Bent not Broken

by Lisa De Jong

  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.

  Chris spoke with conviction. “Thank you for sharing that with us, Mrs. H. I’m sorry about your dad.”

  A few of the boys echoed him with ‘Thanks,’ and ‘Sorry,’ as they all returned to their seats.

  I knew I had to lock my feelings away and move forward. I was worried when my emotions got the best of me that it would weaken the rapport I’d built with them or that they’d view me as weak. I continued the session, extremely vigilant in maintaining my professionalism for the rest of it. However, I found that the boys spoke more freely than ever before, giving me a whole new perspective on group dynamics.

  Staring at me from across the circle, I sensed something in Chris. Empathy? Understanding? Compassion? Our eyes locked. With a single nod of his head and a flicker of a smile, he spoke volumes to me without speaking a word.

  Chapter Seven

  SALEM

  A couple of weeks later, Chris sauntered through the door for his usual appointment. “Mrs. Honeycutt, I’m here for my session,” he announced.

  Sometimes it felt weird being called Mrs. Honeycutt. I’d only been married about nine months. A positive pregnancy test on that sweltering morning in the blistering heat of the summer resulted in a quick visit to the magistrate’s office for a not-so-fairytale wedding. I still wasn’t quite used to the new last name, much less someone just a few short years younger than me calling me Mrs. It made me feel old, like a staunch librarian with a tight gray bun on top of my head.

  I’ll tell you what else made me feel old…no sleep. My legs felt like lead most days, and my brain worked in slow motion. I was only twenty-four, but Alexis made me feel like I was on my death bed.

  I quickly wiped the tears from my eyes. Another sleepless night had rendered me weepy. Using my fingers, I tried to eliminate the mascara lines that I felt sure were running down my cheeks. I tried really hard to keep my emotions in check, but some days were harder than others.

  I smiled through my tears. “Hey, Chris.”

  “Hey, are you okay?” he asked, concerned as he slumped down onto the sofa.

  “I’m fine. Just tired as usual.” I didn’t go into detail about my desire to drive my car off the bridge most days while the screaming baby in the backseat wracked my nerves.

  “Okay, just wanted to be sure. I’m sorry you’re so tired.”

  “Thanks. Having a baby is a lot harder than I ever expected…but enough about me. Sit down. Let’s chat for a while. How are you doing?” I thoughtlessly straightened a few items on my desk, grabbing a notebook and a pen from the top drawer, and sinking into my usual chair.

  Chris had plopped down on the sofa across from me, and his jovial spirit waned. “Eh, pretty much everything sucks right now. I still haven’t heard from Kaitlyn.”

  I shook my head. “I’m so sorry. I know that must be tough… never knowing.”

  Looking down at the floor, he mumbled, “Yeah, it sucks. Big time. I wish she’d just write me back so I knew what to do…if I should just give up on her.”

  I understood hopelessness more than I was willing to admit anyone, but I couldn’t help the trite remark. Despite my own misery, I wanted to give these kids some hope. “You should never give up. Life’s circumstances may keep you apart right now, but never give up.”

  “I won’t. It’s just hard sometimes.”

  “I know it is. Just hang in there,” I encouraged him as I stood up and walked back toward my desk. “Now, I’ve been doing some thinking…I feel like you need some sort of outlet. With all the letters you’ve been writing without response, I thought you might need something to help you process all your thoughts.”

  I pulled a leather bound journal with gilt-edged paper out of my desk drawer. “I want to give this to you, to take back with you to your bunk. I want you write in it every day. You can write anything, from what you ate each day to your innermost thoughts. I want you to bring it back with you to each session. The pages you want me to read, leave them be. The pages you don’t want me to read, fold in half. She’s all yours,” I said with a smile as I handed him the journal. I’d already decided that if this journaling idea worked with Chris, I was going to try it with the other guys too.

  “Wow, really?” Chris looked at me excitedly as if I’d handed him a million dollars. “Thank you, Mrs. Honeycutt,” he said, looking down and fanning the pages as if he were shuffling a deck of cards. As the last page left his thumb, he snapped his eyes up, fixing his gaze on me. “This really means a lot to me.”

  Little did he know just how much his weekly sessions meant to me. It was kids like him that got me up every day and kept me moving forward. It would have been so easy to give up—so easy to stay in bed and forget the world. Just knowing the impact I was having on their lives kept me grounded. Chris and the rest of the boys constantly pulled me back into reality.

  I appreciated what this moment signified. The cold indifferent guy who’d walked into my office a mere few weeks ago was finally breaking down those barriers. I’d finally broken through that thick wall and made some progress with him.

