Bent not Broken (345 page)

In that moment, I took my final step toward him. My outstretched hand reached him. The moment my fingers connected with his shoulder, Chris crumbled. His legs buckled beneath him and he sank to the floor.

Panting breaths were immediately replaced by heartbroken sobs. “Oh god, she moved on,” he cried, gripping his head in his hands.

I kneeled beside him. “I’m sorry, Chris,” I whispered, “I’m so sorry.” Watching this hardened teenager suffer such gut-wrenching pain crushed me.

Chris hung his head, crying out from weight of his heartache. He reached out, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me toward him. He tucked his head into the crook of my neck while his shoulders shook with unyielding sorrow. We sat together on that cold, hard floor while I cradled his head, gently rocking back and forth, consoling him.

I couldn’t help the tears that streamed down my face too. I remembered the moment I finally broke down in the car that morning. I’d been walking around, wearing the mask of strength for far too long. “It’s okay,” I coaxed him. “Let it out. You’ve been strong long enough.”

He clutched me tighter, burying himself in my arms. The warmth of his hug was a sharp contrast to the cold, barren room we were huddled in.

“I loved her so much,” he said through his tears.

Gripping his shoulder, I whispered, “I know you did.”

“I loved her so fucking much, but that wasn’t enough.”

Shaking my head, I insisted, “That’s not true. You loved her enough to fight for her—to protect her. You saved her, Chris. Your love
was
enough.”

“Why does it have to hurt so bad?”

I patted his back and gave him a tight squeeze. I was wondering the same question, but for different reasons. My response to him was, “I just don’t know. A heart is a fragile thing, I guess.”

After a few minutes, he took a few deep breaths, trying to pull himself together. A catharsis of emotions was exactly what he’d needed.

Lifting his head, he peered up at me with glassy, blood-shot eyes. “Thank you for coming. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I’m always here for you,” I whispered, looking down at him. His eyes were begging for the need to be heard and understood. I nodded inwardly.
I hear you, Chris. Can you hear me?

He stared back at me, widening those deep windows to his soul as if to say, ‘I hear you.’

****

I drove away from Fairbanks that night with mixed emotions. On one hand I’d conquered the world. Helping people was the best feeling. But on the other hand, I knew the world I was headed home to. The closer I got to my house, the faster that amazing feeling of helping Chris was disappearing. I could almost feel reality’s hand reaching up to slap me in the face. Another sleepless night was on the horizon.

By the time I tiptoed through the front door, I felt as though I’d stepped into someone else’s world. This was not my life. My life was at Fairbanks—my happy world, where I was making a difference in people’s lives. Home should have been my safe haven, not the place I dreaded. I just couldn’t believe how the most precious thing I’d ever created could so easily zap my joyful spirit.

The moment I laid my keys in the dish on the table Graham thrust Alexis toward me. “Your turn,” he seethed. “I haven’t gotten her to stop crying for five minutes.”

Graham’s snarky attitude suddenly had me reeling, and a defensive spark lit up inside of me. I snatched her out of his arms, cradling her against my chest. As I looked into her deep blue eyes, it hit me how quickly my fierce protection of her could ignite. I didn’t have a problem complaining about how difficult she could be, but the minute someone else said anything, the mama bear came out in me. “Did you feed her?” I asked accusingly, narrowing my eyes at him.

“Hell yes,” he countered gruffly. “I fed her. I changed her diaper. I rocked her. I walked her. I did every fucking thing. It’s your turn now.”

Alexis flailed in my arms as she started to wail. I sighed, remembering Jenny’s prayer from the movie,
Forrest Gump,
and wishing I could turn into a bird so I could fly far away.

Chapter Thirteen

SALEM

The next morning I’d swung through a drive-thru, treating myself to a Venti-sized cup of Starbucks coffee. I had driven away from home that morning, excited to get to work and eager to get to the place where I thrived.

I glanced behind me at the guitar in the backseat. The minute I saw that guitar, propped up on a stand in the window display at a local pawn shop, I knew that I had to get it. It was perfect for Chris and any other musically-inclined kids I’d have in the future. I could keep the guitar in my office to use as a creative outlet. I was giddy with excitement.

