Sam's Theory

by Sarah Mendivel

  Walking back across the candle-lit bridges of wood, my mind fumbled over all of the things the telescope might be able to see. Could it look deep into the Milky Way? How many constellations could I find at night? Would I be able to see Lake Isabel from here during the daytime? What if it could see across the forest and into the city? Maybe I could find Dodger or Nova from here. I hadn’t found the map today, but I had seemed to uncover another part of Theory’s mystery.

  My attention quickly reset as I approached the tree that held my bedroom in place. I climbed back up the branches and into my loft. My mattress felt warm and welcoming, more so than the chilly air outside. I turned on my night lamp, smiling at the smattering of candlelit stars that loyally pasted themselves onto the walls.

  Nestling into my blankets, I closed my eyes to sleep. Just before I fell into a dream though, I sat up suddenly and remembered the necklace Theory always wore around her neck, and the “L” shaped key that casually hung from it.

  “We haven’t talked much about your mother,” said Theory as she settled into our afternoon conversation.

  “No, I suppose we haven’t,” I said sarcastically. I had spent the morning running across floating bridges and bird watching. Sitting in the library for the millionth time to discuss the skeletons in my closet was feeling less and less attractive.

  Theory folded her hands in front of her, staring at me from her chair with her eyebrows raised. “Tired of processing?”

  “Yeah, a little.”

  “Mm, that’s fair. Well, would you like to tell me about what you did today instead?”

  Suddenly afraid to tell her that I happened upon her telescope room, I sat straight up and pitched in. “No, it’s cool. I’m fine, we can talk. What was the question again?”

  “It was about your mom. Where was She in all of this mess?”

  I leaned over in my chair, resting my forehead in the palms of my hands. I couldn’t hide my disappointment and sadness anymore. “Ugh, I don’t know.”

  “Was She in the house when everything was happening to you?”

  I didn’t want to answer Theory. I knew that She was, but admitting it out loud would make it real. It would mean that She didn’t do anything to protect me from Him, which made Her just as guilty. I took a deep breath, trying to ignore the tears that started to fall down the sides of my face without my permission.

  “Sam,” Theory said, her voice sounding concerned. “we don’t have to talk about it right now if you aren’t ready to.”

  Hearing that I had permission to make my own decision felt welcoming. I knew that telling Theory this part of my secret would help me in the long run, but having the courage to actually do it was another story. Instead of being worried about her reaction this time, I was worried about my own.

  I shook my head, trying to use the cuff of my sleeves to wipe away the tears I didn’t want Theory to see. I didn’t want to admit to her, or myself, that both parents had failed. I didn’t want to accept that, in fact, I had no one to protect me growing up. I wasn’t sure if I could handle the reality that while He beat and violated me, She not only knew it was happening, but decided against saving me. Is this why She never liked me? Is this why She always seemed intimidated by me? Because She couldn’t face me? Why was that my fault? Why was it my job to fix all of this crap?

  Sometimes admitting certain things to someone else was like letting them see you naked; it was uncomfortable and embarrassing. But then I thought of the things I had already shared with Theory, and how understanding she had been. She hadn’t judged me yet. I hadn’t scared her away. She was still sitting right in front of me, taking it in. I don’t know what made her strong enough to be able to carry all of my bad things, but she always did so without complaining. She cared about me, and kept asking for more. At some point, I had decided to just let go of trying to take care of her and started trusting that she could handle whatever it was she asked for.

  I looked up at Theory through the space in my fingers. She sat patiently awaiting my response. I could see how gentle her eyes were, how much she wanted to help. I sighed, ran my hands through my bangs, and decided I would try to be brave for her. “Yeah. Sometimes She was there. But I don’t know where in the house exactly.”

  It felt like I was giving another confession to the cops. Confessions that were coming too late now and that wouldn’t be able to bring the past to justice. As the words left my mouth, a weight of frustration and hurt settled into my chest. The reality of my childhood had begun to hit me.

  “Okay,” Theory said softly.

  The pain swelled inside of me like a hot air balloon, slowly taking away the air I was trying to breathe. “I think She knew about all of it, actually.”

  I looked up at Theory, desperate for her to take away the paralyzing heartache that was gradually taking over my entire body. She looked at me compassionately. “I am so sorry, Sam. I am so sorry nobody protected you when you needed it.”

  I tried to take a breath, but my lungs felt shallow. Theory noticed me struggling and leaned forward. “Sam, slow down, kiddo. Take a deep breath and catch up to yourself.”

  I shut my eyes, feeling tears splash onto the front of my shirt. I was so angry that no one had rescued me. I was so angry that I had to do everything myself all of the time.

  “I guess I don’t really know what it’s like to have a mom,” I said forcefully, my words getting stuck in my throat.

  Theory rested her elbows on her knees, making sure I knew that she was listening. “Having no parents, or anyone else, to recognize the pain you were going through must have been hurtful and very lonely.”

  My stomach twisted and I could feel my throat tighten again. I bowed my head and fought the war of tears pounding at the back of my eyelids. I hated how well she could see through me sometimes, and this time it just hit too close to home.

