Paint Chips

by Susie Finkbeiner

  And God didn’t stop me.

  Dot – 16

  The sixty-mile drive to Lansing in the van terrified me. I didn’t know that a moving object could shake that much without falling apart. And we didn’t exactly make any friends going forty in a seventy miles-per-hour zone on the highway. Somehow, though, we made it to the college.

  “Only half an hour late!” Lola said as she pulled the van into the parking lot. “It’s a good thing we left so early.”

  “And only twenty-five near-death experiences.” I rolled my eyes.

  “Oh, who’s counting?”

  “Well, me for one.”

  Lola parked the van. When she turned off the ignition, the engine made a sinking, exhausted grunt. A puff of something came from the vents.

  “I don’t think that’s very good, Lola,” I said.

  “Oh, don’t be such a sour puss. It will be fine.” She opened her door and hopped out. “Let’s go.”

  “Hey there!” One of the college girls greeted us at the door. She wore her hair pulled back into a tight, peppy ponytail and a too-bright-pink T-shirt. The print on the material read, “Hi! I’m Shannon! I’m so glad you came!”

  “Hello,” Lola said, shaking Shannon’s hand. “This is Dorothea Schmidt.”

  “Oh, my goodness! What a pretty name! I mean the Dorothea part. Not so much the Schmidt part. Not that it’s an ugly last name or there’s anything wrong with it. But it just isn’t as pretty as Dorothea. You know?” The words came faster than I could follow. The corners of her mouth lifted so wide that I thought her smile would jump off her face and give me a hug. I found myself wishing for a paper towel to soak up all the extra enthusiasm that leaked out of her.

  “Thanks,” I whispered. “I think.”

  “And you.” She turned to Lola. “Are you her mom?”

  “Well, no. I just came along for the visit today,” Lola answered, trying not to open the door for questions. Not because she would have been uncomfortable, but for my sake.

  “Oh. Well, where are your parents, Dorothea? At work or something?”

  The bad part of my heart wanted to tell her that my dad was dead and my mom lived in the nuthouse, if she needed to know so very badly. I blinked, several times, trying to think about what I should say. I attempted to see her as if she were Jesus. Even the bad part of my heart wouldn’t let me talk to Jesus like that.

  “Nope. I just came with my aunt today.” I hadn’t meant to lie. The words just came out of my mouth.

  I looked at Lola. She tried to hold back a laugh.

  “Aw, that is so sweet! Isn’t it great to have an aunt who’s so supportive?” Shannon cooed, I thought, near to tears. “Well, I really thought she was your mom. You two look so much alike.”

  Lola and I looked at each other again.

  “I don’t see it,” I said.

  “I guess I’d have to look at a picture of me when I was your age to compare.” Lola smiled.

  “Oh, my goodness! You guys are just too cute!” Shannon squealed.

  The girl’s sticky sweetness just about gagged me. I coughed a little instead.

  “Okay, you two cuties! Let’s get you registered for the visit and into a class before lunch starts.”

  As Lola and I walked to the tiny room that held the literature class, she put her arm around me.

  “Way to go, Abraham.” She chuckled.

  “I know. I know. I’m sorry. It kind of just slipped out.”

  “Well, my dear, I would be mighty proud to have a niece like you.” She removed her arm. “You know, you could pass as my niece. Had my sister ever given birth to a daughter, I am certain that she would have looked like you.”

  “I didn’t know you have a sister.”

  “Oh, well, I guess I shall have to tell you about her sometime.” She dramatically wiped her brow in mock relief. “But there is your class. I sure did dodge that discussion.”

  “Are you avoiding something?”

  “Absolutely.” She nudged me toward the classroom. “That is a talk for a different day. Enjoy your class. I want to hear all about it. But for now I will be in the pursuit of coffee.”

  I walked into the classroom, completely intimidated. Only one seat remained unoccupied, lucky for me, in the back of the room.

