that moment, but I think she felt it too. A feeling of calmness washed over me. I couldn’t tear myself away from her stare, and I wondered who that chick was who had me melting into a sappy puddle on the pavement? That didn’t happen to me. Ever. At least not until that very moment.

I felt it—a connection that I couldn’t explain. I knew in an instant that this was a girl I wanted to get to know. I didn’t know why or how, but I knew it would happen. Some crazy force of nature or some shit.

She was down the stairs and out of my sight when I finally got my wits about me to start strumming again.

“So, the guy…that was the one you pulled a knife on later?” Mrs. Honeycutt asked.

“Huh?” Her voice jarred me from my thoughts and I shook my head a little to come to my senses.

She nodded. “The guy…the one that bumped into you. That was him? The one you got into a fight with?”

“Oh, uh…yeah,” I said, furrowing my eyebrows. “Turns out that was him.”

Mrs. Honeycutt frowned, but quickly recovered, “And so when did you actually get to talk to Kaitlyn?”

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “The next day. We had class together. I could tell I made her nervous.” A wide smile crept up on my face, remembering her stammering and blushing.

“Good memory?” Mrs. Honeycutt asked, grinning ear to ear.

“Yep,” I said, pleasantly surprised by my sudden happy mood.

She nodded, glancing down at the floor. “It helps to think back on happy times.”

For a moment I wondered if she was directing that comment to me…or herself.

****

SALEM

Group counseling was by far my favorite thing about Thursdays. The boys always grumbled about it, but by the end of the session they all felt a little more relaxed and restored.

“Would anyone like to share a childhood memory with us today?” I asked, glancing around.

The guys liked to talk about their life outside of juvie, so starting the session by sharing memories usually got them to open up a little more for the session.

Greg raised his hand. “I’ve got one, Mrs. H!” he blurted.

“Okay, Greg. Whatcha got for us today?” Leave it to Greg to be the first one to share.

Greg rubbed his hands together excitedly. “Alright, this one time...”

“At band camp,” DeAndre interrupted. The room erupted with laughter while I chuckled inwardly. DeAndre unmistakably held the title of Class Clown.

“Shut up, douchebag,” Greg barked.

“Now, now boys. Let Greg finish,” I chided nicely. The boys stifled their laughter and Greg continued.

“Anyway, like I was saying, this one time my dad took us to a theme park. It was the only time I’ve ever been to one in my life. I remember it like it was yesterday. I was ten. He talked me into riding the Howler, this huge roller coaster that flipped upside down twice and barrel-rolled three times.” Greg used hand gestures to emphasize the size and structure of the ride. “I don’t know how he talked me into getting on it, but he did. And I loved it! We rode it two more times after that until my little sister cried. She and my mom were waiting for us at the exit because she was too short to ride it with us. I guess she got tired of waiting. Anyway, my dad bought us cotton candy and funnel cakes that day. And we got to play all these arcade games. It was a great day!” Just then, Greg got quiet. A somber look crossed his face.

“What happened, Greg?” I prodded.

“I just remembered,” he grumbled. “It was the last weekend he spent with us before he took off and never came back…Maybe it isn’t such a great memory after all.” He slumped in his chair, his eyes glossing over as he stared at a spot on the floor.

I remembered the day my dad never came back, and my heart broke for Greg. “Thank you for sharing it with us, Greg. It’s always nice to remember the fun times we had in life, even despite the tough times.”

I don’t know what possessed me to say it, but I did. After all, this wasn’t
my
therapy session, but I’d found that sometimes sharing my own life experiences helped others cope with their own.

“My dad died when I was five,” I told the group. A few sets of eyes grew wide and several of the guys leaned in, listening. Others continued to slouch in their chairs as if they weren’t listening. “Sometimes it’s hard to remember him. I was so young. He traveled a lot for work. I remember the night my mom found out about the plane crash. I saw pictures of the wreckage on the news, but I didn’t quite understand. All I knew was that my daddy was gone, and he was never coming back.”

Tears threatened to form, but I willed them away. “One time, when I was in third grade, my teacher held a parent night. All the parents gathered in the classroom while students were asked to share their favorite memories. My mom came and sat down at my desk. I was so happy. I’d worked for weeks on my speech. I was nervous to stand up in front of all those parents and speak, but I was excited to share my most favorite memory of me and my daddy with the class. I told them about the time my dad took me to Italy with him when I was five…how we walked to the top of the Leaning Tower of Pisa…how we sat on the sidewalk eating ‘gelato,’ that’s what my dad said Italians called ice cream.” I smiled, remembering how excited I was to try it.

“Anyway, I told them about the little Italian restaurant where we ate, and how the ravioli was the best I’d ever eaten, even if it did have little green specks in it. I told them about my dad reading me the menu and how I laughed that the Salmon was named Carlos. A few parents chuckled about that part. My mom never cracked a smile. She just sat at my desk, completely stoic. After everyone’s speeches, I saw her whispering to the teacher at her desk. I thought I’d made her so proud of me that night.”

My voice wavered, but I continued, “But, I didn’t make her proud. On the way home that night my mom barely spoke to me. I asked her if she liked my speech. She gripped the steering wheel tightly and started crying. Instead of telling me how proud she was, she asked me why I lied to everyone. I’ll never forget the tone of her voice. ‘You’ve never been to Italy, Salem,’ she said angrily. I didn’t understand. I didn’t lie. I still remember that day with my father like it was yesterday. It was one of the last memories I had of me and my dad before he died. She insisted it was just a dream, but I knew it wasn’t.” I looked around the room at the boys’ faces staring at me. As if I were trying to convince them all, I vowed, “I
know
it wasn’t just a dream.”

Burying my face in my hands, I tried to rein in my emotions. I knew my memory was real; I just never could convince anyone else of that fact. “Sorry, boys,” I whispered. “I didn’t mean to get so carried away.”

I didn’t think I’d tear up like I did. I hadn’t talked about my father’s death in so long that I was almost numb to it—until now. My mother had ripped my recollection of one of the happiest days I’d spent with my father away from me as if I’d stolen a cookie before dinner. I had mourned over the fuzzy memory that would never quite come into focus. My heart ached, not only from the loss of my dad, but from the hole in my heart of a robbed memory.

Chris rose to his feet and walked toward me. Placing his hand on my shoulder, he didn’t say a word. Instead, he patiently allowed me the opportunity to gain my composure. Other boys followed suit, and before I knew it, five sets of sympathetic hands were resting on my shoulders.