Tuesday Night Miracles

by Kris Radish

  Walk. Slide. Walk. Slide.

  Grace looks a little haggard, a little tired, a little timid. There are dark half circles under her eyes and her shoulders are curved at a thirty-degree angle. She is sliding the injured foot as if she’s afraid to lift it off the ground.

  “Hello,” Dr. Bayer says, moving toward a chair. “Sit down. How are you feeling today, dear?”

  “I was doing fine until I slipped and sprained the damn thing,” Grace says. “I mean really, Dr. Bayer! I hurt it at work before we even went bowling, but I think it’s gotten worse. Sometimes that happens with sprains.”

  “Are you serious? You didn’t seem to be limping too much at the bowling alley.”

  “Yes. You know the wound wasn’t that bad. It was in one of those places where the blood is just dying to pop out the minute there’s the slightest cut. I think it’s all catching up with me. I am simply a doofus. We had an emergency at work and I took a corner going about eighty miles an hour.”

  “Oh, dear! Perhaps you should slow down,” Dr. Bayer suggests.

  “It was a cardiac arrest. Hard to slow down for those but, well, I know I thanked you the other day when you called to check on me, but thanks again for making sure I got home last week.”

  Slow down? Grace is back to only imagining what that might be like.

  Dr. Bayer dismissed Grace’s thank-you with a “forget about it” wave of her hand that is necessary, because Grace is now averting her eyes. This is probably not a good time to ask her how Evan and her daughter are getting along.

  Kit comes into the room next, and Jane is right behind her. They are close enough to have walked in together, but apparently that was not a consideration. Olivia notices that these two women also look rough. What has been going on? Please tell me bowling was the success I think it was!

  She lets out a big sigh, nods hello, and then walks away, so that it looks as if she’s going through a stack of files she has on a small table by the window.

  Of course, she wants to listen.

  Kit talks first. She asks Grace how she’s doing, and Grace tells her about the sprain. Jane doesn’t say a word. What is she thinking about? At least she has on decent shoes. Dr. Bayer couldn’t help herself. She had to look when Jane came in. She’s wearing black ballet flats.

  Jane and Grace are clearly not connecting for some reason, but when Dr. Bayer looks out of the corner of her eye it appears as if Jane is totally lost in thought. A small part of her would love to reach over and tap Jane on the head. It would be exactly like the nuns use to tap her in the head with a forefinger and thumb as if they were about to smack a marble. It was not a love tap and it hurt. Jane, pay attention!

  Dr. Bayer was hoping for something more positive than this, but there’s a lot of baggage in this room tonight already, and she fears it has nothing to do with bowling.

  Leah actually comes running into the room as if she is being pushed by a gust of wind. Everyone notices right away that she’s wearing a new pair of black slacks, a lovely off-white blouse, and a long gold-and-red jacket that totally changes her appearance.

  Now, of course, Jane talks.

  “Wow, look at you,” she says, finishing off with a slight whistle. “You look great.”

  “Lovely,” Kit adds, smiling.

  Leah looks at Kit and smiles back. Neither of them says a word, but Leah would like to say more to everyone. She would like to tell Kit and everyone else how these are the first new articles of clothing she has had in five years. She would like them to know that for weeks now she has hand-washed the blouse she wore last week every night so that it wouldn’t smell in the morning. She would like to tell them how she let the other women at the shelter take clothes that she knew would also fit her because she didn’t feel worthy, didn’t feel as if she had a right to have anything nice, didn’t feel as if she should look like a woman who was changing her life one second at a time. But now, tonight, she feels as if she could skate on air.

  “Someone dropped these off for me,” Leah tells them, as she sits down next to Grace and across from Kit and Jane. “I don’t know who it was.”

  Leah pauses. She isn’t sure she should say something to Dr. Bayer. Maybe the other women aren’t supposed to know. Leah is absolutely terrified that she might make a mistake.

  “There are wonderful angels everywhere, Leah,” Dr. Bayer says, sensing her hesitation. “There are also a lot of people who don’t realize how someone right down the street from them could be in need of something as simple as a warm dinner, a second chance, or a lovely pair of black slacks.”

  Leah blushes and puts her head down.

  Kit feels as if Dr Bayer is talking to her. The shelter location is kind of a secret because so many of the women who live there are victims of domestic violence and need a place to live where they can’t be found. It’s a huge home that fills up three lots. Years ago, when Ellington was nothing but a few stop lights, it was a boardinghouse. There are no signs, and nothing about the building looks institutional. Unless your daughter’s Girl Scout troop donated Christmas gifts to the shelter fifteen years ago, and you dropped off the gifts, you might never know where it was located.

