To be Maria (34 page)

Anya can feel the bus come to a gentle halt.
I'm not in Peach Valley anymore. That's for sure.

           
She feels a gentle hand on her shoulder. Anya glances up to see the bus driver looking down at her, the look on his face warm and friendly. It eases some of Anya's anxiety.

            “We’re here, Miss,” he says.

            “Okay, thanks,” she whispers.

            The moment Anya stands up, she can feel the heaviness in her body, and her head spins. Wearily, she trudges off the bus. The cold, humid Ontario air cuts through her winter coat, sending deep chills throughout her body. Anya scurries past the hoards of people and into the bus station. She looks around, taking note of everything around her. The first thing Anya notices is that this station isn’t anything like the Greyhound station in Peach Valley: it’s clean, large and old, Anya can tell, because its architectural structure is of a nineteenth century style. The open lobby is flanked by tall, vaulted walls which give way to an arched ceiling. It kind of makes this station look like a Cathedral. Anya begins to imagine she’s somewhere in Madrid, standing in the middle of a Cathedral. Close beside her are Maria and Patrick. Patrick squeezes her hand while Maria talks excitedly about the history of this great church and of Madrid. Anya smiles. She doesn’t have to worry about Alex or Adrik because she’s a world away. They’d never be able to find her and Maria here.

The sound of a siren brings Anya back to reality in a rude way. Startled, she jumps, her gaze darting from one end of the lobby to the other. People continue to enter and exit the building all around her, unaffected by the sudden loud noise. She feels a brusque push from behind. Anya stumbles forward, struggling momentarily to regain her footing. When she peers over her right shoulder, she spots a tall, stern looking middle aged man frowning down on her.

            "Watch where you're going," he says in a gruff voice.

            "Sorry," Anya says through gritted teeth. Inside, she churns with anger.
You should be the one to watch where you're going, jerk.

            Anya races out of the building and into the cold where she immediately begins shivering. She pulls her coat tight against her torso while stepping up to the side of the building, letting the rush of people walk by.

            Anya glances around nervously. The morning traffic is dense and loud. The sound of vehicle horns and of their engines fills the air around her. In the near distance, Anya hears another siren. It drowns out all of the other noise. Anya shivers uncontrollably and her fingers, despite being tucked inside her coat sleeves, start to sting.

           
No sense in standing here. Gotta keep moving.
Anya begins to walk down the street, picking up the pace to keep up with the others. She keeps her eyes peeled for a place, one that’s friendly and warm; cafes and stores not included.

            After what feels like hours of walking, Anya spots a sign on one of the buildings across the street that reads, Faith Alive Ministries in bold white lettering against a deep blue backdrop. She stops at the edge of the sidewalk, near a crosswalk and studies the sign.
Faith Alive Ministries? What’s that all about?
Anya suspects it’s some kind of Christian service.            

            Patrick is a Christian and through him, Anya had learnt a lot about the Christian faith. Patrick had even invited her to church on several occasions, but Anya always declined. Christianity doesn't appeal to her and Anya doesn’t think it ever will. But what choice does she have? Live on the streets and possibly die from the cold, or try her luck with Faith Alive Ministries. The choice is all hers and it’s simple. Anya jogs across the street and over to the front door. Her heart begins to race the moment she lays her hand on the handle. Anya breathes in and out deeply.
This may be my one and only chance to get out of the mess I’m in. For good.
She crosses her fingers as she opens the door.

            Anya does what she’s never done before: she closes her eyes and prays to the God she doesn’t even know exists. She prays for a miracle.

            A blast of warm air slaps Anya in her face the moment she opens the door. A reasonably sized wooden cross, hanging high on the back wall is the first object that catches Anya's eye when she walks inside. This place isn't dark and intimidating like Anya thought it would be. Rather, the walls are painted a light beige and the floor, a granite tile the color of soft blue, is so polished, it shines underneath the ceiling lights.

            "Hello there. How can I help you?"

            Anya jerks her head to the left. Behind a desk, there sits a young woman who looks about the same age as Alex. She's quite pretty with an oval shaped face, soft blond curls and a set of deep blue eyes. Even though she's sitting down, Anya can tell her physique is petite. But the woman emits an attitude that is warm and welcoming. It melts away the fear that nags away at Anya's insides.