  “I’ll write in it tonight, I promise.” He gave me that sweet, quirky smile that I’d grown to love in my own right.

  ****
/>   During the next session I was eager to see if Chris had kept his promise.

  “Did you bring your journal with you today, Chris?”

  “Yes ma’am,” Chris said, smiling as he plopped down on the sofa in front of me.

  “Great, can I take a look?”

  “Definitely.”

  I opened the journal to the first page.

  This place sucks…like it sucks worse than anything you can imagine. I’ve already been here once before and it sucks even worse this time than it did last time. The food sucks. The beds suck. The guards suck. The people suck. I hate it here. I can’t use the phone to call Kaitlyn or anything. I gotta know if she’s ok. I can’t stand not knowing! She hasn’t responded to any of my letters. This fucking sucks.

  “Well, that was…colorful…” I said.

  “It’s true, Mrs. Honeycutt. Besides you, everything about this place fu…um...sucks. Sorry.” He glanced down, embarrassed.

  I smiled, knowing I’d caught myself a few time before too. But I wanted him to know he could be himself with me. “It’s okay, Chris. Feel free to be yourself in here. My office is your safe place. If you feel like cussing, let ‘er rip.”

  Chris smiled. “You’re funny, Mrs. H, but I’m just trying to be respectful.”

  “Thank you, Chris. That’s very nice of you.” One thing I’d learned is if you gave these kids real respect then they whole heartedly respected you back. Just knowing that Chris respected me enough now to watch his mouth around me spoke volumes.

  He glanced at the journal. “I feel weird even letting you read my cuss words, but like you said, it’s my journal. They’re my thoughts.”

  “Thank you for sharing them with me. I see you have a few folded pages. That’s great. Shows me that you’re digging deep with some personal stuff. I like that.” I flipped through the folded pages, wondering what deep thoughts he’d been having and if the journal had help him sort them out at all.

  Chris flashed a bright smile. “Maybe I’ll let you read them someday…maybe.”

  I nodded. “I’d like that very much. But, if that day never comes, I’m okay with that, too. Just keep writing. Never stop writing.”

  “I’ve got a few lyrics in there too. Some sad stuff. You could say I have some inspiration.”

  “Still haven’t heard from Kaitlyn?” I asked, skipping ahead through the folded pages.

  “Nah. I guess I never will,” he said and glanced to the floor.

  “Don’t say that. You never know. She may be struggling as much as you are right now. You never know what’s going on in her life.”

  “And that is what’s killing me—the not-knowing part.”

  “Well, don’t give up hope. You never know what life has to offer,” I said, watching as Chris stared at the floor. “Do you mind if I keep reading?” I asked him.

  “No, not at all,” he said, glancing up and eyeing the journal in my hand. “There are a few more open pages in there.”

  “Okay, thanks,” I said as I eagerly turned the pages.

  The next journal entry was a tough one. Almost brought tears to my eyes. Truth be told, it did bring tears to my eyes. I just didn’t let them fall until Chris was long gone from my office and out of my sight. The pain behind his words was almost unbearable—even to me. My heart ached for him. This poor, lost soul. This hurting, hopeless guy. Sometimes, Graham told me I carried too much of these burdens for my clients. Today was one of those days. I just couldn’t snap out of it.

  Dear Kaitlyn,

  The pain of losing you…I can’t describe it. It’s like a part of my soul has been ripped away from me. I can’t function without it. You are carrying a piece of my heart around with you and you don’t even realize it. Every night before I fall asleep, I pray that God is taking care of you. I’m not there to protect you. I’m not there to help you if he puts his hands on you again. God, Kaitlyn, this is killing me. I need you so bad right now! My heart aches like nothing I’ve ever felt before. You were like my center of gravity…always pulling me toward you. I’ve lost my gravity. I’ve lost my hope. I’ve lost you. Something tells me I will never get you back. You’ll move on in your life without me and there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it. Fate is not on our side in this. I can feel it in my soul. Our two worlds will never collide. I fear we will always be walking separate roads, never to cross paths again. I love you, Kaitlyn. I love you so much it hurts. I’m not sure I can live my life without you. You make life worth living. You make love worth loving. You make everything worth it all. Without you, I have nothing. You took your chisel and chipped away a piece of me that I will never get back. And I’m okay with that because you have always been worth it. If I never hear from you again, I hope you live the rest of your days knowing what that kind of love feels like.

