by Monroe, Anya
“I’m glad you asked. At the time, back in January when I put them up, I didn’t know that very same week would be the week your mother’s parental rights hearing would be set.”
She pauses
and I nod my head not wanting her to stop
not now
since I finally had the nerve
to ask.
“I had posted them because I had hoped it would be a good starting point for a conversation, with you. Things with your mom went from bad to worse and the conversation didn’t happen.”
“So you just left it there for me to freak out about?” I ask, uncensored, unashamed.
“Truthfully, I wanted you to freak out, a bit at least. I wanted you to come to me and talk. Maybe that was the wrong approach, Louisa, I’m just trying here. Trying something to…to…draw you out. I haven’t done this before.”
“What before?”
“Parent. Take care of a teenager. Raise a human,” she says, softly.
“Why are you then? I mean, why am I here?”
“Because, Louisa, on the fridge, the get back in touch with M … that’s my mom. My mom has been gone forever. You know that Margot and I only have each other. And sure, we have Kiki and that side of the family. But really, they just do their best to fill in where our mom left off.”
“I don’t get what that has to do with you being a foster parent?”
“My mom was a wreck, for as long as I can remember. And it left me with some seriously bad self-esteem. I kept finding
myself in these terrible relationships. You heard about some of that from Margot. But they were really, really bad, Louisa. After Margot finally helped me get out of the last one, I knew I needed a change.”
She stops talking
and looks at me,
really looks.
“So I decided to do this, be a foster parent.”
“You don’t want other girls to end up like you.”
“No. More like, I want to step in for girls like you and be there in ways my own mom never was.”
Now it’s my turn to look at her
really look.
“Well, you’re doing a good job of that, Ms. Francine. You’re crazy good at being here for me.”
I lock eyes on
the first person
who
ever parented me
guided me
strengthened me
was willing to fight for me.
“We’re the lucky ones, Louisa, we found one another.”
“So…your new roommate?”
“There is no new roommate. My roommate is you. But back
in January, I didn’t know if I was going to lose you or not. If your mom still had a chance at taking care of you. But I think now –– after everything that’s gone down –– you’re stuck here, with me.”
It’s what I wanted
to hear.
What I hoped
to hear.
But still, there
was more to be said.
178.
“And the Master’s degree?” I ask.
“Well, I’m going back to school. I’ve been working as a clerk at the library for years, but that’s not my passion. And seeing Margot, and now you, exploring your passions, your creativity –– I want to explore that, too. For myself. Do something for me.”
“What are you going to study?”
I had no idea
she wanted to find out
who she was in new ways.
I guess that’s what you miss
when you forget to ask.
“I want to be a counselor.”
“Like Terry?”
“Something like that.”
I catch myself smiling,
knowing she’ll do well
because she helped crack me open,
pulled back the shell,
helped me see the power of the spoken
word.
She helped me find my voice.
“Okay. So last question, I promise. What’s the thing about the road trip?”
“That’s the best part of all. I think we need to go. Explore. I was thinking we could drive all the way to the Florida coast.”
“Why there?”
“You may not remember it, but when you first moved in we were sitting in the living room watching TV one night and there was this special on PBS about people swimming with dolphins.”
My eyes speak everything
I don’t say
as they fill with the tears
for being
remembered.
“Well, you were mesmerized by the whole thing. You didn’t talk much back then, but I remember you looked at me and said, ‘That’s the coolest thing, those people look so happy.’ So I found it, the place you can do that, swim with the dolphins. And I’m going to take you there, for Spring Break.”
We spend the next hour
her explaining the park
and how they let you get in the water.
How they let you swim with the dolphins.
I will be one of those people
the ones who are
free.
179.
The week goes fast
and Ms. Francine double, triple checks
all the things we pack.
The station wagon filled to the brim.
Margot comes by
to say good-bye.
Like we’re leaving for an arctic expedition
when we will be back in nine days
even though
I’m hoping to convince Ms. F
to stay
at least a few more.
I’m getting out.
On a real trip.
This is a big deal for me,
but from the story Ms. F’s shared
it’s as big s deal for her,
too.
It’s a big deal for Us.
Because we’re both opening up
to the world
in a brand new way.
I saw Benji yesterday.
I told him about the show
how I got up on stage
and how I didn’t blow
my chance to
be brave, to use my words
how I gave it all I had.
He asked if I would
do it for him
recite the poem again.
I sheepishly agreed
because I want him to know how I honor his truth
how I’m glad he faced his
fear,
how he’s making it something new.
He cried the whole way through.
But he held me
so long afterwards
that I know he finally felt understood.
That his pain wasn’t his own anymore
there were people
like me
willing, wanting
to help set him free.
I know Benji will be there
at the facility for a long while
that he might always need help to
stay safe
from himself.
And that’s okay.
Because really
that’s the one
thing
the only
thing
I ever wanted for my Benji Boy.
I
wanted
him
safe.
And. He. Is.
180.
“It’s time to go, Louisa!” Ms. Francine calls from the yard.
I shut my phone, after hitting send
on my text to Jess:
“Love you. I’ll miss you. You’re the best!”
And she is, the best friend
I could hope for.
I walk down the stairs and out the
front door.
It finally feels like Spring
The gray clouds are gone.
The sun shines
bright light
surrounds
me.
I smile.
More whole
inside
knowing
I don’t want to hide.
Finally having a sense of pride
in who
I am becoming
I am.
I am Louisa.
And I am strong.
A slam poem lasts three minutes.
That is one hundred and eighty
seconds
to tell your
story,
but I have a feeling I’m going to
need a lot
more than one hundred and eighty seconds
to tell mine.
Because
I
am
just
beginning.
From the Author
Thank you for reading Love Rewards the Brave. This novel is close to my heart as I grew my family through foster-adoption.
My children have stories to tell, and so do I, and so do you. We all have a history that holds a beautiful, reckless power. Our stories can shape, heal, and strengthen those around us.
Find your voice, tell your story. Be brave, so others can be brave, too.
If you would like to stay connected, please join my mailing list here, or email me directly at [email protected]. Consider leaving a review on Amazon if this story resonated with you, so others can have a better chance at discovering it.
Much love,
Anya
Acknowledgements
Thank you to Kitsap Writers Group for your input during the earliest drafts of this novel.
Thank you to Eryn Carpenter, Gary Snodgrass, Rick Soper, and Kristi Rose for your support and guidance.
Thank you to Jeremy Ryan for believing in Louisa’s story right from the beginning and working alongside me as I fought to tell it as authentically as possible.
Books by Anya Monroe
For Sure and Certain
The Dream Catcher
Heart of Stone
The Shine On Trilogy:
Flicker
Glimmer
Glow
About the Author
Anya Monroe likes to write stories and paint words on her walls. She believes in love at first sight and fights for happily-ever-afters. As a wife and mom to six kids, she carves out time to write between carpool pick-ups and date nights because words are her heartbeat.
She lives a ferry ride from Seattle and is a total Pacific Northwesterner who drinks chai lattes and wears Birkenstocks. She's a cliché, but doesn't mind it. Not even a little.
She documents her lovely-messy life on IG @anyamonroe and blogs at http://anyamonroe.com. Find her there!