  A few students turned in their chairs to introduce themselves, to welcome me. They told me about the class, the college. Asked me a few questions. Then the professor began class. He lectured on Richard III. I couldn’t have been more impressed. I drank in every word. My expectations exceeded, an excitement covered my unease.

  When I caught up with Lola for lunch I hugged her.

  “I gather your class went well,” Lola said.

  “It was awesome.” What I wanted to tell her, what I couldn’t figure out how to say was that college was a dream that I’d given up a couple years before. But sitting in that class, I knew it was possible.

  One of the last pieces of hard shell around my heart cracked.

  Cora - 17

  The afternoon lull allowed for me to sit in the quiet of my room. I flipped through the pictures Lisa had brought me. The emotion of memory exhausted me. Closing my eyes, I leaned my head against the wall.

  Someone screamed from the hallway. Shrill and full of fear.

  It was one of the nurses. “Somebody call nine-one-one! We need an ambulance!”

  I stood and opened my door.

  As I looked out, the afternoon nurse ran past me, crimson staining the bottoms of her white shoes and smudged on the hem of her yellow pants. She ran away from Stewart’s room. A trail of red footprints followed her.

  The few days before, Stewart had seemed almost happy. He interacted with the rest of us, laughing and telling stories. He talked about his family. He met with Lisa, asking her to pray with him. A smile plastered itself across his face and brightened the entire ward.

  He had even made a telephone call to his family. The first contact he’d made to anyone in years. Then he bragged to us about how well his children were doing in school and in sports. I knew that Stewart had done something to himself. On that afternoon I realized that his cheerful disposition hadn’t been a sign of his healing, but rather of resignation to ending his life. I understood how peaceful the thought of an end could be.

  I stuck my head out the door of my room. I didn’t see anyone in the hallway. A horrible and strangely familiar smell thickened the air. My heart thudded in my chest as I walked slowly down the hall. My pulse thumped in my ears. Stewart’s door stayed wide open from when the nurse left him. After a deep breath, I walked in.

  Blood pooled around him, his body half on his bed, half on the floor. Pinched between his finger and thumb, he held a small razor blade. The weapon he used against himself. Such a small thing caused so much life to flow from his body.

  I stepped inside the room, the sock on my foot soaked up a bit of the cold blood. I crouched next to his face. His eyes were open, but dull. They looked like marbles, irises swirled with green and brown. Using my fingers, I pushed his lids closed.

  His hand, the one still holding the razor, rested on his chest. How had he gotten it? Could he have taken it form the nurses’ station? The art therapist’s supply box? Did he pay an orderly for it? How long had it taken him to die? Had it hurt? Or did a strong enough determination rush through him to cover the pain of the slices?

  I gently took the blade from his fingers and wiped it on his shirt. I pressed it lightly on my wrist. It had been so long since I’d been able to cut myself. From deep inside, a longing burned, moving rapidly through me. That well-known soothing feeling took over my body. Fear accompanied it, making the urge stronger. I pushed the edge harder. A strange sensation swept over me, a numbness coupled with longing.

  “This is it, Jesus,” I whispered in prayer. “This is Your last chance.”

  I moved the blade slowly and gently across my flesh. Just enough to form a scratch.

  A dark and frightening voice inside me cried, “More!
Deeper! Harder!”

  The voice I’d heard the first time I cut myself so many years ago.

  I pressed harder, drawing a thin ribbon of blood.

  The voice called out louder for more pain, lusting for more blood.

  I lifted the blade to find a better spot to cut. Ending my life seemed a comfort. I no longer controlled my hands and arms and brain. Automatic movement.

  Suddenly, right before I lunged into my own flesh with the blade, a peace warmed me. It started from my heart and radiated to the rest of me. Not the false calm of moments before. Rather, true comfort and relief.

  A hushed, gentle voice whispered. “Cora, I love you. Live for Me.”

  I’d never heard a more beautiful voice. The words hugged me. For the first time in my life, I experienced what seemed wholeness.

  I wanted to live.

  Closing my eyes, I stood, longing to maintain the comfort of being loved.