Chris had spent countless hours working on new lyrics. I thought he’d enjoy an opportunity to put a melody to his words. To an artist, developing his craft feels like oxygen to his soul. I knew Chris would appreciate this beautiful, black breath of fresh air.

I waited until everyone was in the cafeteria before I presented it to the guys. The cafeteria was the perfect place to hear Chris play. It had the best acoustics. Barry already knew my plan and kept the kids in the cafeteria a little longer than usual.

“Gentlemen!” Officer Blevins announced loudly.

“Yes, sir!” They bellowed, nearly in unison.

The room grew silent. My heels tapped across the cold, tile floor. I’m sure they all wondered why I was walking into the cafeteria with a guitar in my hand.

I heard several guys murmuring as I walked by them.

“Is she gonna play it?” one kid whispered.

I saw Chris in the distance and noted the moment he went from looking at me to recognizing what I held in my hand. His eyes instantly lit up like a child on Christmas morning.
Score!
As I approached him, I held the guitar out to him.

Chris’s mouth dropped open and he pointed to his chest. “For me?”

His eyes seemed to shine at me with a deeper respect. I bet he was wondering if I was still thinking about what had happened last night.

I nodded, knowingly. I hadn’t forgotten. “For all of us…or rather, for anyone who can play it, but I thought of you when I bought it. I figured you might be getting a little rusty.”

With wide-eyed surprise, Chris beamed, “Oh wow, Mrs. Honeycutt, thank you!” Chris bypassed the guitar and went straight for the hug. The guitar almost went flying, but a kid sitting next to him grabbed the neck of it before it hit the ground. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me to him. “You don’t know what this means to me,” he whispered into my ear. My instantly heart swelled, knowing I’d hit the mark.

I sank into his arms, appreciating the hug that I didn’t expect, and squeezed him back. “You deserve it, Chris. Now play us a song,” I demanded with a smile as I quickly pulled away.

“You got it.” He clutched the guitar, staring dreamily at it as if he couldn’t believe what he was holding in his hands. He lightly grazed his fingers across the strings, strumming a few chords and tuning, as needed.

Shouts and whistles echoed through the room as he hopped up onto the table. Lifting his feet onto the bench seats below, he propped the guitar in his lap and stared at the ceiling, contemplating which song to play.

“Freebird!” a kid in the back yelled.

Several people laughed and more whistled. I couldn’t stop the smile from creeping onto my face. I looked around the room, watching everyone. It felt good to bring some joy into this place.

Chris started strumming, getting a feel for the new instrument in his lap.

“Ok guys, I’m going to play you a song.” He looked at me with something new in his eyes, an undeniable reverence. With a nod of his head, he said softly, “This is for you, Mrs. H. Thank you for everything.”

He opened his mouth and his throaty yet velvety baritone almost took my breath away. I couldn’t move. I was frozen in place as I watched him. He was completely confident in his words and with how he played, like he was born to do this. And I wasn’t the only one under his spell. The entire room looked like it was on pause. No one moved a muscle while he poured his heart out. I stood there, wrapping my arms around my waist as tears pooled in my eyes. I was so proud of him. He gave us everything he had through his music—showing us the essence of his soul that moved nearly everyone to tears.

With each strum of his fingers, the heavenly sound floated from the guitar while he thanked me through his lyrics. I clutched myself tighter, willing the tears away. He caught my gaze, pinning me down with the emotions behind his words.

Would take a lifetime to find the right words to say,

How much I appreciate every little thing.

You picked up the pieces, restored my faith,

Picked up my hand and showed me the way.

His voice was crystal clear. Listening to his words, I knew the time Chris had left to serve at Fairbanks was limited. I wanted to cherish every last moment. The whole room listened intently, soaking in every note, every lyric. But this moment…this moment was mine
—ours.

When he sang his last word and held onto the last note until its last decibel disappeared into thin air, not a single person breathed. Perfect stillness filled the room, and I knew there would never be another moment like this at Fairbanks.

“Thank you,” Chris whispered quietly to his audience.