  Kit is struggling now to remember that afternoon. She had to call a phone number and a woman gave her another number to call. Then she had to wait while a second woman verified who she was by calling the Girl Scout office. Finally, Kit was given directions to the house and was flabbergasted when she saw how close it was to her own home. She had no idea.

  She was also flabbergasted when she had to sign a release agreeing never to tell anyone the location. She never really got past the foyer, but there was a candle burning and she now remembers how it smelled like Christmas. The candle must have been pine-scented, and she hoped the women living there felt that way, too—as if they had finally gotten to live inside a real holiday.

  And she meant to go back and volunteer or ask what they needed so she could keep them supplied with things that other women took for granted.

  Things like a new pair of slacks.

  Kit knows she has missed a lot. She so wants to keep filling her heart with compassion. Compassion and joy.

  Joy for what she had that the other women didn’t have. Her own bathroom and a closet full of clothes, toys for her daughter, and never a doubt that there would be food for more than three meals a day, every single day of the week. A yard and the fort and a man who loves you even though you come from a family that is wild, boisterous, and occasionally as crazy as a pack of rabid wolves.

  Kit looks at Leah and struggles not to run up to her and take her in her arms. Why haven’t the others reached out to Leah? Why hasn’t she reached out to her? Has she become so self-centered, so evasive of her own emotions, so frightened of what she might find if she stops to look at herself in a mirror that she can’t see beyond her own hideous mistakes?

  When Dr. Bayer looks over and sees that Kit seems as if she’s about to fall off her chair, she has no idea what’s happening. Kit’s left leg is moving up and down as if it is attached to some kind of invisible motor, and her eyes are glued trancelike to the floor in front of Leah.

  Something is going on, but Dr. Bayer also knows that people in these classes sometimes start thinking about things that often have no connection to the purpose of the class. In Kit’s case this could be the recent loss of her mother, which apparently triggered an avalanche of understandable emotion and, most likely, a mess of memories that have been buried for a very long time. It could also mean that she forgot to turn off the oven when she left for class.

  “So, ladies,” Dr. Bayer begins, ignoring what she sees as the obvious. “It’s been several days since your bowling expedition, and I know you’re ready to keep moving forward.”

  Everyone shifts a bit and all the chairs squeak all at once.

  “Grace has survived, as you can see, and in spite of her newly sprained ankle is doing fine. I’m hoping the entire evening at Bob’s, and not just the mishap at the end, was someth
ing you found positive and enlightening.”

  The chairs remain silent.

  “And, of course, you all went bowling!”

  Finally a smile, then another smile, a third, and then a forth.

  “I’d like to start this week by talking about that and by you getting out your journals.”

  Dr. Olivia Bayer is the queen of physical gestures. Most likely she’s been good at it her entire life, but it was in graduate school where her innate sense of motion and movement gave her more than a leg up in her chosen profession. She could almost gallop inside of a mind by simply watching the way feet moved, legs crossed, eyebrows arched, shoulders sagged, and breath shortened.

  Her professors loved her physical analytics, which were usually, though not always, correct. Olivia already knew that without compassion and a well-examined heart of her own, simply knowing that someone made fists and then held them tight until her fingers went numb wasn’t of much use.

  Still, it’s a wonder she was never recruited by the FBI. Although right now she’d rather be hunting serial killers than dealing with this gang. The tension in the room could almost straighten hair. Why? They obviously liked bowling. She must get them to talk.

  “Do we have to read these things out loud?” Jane asks, digging into her purse for her journal.

  “Does that worry you?” Dr. Bayer asks.

  “Well, I didn’t think we would have to read them out loud, that’s all.”

  “Would what is in there be different if you knew you were going to be sharing it with the entire class?”

  Jane shrugs and the left corner of her mouth droops.

  Grace instantly gets a headache.

  “This is a place of safety, remember?” Dr. Bayer reminds Jane and everyone else, hoping they aren’t thinking about arrows and rifles at the moment. “I can’t stop you from talking about what happens in this class when you leave, but I want you to know what happens here, what we share, what pieces of ourselves we reveal, is almost sacred.”

  Dr. Bayer wants them to know that Tuesday night is not a game or a place where they should lie and hold things back. This is one of the many things she tells them during the next fifteen minutes when she talks about change and living and reminds them that they are here to move forward and not backward. It’s all about rediscovery, she says, and it’s also so very much about forgiveness.

  “You all seemed to connect and have lovely exchanges last Saturday,” she goes on. “I’m hoping you can move forward from that point, no matter what the days since have been like.”