  But blood soaked my bathrobe and pants and socks. The nurse would be back and I didn’t want her to find me like that. I stepped over Stewart’s leg to leave the room. The razor blade dropped to the floor with a sharp clink.

  Dot – 18

  Our day on the college campus ended far too quickly. I attended a handful of classes, ate in the cafeteria, met students. For a few hours, I forgot about my past and felt comfortable and excited. I saw, right in front of me, a chance to move away from everything that dirtied my memory. I could step out of the ugly shoes of a girl who had suffered and become the girl with a promising future.

  At the end of the day, Lola and I walked to the van together.

  “I’m not excited about this ride home,” I said, opening the rusted door.

  “Oh, Dorothea, admit it, you like this van,” Lola said, turning the key in the ignition. “Lord, start her up, please.”

  Nothing.

  She worked the pedal, rubbed the dashboard, opened the hood.

  Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

  “Okay, well,” she mumbled. “Now what?”

  The sky darkened. I had no idea what we were going to do. We wouldn’t be able to stay at a hotel. We barely had enough money for the gas to get home. The thought of sleeping in the rust-trap of a van made me cringe.

  “Lola, we have to get back home,” I said. “What if something happens? Like, what if Antonio comes back?”

  “Don’t worry about that, Dorothea. I arranged for the pastor’s wife to stay there as long as we’re gone. Besides, I heard from my friend at the mission. Antonio has been meeting with him every day. He won’t be bothering us. Isn’t God amazing?”

  “Right. Yeah.” I just wanted to focus on getting home. “What exactly do you think we’re going to do tonight? We can’t sit here until this stupid van magically starts up.”

  “Are you nervous?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes, I am.”

  “Well, don’t be. Every situation is an opportunity to see the Spirit move in His ways. He can be a pretty adventurous God if we just watch out for what He’s doing.”

  “Oh, boy, Lola. Please, don’t do anything weird.”

  “Ha! Dorothea. It won’t be me. It will be the Holy Spirit.” Her eyes sparkled. “I actually have a feeling that there is a little excitement headed our way. Let’s go find out what it is!”

  She patted the van with the heel of her hand and headed back to the college building.

  “Here we go,” I muttered, preparing myself for the embarrassment that I knew would follow. I walked behind her, shuffling my feet.

  Shannon stood near the entryway picking up brochures and business cards.

  “Oh, hi!” she screeched. “Are you guys going to spend the night? There’s an extra bed in my dorm room and I can always find a couch or something, too! It would be so much fun! We could watch movies and order pizza and just chat all night!”

  “As fun as that sounds, I’m afraid that we won’t be able to. But thank you for the very kind offer. Perhaps next time,” Lola said. “It seems, however, that we are experiencing some vehicle problems. It is behaving very cantankerously.”

  Shannon squinted at Lola. “I’m sorry, but I have no idea what you mean.”

  “Our van won’t start,” I said.

  “Oh!” she said, getting it. “Do you need someone to take a look at it for you?”

  “That would be most helpful, if there is anyone who is able,” Lola said.

  “Oh, my goodness! There sure is!” She pulled a small cell phone out of her pocket. “We’ll just call Paul. He’s like some kind of car genius. For real.”

  She pushed a few buttons and then held the phone to her ear.

  “Hey, it’s Shannon!” She giggled. “Um, I have a few friends here who need some car help. Do you think you could come up to the administration building? Awesome. See you in a few.”

  She hung up the phone and smiled at us, even perkier than before.

  “He’s great,” she said, red faced.

  Lola touched Shannon’s hand. “Thank you so much, dear.”

  “So, Dorothea, are you going to come here next year?”

  She’d remembered my name. I felt badly for having disliked her earlier. “Well, probably not. I have another year of high school to finish up,” I answered. “But there’s a chance I could graduate earlier if I work really hard.”

  “There’s no doubt that you could do just that,” Lola moved a wisp of hair from my face. She smiled at Shannon. “Dorothea is especially bright.”

  “Cute, cute, cute!” Shannon hopped and clapped with each word. “That would be so awesome! I hope you can get it all done! I think you would really fit in here!”