Then, as if his words snapped us out of our entranced spell, the room erupted with applause. Shouts of “Wow!” and “Hell Yeah!” filled the air.

Chris caught my gaze once again. He silently mouthed the words, “Thank you.”

I nodded once, bringing my hands up to my face and covering my mouth. Tears continued to fall as I watched him high five and fist bump the guys sitting around him.
This is what I live for—this moment right here.
Chris King, the kid who supposedly had nothing going for him, shook me to my core with his beautiful soul.

****

A couple of very short weeks later, Chris bounded into my office. “Today’s the day, Mrs. Honeycutt!” He was a completely different kid than the first day I’d met him.

“I know,” I said. A hint of sorrow laced my voice. I swallowed back the lump that was already forming in my throat.
Today’s the day…

He was leaving. He was walking out of my life and would probably never look back. This was the hardest part of my job—saying goodbye. Like breath in their lungs, these kids needed me while they were at Fairbanks, but the minute they walked out the door, I typically never saw them again. I was sure I crossed their minds from time to time, but they moved on with their lives as if I never existed while they left an imprint on my heart forever. I’d been dreading this day with Chris for weeks. I knew I’d made an impact on his life, and that’s all I could hope for. From this point forward, I would no longer be a joist in the architecture of Chris’s life. He would have to continue on without my support.
And…

I’ll have to continue on without his.

For weeks, my heart had been drifting down slowly like a feather in the wind, knowing all along that this day would come. But as the final hour approached, it suddenly took a nosedive and smashed itself against the unforgiving ground.

Chris pumped his fist in the air with excitement. “Can you believe it, Mrs. Honeycutt? I’m gettin’ outta here. I’m going home.”

I just shook my head, unable to speak. Tears glossed over my eyes and I fought to hold them back. Willing my voice to cooperate, I spoke softly, “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you,” he cheerfully replied, disguising the tone of wistfulness behind his voice.

He looked so happy. I felt guilty for showing my grief over losing him, but I couldn’t help it.

I swallowed back the lump that had already begun forming in my throat. “I’m excited for you, Chris. You have your whole life ahead of you. Just remember me when you get rich and famous.” I winked, using any tactic to disguise my anguish.

Smiling thoughtfully, he asked, “How could I ever forget you?”

I nearly strangled on the feeling of dread of the inevitable, as the weight of it suffocated me. “I certainly hope you wouldn’t.”

“There’s no way,” he insisted, as we shared a moment between us—a moment of mutual respect and adoration.

I had to be honest with myself. Life moved on. Moments were fleeting. People forgot. As he watched me with warmth in his eyes, the hammering in my chest reminded me that while his mind may forget, his heart never would.

My voice cracked when I said, “You know, one of these days I’ll come and see you at one of your concerts.”

Nodding, he said eagerly, “If you do, I’ll give you front row seats.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I choked out. This guy changed my life. He made me realize how important my role is in the lives of these kids here at Fairbanks. There would never be another one like him.

Turning around, I grabbed the guitar from behind my desk. “Here,” I told Chris. “I want you to have this.” I held the guitar out for him in my trembling hands.

Chris, wide-eyed with shock, he rasped, “Are you serious?” With a shake of his head, he stammered, “I…don’t know what to say…Thank you.” He reached out, taking the neck of the guitar in his hand.

“I want you to go out there and make your mark. Show this world your amazing talent. You have a gift, Chris. Make me proud.”

We stood there, staring at each other for a few quiet moments. Countless guys had come in and out of the door of Fairbanks Juvenile Detention Center. I could count on one hand how many kids I’d seen again since they’d left, but I could only count on one
finger
how many had made an impact on my life the way Chris had.

Chris’s voice broke the silence. “I’ll miss you so much,” he whispered, his voice cracking, proof that as excited as he was to leave this place, he was having a hard time saying goodbye, too.

“I’ll miss you too,” I said, blinking back my tears.
Not now. Please, not now.

Pulling a brown envelope out of his back pocket, he said sheepishly, “I have something I want to give to you, too. But you have to promise not to open it until I’m long gone.” He carefully placed the envelope on the corner of my desk.