  I grew angry and felt myself wanting to snap at her. I planted my feet on the ground to force myself to stay sitting.

  Calm down, Sam. Please, calm down.

  “How long have you felt this lonely?” she asked, trying to keep me present.

  How long? Try my entire life, Theory.

  Sometimes the loneliness got so bad when I was younger, that my forearm had to hear about it. Little slivers of red would chase after the sharp edges I’d use to make myself feel better. The crimson would puddle and drip down the sides of my arm while I fought desperately to control the deafening rage that kept screaming inside my head. I’d wear long sleeves to hide the “loneliness” that haunted me relentlessly. It was the only way I could feel anything, while simultaneously wanting to feel nothing at all.

  Why could no one ever hear my screams? Why did nobody come to rescue me? Why could no one see what was going on?

  I was a kid.

  But no one cared.

  I was the loneliest person in the world.

  But no one cared.

  And now, suddenly, Theory was asking me questions about my most private shame of all. She wanted to know how long I had been alone. I was so angry at her for trying to get close to me again.

  “Sam?” she asked.

  “What,” I huffed, my face feeling hot. Something inside of me was switching over.

  Theory unfolded her hands and set them on her knees. “How long have you been lonely, Sam?”

  “Why the hell do you want to know?” I sneered.

  Suddenly she was no longer safe. Why did this keep happening? Just as I’d get closer to Theory, I’d feel hurt, rejected, or offended by every tiny thing she did. I wanted to run away and hurt her by never returning. I wanted to throw my chair across the room and scream for how invasive she was being. I wanted to tear this entire room apart and rage.

  “Because it matters,” She said, leaning toward me. She clearly recognized my anger, but was allowing it to happen. “And because you don’t have to be lonely anymore.”

  Tears shot down my face and I could feel a volcano of fury within me. I couldn’t look at her or else I
knew I’d explode. My ears felt hot and my hands fisted into rocks. I didn’t want to talk anymore. We had already had a hard conversation this week, and the last thing I needed was her pushing on me again to solve another mystery I’d rather forget existed.

  “Sam,” she continued. “you aren’t alone anymore.”

  “The hell I’m not!” I yelled, trying to control my anger. I clenched my jaw and tried to breathe through my nose. I knew that Theory meant well, but my body wasn’t listening to my brain; and my words had an agenda of their own. “Who are you exactly to tell me I’m not alone anymore?! What the hell do you know about what I’ve been through?! And now because I’ve lived here for a few weeks, you suddenly get me?!”

  “What am I not getting, Sam? Help me understand.”

  I sat up and faced her. “How about being abused since I was a little kid! Do you get what that’s like? Do you know what it’s like to not be able to sleep on your back because it was too bruised from a belt? Or constantly being quiet because you’re not sure what mood He’d be in when He came home from work? Or watching Him hurt my dog because she tried to protect me while He was hurting me?! Or see the rest of my ‘family’ be just as sick and twisted as They were? And with everything happening, almost every freakin’ day, not a single person steps up to save us? How are you supposed to understand all of that?!”

  Theory’s face softened. I could see she was feeling the same hurt I was now, but it didn’t stop my rant. “You know how many times He tried to drown me? Then made me clean the bathroom floor because I had made a mess trying to stay alive? And no one stopped it, Theory! Not a single person ever called the police to stop it. People knew, and they let it happen. That makes them just as guilty! And why wouldn’t they save us? Because they’re scared of something? How about us being scared for our lives? How is dialing 9-1-1 more terrifying than getting tortured by someone a hundred times your size? It’s pathetic how adults are more afraid of their image than they are of saving a kid in danger.”

  Theory scooted toward me. “You’re right, Sam. I don’t know what that was like for you. But I want to know. I care about those stories and about the horrible things you had to survive to get here.”

  I shook my head and kept crying. “No, you’re too late. I’m already messed up.”

  Theory knelt in front of me without touching me. “I’m not too late. I can still hear you, Sam. I hear you right now. Your story does not make me want to walk away from you.”

  I peeked past my bangs to see her sitting in front of me. My anger began to subside and all I could feel now was a deep, throbbing heartache.

  “I don’t know what to do with all of this, Theory. There’s too much in here.”

  Theory offered her hand to me cautiously. I wanted badly to hold it, but felt unsure about taking it after having just yelled at her. She was offering it though, which I guess meant she wasn’t that mad at me. I took a deep breath and slid my hand into hers. It felt warm and reassuring. The heat from my face began to cool and I could breathe easier now.

  She smiled gently. “You don’t have to know what to do with it all; that’s my job. And if I don’t know what to do about a feeling, then I will sit with you while you feel it so that you don’t have to be alone with it anymore.”

  “Okay,” I said, finally surrendering to her kindness.

  I felt tired now. My body had felt so much in such a short amount of time that all I wanted to do was take a nap. Theory held still, as if giving me time to decide if I was really finished.

  I kept hold of Theory’s hand and used my other sleeve to wipe the waterfalls from my cheeks. My breathing normalized, allowing my mind let go of the memories that had surfaced. I shook my head once more and sighed. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

  Theory squeezed my hand and reassured me. “Hey, feelings get messy. We can’t expect them to be on their best behavior yet without teaching them why they’re still around.”