            "I need help," Anya says.

            "That's what we're here for." The lady leans forward in her chair, that smile still plastered on her face. "What's your name, sweetie?"

            Anya blinks back tears. No one has ever called her 'sweetie'. Not even Patrick. "Anya," she whispers.

            "Hi, Anya. I'm Angelina. Come, take a seat and tell me what's troubling you," she says, gesturing to a chair that's placed against the wall beside the desk.

            The moment Anya sits down she bursts into tears. She can no longer handle the pain; it's killing her inside. Anya tells Angelina everything: how she betrayed Patrick for popularity, ended up in a gang with Maria; how Maria was murdered and why Anya ran away. She pulls the purple wallet from her coat pocket and shows it to Angelina.

            "This is Maria's wallet. I took it after the shooting. That's why I was able to get here."

            Angelina looks at her, wide eyed, her mouth gaping.

            Silence falls over the room.

            Anya dabs at her nose and eyes with her coat's sleeve. "I know, I'm a horrible person. If I wouldn't have..."

            "No, Anya. You're not a horrible person," Angelina says, handing her a box of Kleenex.

            Anya looks at Angelina, taken aback by her firm and unexpected response.

            "Sure, you made some bad choices and I am truly sorry for what you went through. But, you know what?"

            Anya blows her nose into the soft tissue. "What?"

            "You are forgiven."

            Anya gives Angelina a blank look. "What do you mean? What are you talking about?"

            "God forgives you, Anya, and he forgives those who have hurt you."

            Fresh tears spill from Anya's eyes. "Why would God forgive me? I'm such a loser. That's what most people think anyway."        

            Angelina reaches out and places her hand on Anya's right arm. "I don't know you, Anya, but I don't think you're a loser. Not at all. You are worth so much more than what people have said about you."

            "Really? Do you really mean that?"

            Angelina nods her head vigorously. "Yes. God loves you and He is a God of mercy. He is reaching out to you through me to give you a second chance."

            Anya looks deep into those blue eyes. Everything about Angelina is sincere and kind. Anya has never believed in a God, but now she's starting to have second thoughts.

            "So, what do I do now? I have nowhere to live and this city is so foreign to me."

            "We'll set you up with someone. Faith Alive Ministries is all about helping people in need. People like you. People in general really."

            A smile spreads slowly across Anya's face. "So, will my life get better?"

            "I can't promise you that. That is entirely up to you and it's between you and God. Healing doesn't happen overnight: it takes a lot of time, effort, faith and forgiveness."

            The smile disappears from Anya's face.

            "Nothing in this world is perfect. People are not perfect. But I can promise you this: you will have a support group. Us. We'll be there for you and we'll help you in every way we can."

            "Really?"

            "Yes. How old are you, Anya?"

            "Seventeen. I'll be eighteen on July ninth."

            "Perfect. We run a group for youth at risk that meets once a week, and you're still old enough to join."

            Sounds...cool. What kinds of activities do you do?"

            "Games, movies, theme nights. We also study the Bible. Our goal is to give value and meaning in young people's lives through the teachings of Christ. We like to let them know that, through the pain of abuse and neglect, there is a God who cares deeply about them."

            Anya chews on her lower lip. If she would have met Angelina a few weeks ago, she would have said, "No thank you. Not for me," and walked out without giving this opportunity a second thought. Christianity, to Anya, is all about conformity, playing it safe and being self-righteous; hence the us-versus-them attitude. But Angelina has just shown her a different form of Christianity. Although Anya is surprised, speechless and a little confused, she's willing to give Angelina and Faith Alive Ministries a chance.

            "You're quiet," Angelina says. "Is there something else on your mind?"

            "No...I just...want to belong to Faith Alive Ministries. I want to change because," Anya begins to cry, "I don't want to be my old self anymore. I want to forget about my past and...I just want to belong somewhere."

            Angelina takes Anya's hands in hers. "Well, you've come to the right place. Welcome to the family, Anya. We are your new home and we'll do everything we can to help you turn your life around. We promise."

            On impulse, Anya throws her arms around Angelina's shoulders. "Thank you so much. This means the world to me."