  Forever yours,

  Chris

  ****

  I sat solemnly at the dinner table that evening. I couldn’t get Chris’s journal entry out of my head. I could tell that the love he felt for Kaitlyn was strong. They were both so young, but love isn’t dictated by an age. Chris walked around Fairbanks a hollow shell. He needed to find healing in order to move forward. My heart ached for the brokenness I knew Chris was feeling. With an elbow on the table, I leaned my head down onto my hand and pushed my food around my plate with my fork.

  “Jesus, Salem, you’ve got to stop bringing this stuff home with you,” Graham said as he slammed his fork down on the table.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, jerking my head up to look at him. His blue eyes glared back at me below his furrowed eyebrows.

  “Look at you. You’re a mess. You’ve barely touched your food. You’ve hardly spoken two words to me since you’ve been home—”

  “You don’t get it, Graham.” I barked. “It’s not that easy to clock out at work and leave my emotions in my office.”

  Graham pounded his fist on the table. “Why not? Why do you care so much for these kids? It’s affecting your family,” he grumbled.

  I looked at his cold, unsympathetic expression. He was far too self-serving to be compassionate toward anyone who just needed someone else to care about them.

  “For some of these kids, Graham, I’m all they’ve got. I see the system failing them every day. I hear what these kids are going through, what they’ve been through…it kills me. I care a lot about these kids. I’m sorry you can’t understand that!”

  “I just wish you wouldn’t bring it home with you.”

  “Yeah, well I wish a lot of things…” I quipped, tossing my fork onto my plate. Standing up, I left my dinner on the table and traipsed upstairs to my bed where I promptly fell asleep.

  Within an hour, Graham opened the door. “She needs her bath,” he said, as he carried Alexis into the room and laid her on the bed.

  I groaned, rolled over, and put the pillow over my head. Can’t he do something on his own for once? Dammit!

  Alexis kicked and squealed next to me.

  “Come on, sweet girl,” I said as I stood up and scooped her into my arms. “Let’s go get ready for another sleepless night…”

  As I ran the water for Alexis’s bath, I could already hear the announcers for the Broncos game on the television in the living room while the popcorn cracked and sizzled in the microwave. Must be nice.

  Chapter Eight

  SALEM

  Officer Blevins kept a pretty tight rein on the boys. They always walked in a single file line down the corridor on their way to the recreation room. Thankfully, I worked in a cell block that didn’t have to keep the kids in shackles. In military fashion, you could hear the boys shouting “Yes, sir” and “No, sir” as they echoed down the hall. Occasionally, the group leader would begin cadence, and the others would follow suit.

  I was walking toward my supervisor’s office when I passed the boys in the hallway. An ensemble of gray jumpsuits and black, slip-on clogs lined the wall.

  “Mrs. H!” a few boys bellowed, elbowing each other as if to awaken their sl
eeping hormones.

  “Hi, boys,” I answered, throwing my hand up and waving.

  “Wanna come shoot hoops with us?” Greg asked. “We’re headed to the rec room.”

  I never passed up an opportunity to shoot hoops. I really missed my high school varsity basketball playing days. “I might join you boys in a few minutes. I have an errand to run first.”

  I needed to get the details of a new kid who would be entering Fairbanks within the next few hours.

  “Okay, Mrs. H, we’ll see you later.”

  I glanced down the line. Malik, DeAndre, Greg, Toombs—all good kids. A little misguided, but deep down, they were all sweethearts. They just need a little push to make better decisions in their lives. Chris brought up the rear. He wore the state-issued black beanie on his head. Looking at me with his animated eyes, he nodded once in acknowledgement and flashed his signature smile. A deep dimple creased his cheek.

  “Hey, Mrs. Honeycutt,” he said with an affable tone.

  “Hey Chris,” I replied, matching his amiable expression.

  A heartbreaker—that’s the term I’d use to describe Chris. Deep, soulful eyes. Tan skin. Squared jaw. Confident, but not arrogant, swagger. Smooth baritone accompanied by unparalleled musical talent. Everything that melted girls’ hearts. One day, some girl, if not Kaitlyn, was going to be swept right off her feet, and I could hardly blame her. I just hoped that we could make headway with his reform, so when he re-entered the general public the decisions he’d make wouldn’t land him right back at Fairbanks. If I thought anyone was capable of reform, it was Chris. I knew why he did what he did to land himself back at a correctional facility. Quite honestly, while I knew there were other ways to handle that situation, I could certainly empathize with his decisions.

  “See you in a few,” he said with a smile that reached his eyes.

  Nodding, I gave a little wave. “Okay. See you in a few.”

  I grinned at the boys and made my way down the hall to my supervisor’s office.