  I looked up at her and tried to thank her with my eyes.

  She seemed to understand and returned the same unspoken sentiment. She then stood up, resettled herself into her chair, and casually stated. “You know, you aren’t supposed to be able to fix everything by yourself.”

  I felt ready to talk again. “Why not?”

  “Because, kiddo, you didn’t mess yourself up! Other people did. And when other people hurt us, sometimes it takes other people to help heal us. That is why so many of us exist; to fit into one another somehow.”

  I understood what Theory was saying, but I wasn’t ready to reply yet. She gave me a moment to process, then lightly interrupted. “Well, I think we’ve earned a break. Don’t you?”

  I smiled, happily agreeing.

  “Good.” She stood up and began adjusting a pile of papers next to her chair.

  “There’s a glass of lemonade next to your bed. Why don’t you go see what the squirrels are up to?”

  “Okay,” I said.

  I stood up slowly and sauntered toward the door of the library. I turned back toward Theory to see she had been watching me. Her expression was soft and loving, reassuring me a final time that we were okay.

  I wondered how I had gotten so lucky in finding her. This woman was single-handedly saving my life and giving me a future. Not knowing how to express the breadth of my gratitude, I gave her a simple smile of thanks hoping that she would understand. She mirrored my smile and nodded her head gracefully.

  It was all we needed to say.

  I turned back around, feeling the weight of my fatigue, and made my way to my loft. The mattress, sitting lazily in the corner, never looked so inviting. I shuffled over to it and collapsed into the pile of blankets, grateful that our work for the day was over.

  I took in a few sips of juice and focused my eyes on the trees past the skylight. Sure enough, the usual pair of spritely squirrels were hopping from one branch to another. One cut another off playfully and I let out a chuckle. Pulling a blanket up to my chest, I noticed a warmth settle within me, replacing the cyclone of heartache that had ripped through me earlier.

  My eyes grew heavy, and suddenly I felt comforted knowing Theory was just downstairs. I didn’t recognize this sensation of goodness, but whatever it was, I knew it wasn’t loneliness.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  It had been a couple of weeks since Theory and I had worked on the “big memory.” Parts of it still stuck with me, like an annoying piece of glass stuck in my foot. It was hard to see, but I could feel it, so knew it was there somewhere. It was small enough to be uncomfortable and painful, but still invisible enough to know I’d have to dig deep to find where it was hiding. Any prospect of trying to extract a memory felt annoying right now, and I quickly decided I wasn’t in the mood to talk to or be around anyone today.

  I reluctantly shuffled to the library window, not knowing what to do with myself or the irritation I felt. I plopped into a chair next to the glass and rested the side of my face onto my fist, sighing deeply at the mess of feelings I couldn’t make sense of.

  Where was that banana slug from a few weeks ago? Why had it disappeared completely? Drawing it seemed like the only mildly interesting thing to do right now, and it was nowhere to be found.

  Great, even the slug was against me today.

  “Hello, Sam,” said a voice from behind me.

  I considered rolling my eyes for a split second, before remembering that Theory always had a way of knowing what I was thinking. Instead, I sat up and tried to pretend I was feeling normal. “Hey, Theory.”

  “Mm, one of those days, huh?” she asked, immediately deciphering my tone.

  I threw my head onto the back of the chair, throwing away every effort I had to pretend I was okay. “I don’t know what’s going on.”

  “Ah, well then, time to play detective,” she said happily, getting comfortable in her worn leather chair.

  I turned toward her sarcastically. How was she always so excited to talk about feelings? Didn’t she ever want to talk about other
stuff? Like, this stuff had to get old at some point, right? Oh well, I guess if it didn’t bother her, I might as well let her “play detective.” I certainly wasn’t going to figure it out on my own.

  I took a deep breath and walked over to the chair across from her that had become my own. I plunked into it, already feeling done with whatever conversation was about to happen. She smiled at me, almost looking as if she was trying not to laugh. “All right, kiddo. Tell me what’s going on.”

  “I don’t know, really. I just woke up all weird.”

  “Describe ‘weird’.”

  I sighed, as if her question was inconveniencing me. “Like, moody, I guess. I feel annoyed and bored, but also anxious and restless. I think it’s that stupid memory I can’t finish processing. It’s just been bugging me.”

  “Mm hm,” mumbled Theory, not helping my situation at all. She appeared to be deep in thought for a few moments, making me think she hadn’t heard what I just said. I finally raised my eyebrows, wondering what I was supposed to do with her “Mm hm.”

  She caught my expression and clicked back into the moment. “I’m thinking it might be time to try and finish processing it, then.”

  I looked at her like she was crazy. “Yeah, I don’t know if I’m there right now.”

  Theory smiled. “Yes, well, it seems your mind might be, though.”

  “How so?”

  “If you’re feeling annoyed and confused, it could mean that the different parts of your memory are coming together. It is tugging at you to finish processing it so that your mind can get rid of it finally. Similar to a splinter trying to surface just enough so it can be pulled.”