  For just a second, my chest tightened. The pressure of fitting in scared me. It meant covering up the bad things and pretending to be like everyone else. I’d never be like them, I would have to act for at least four years. I couldn’t catch my breath.

  Lola put her hand on my shoulder. “I think Dorothea will blossom here,” she said. “God will use this place to make her grow.”

  At Lola’s words, I relaxed. She had that way.

  Shannon looked toward the door. The giant smile and bright red blush returned to her face. I turned my head to see what could have that effect on her. A guy walked toward us, carrying a toolbox. He was, of course, tall, dark, and handsome. I looked away from him. The last thing I needed was to develop a crush.

  “What’s going on, Shannon?”

  Shannon went from bubbly to nothing less than volcanic at his arrival.

  “Hey, Paul!” she squealed, leaping to give him a hug. “So, these guys came for the visit thing today.”

  She continued to tell the tragic tale of our minivan trouble in rapid-fire speech that left us all dizzy.

  “Well, I’ll take a look at it,” he said, shifting his weight. “Where is it?”

  We took him to the parking lot.

  “Wow. What year is this?” he asked, putting the toolbox on the ground.

  “I think it’s about twenty-five years old,” Lola answered.

  “Okay, it’s a little older than me.”

  “Don’t make me feel like an old woman,” Lola teased.

  He smiled at her. Oh, boy, it was a nice smile. I tried not to stare.

  He inspected the engine, tried the ignition, checked the fluid and on and on. As he looked, he pointed out several major issues. Lola nodded her head as if she understood. I knew there was no way she got it. She did understand, however, that each problem cost more and more money. Much more than the van was worth.

  “Well, I don’t know what I can do to fix all this tonight. It’s getting a little late. I’ll need to get some parts.” He wiped his hands on a bandana from his pocket.

  Lola pushed her glasses up her nose with one finger. “First, before you do anything to it, I need to know how much it will cost.”

  “I think I can do it for free,” he said. “My roommate’s dad owns a junk yard around here and I can always find extra parts there. I’ll just take this on in my sp
are time. It’s kind of a hobby of mine.”

  My cheeks burned with embarrassment. He’d known somehow that we were different. We didn’t have money to have a nice car or even to fix our old one. Fear smacked me when I considered what he would tell his friends about us later.

  “Can I give you ladies a ride somewhere?” He packed up his tools.

  “We need to get to Grand Rapids,” Lola said. “I know that God will provide a way.”

  “Where in Grand Rapids?”

  “Just southwest of downtown.”

  “Well, we’re practically neighbors. I grew up a few miles south of town.”

  “How about that?” Lola said, pleased. I could almost hear the gears turning in her head.

  “You know, I have some stuff I could do at home tonight. I bet I could get a few things packed in about ten minutes. Do you mind getting a ride from a stranger?”

  “Well, you’re hardly a stranger, are you?” Lola put her hand on his shoulder. “If you’re able to take us home we will gladly go with you.”

  “You could always, um, drop us off at the bus stop on Division and, uh, Forty-Fourth,” I stammered. I didn’t want him to see where we lived.

  “This late? No way I’m letting two ladies ride the bus. It’s not safe downtown this time of night. It’s not a good idea.”

  He didn’t know Lola and my history with those streets, the dark alleys. If he had known, then he might have been more afraid of us and less afraid for us. We’d met the danger in those nights. It hadn’t killed us because God kept us safe.

  “We will let Paul drop us off at home if that would make him feel more comfortable,” Lola said.

  Ten minutes later Paul opened the car doors to let us in.

  “What a gentleman. Thank you.” Lola sat in the front.

  I rode in the back, trying to figure out how mortified I would be when he saw our neighborhood. If he thought the bus would be too dangerous, he would be shocked by our street.

  My chance for a fresh start seemed to collapse. I imagined him telling his roommate all about our neighborhood, what kind of place I came from. I would have a reputation before I even enrolled. I’d never be able to cover it all up.