  When she gets going, it doesn’t matter how everyone is sitting, leaning, flinching, or swaying. Dr. Bayer has to tell them what she has to tell them—and it is their job to listen, damn it. And they are listening; she can tell. And she senses that what she is saying is something that they already know, or at least have learned in the past few weeks.

  “Happiness is a choice,” she explains, leaning forward for emphasis. “It’s right out there waving its hand in the air, and it’s always going to be up to you whether you accept happiness or turn your back on it. And, in the end, it’s totally your decision.”

  Even as she speaks, Dr. Bayer can see that the women are all puzzled by this great truth. Puzzled, but it also looks as if they might be thinking about it, and she hopes they’re thinking past the single moment that brought them to this room.

  “So when you jump into happiness, when you allow yourself to be open and to stop living in fear, that’s when all the good stuff happens,” she explains. “No matter what happens—how you’re feeling, what mood has captured your attention—you are the one in control. I say it’s much, much easier to be happy than to go to the end of the line.”

  That, she tells them, is why the writing assignment is so important. “It should help you track your moods and what triggers your moods. It is also like a personal retreat, a place you can go to be honest, alive, and real. Sometimes it’s easier to write it down than to say it out loud. Sometimes late at night when the fears and burdens of the day have finally been set aside, the emotional truth rises and writing it down in a log, a journal, whatever you want to call it, is a very sane way to travel through some sensitive territory.”

  Dr. Bayer takes a breath and looks at her girls. They are either thinking about the great subject of anger or they’re hopelessly lost and bored.

  “Any questions?” she asks, hopeful that eight ears have been listening.

  “I guess happiness is just as personal and individual as everything else,” Grace suggests, looking at Dr. Bayer.

  “Meaning?”

  “Like what makes me happy or even angry won’t be the same for you or, say, Leah.”

  “Correct.”

  “I had a friend in college who always got furious when someone pushed her.” Kit is talking as if she is the only one in the room. “One day I finally sat her down and asked her to think about it. It took about three minutes, and she told me that her father pushed her all the time.”

  “So …” Dr. Bayer holds on to the “so” as if it is a long question.

  Surprisingly, Jane is the one to speak next.

  “So, yes, we must think about what triggers our emotions and then we must try to change our thought patterns so that we can all behave in a civilized manner,” Jane says, gesturing, with her hands as if she is now the professor.

  Good Lord.

  Dr. Bayer is thankful she isn’t wearing high heels herself, although she isn’t quite sure she has ever worn shoes like that. So now what? Jane is obviously the most precarious member of the group, unless Dr. Bayer has totally lost her touch. Should she risk losing Jane by calling her on her brazenly sarcastic remark? Does she let it pass and hope that the other three women already know what an ass Jane is making of herself?

  “Do you think you’re behaving in a civilized manner?” Dr. Bayer asks her, leaning from the waist and focusing her attention totally on Jane.

  This forces Leah, Grace, and Kit to look at Jane, too. Dr. Bayer isn’t the only one who’s confused. Bowling was so much fun, and now Jane is, well, back to her old pissy self. Everyone wants to hear Jane’s answer.

  Jane is smart enough not to jump up and shout at Dr. Bayer, but not smart enough to keep her face from turning red, her shoulder from dipping back and forth, and her mouth from opening.

  “I am a professional and I come from a dignified family and yes, I am civilized,” Jane all but snorts, crossing her arms and looking directly at Dr. Bayer. Jane would love to tell them right now what’s happening in the rest of her life. How dignified it was when she didn’t say a word to Derrick about her suspicions. How dignified when she remained calm all those days between this class and the last one. Jane does not have the courage to say that Derrick is all that she has left and that she may now be drowning.

  “Jane, what I’ve been trying to get everyone to understand is that we need to define the triggers that anger us and then file those triggers down so they’re no longer visible,” Dr. Bayer explains. “If you don’t do that, nothing changes and your anger wins.”

  “Everyone makes mistakes,” Jane fires back. “That doesn’t mean we’re bad people who need to be treated like infants.”

  “I didn’t say you were bad people,” Dr. Bayer insists, realizing that she’s getting nowhere. Does she have to start over?

  Grace can’t take the pounding in her head and the sound of Jane’s voice at the same time. Maybe it’s because of her recent foot injury on top of the other foot injury. Thank you very much, Jane. Or the discovery of her daughter’s packed suitcase. This happiness stuff isn’t that easy but it sure beats what came before it.

  “For the love of God, Jane, don’t you get it? It’s like we are all stripped naked in here and we have to start over,” Grace says. “Listening to the person in charge, who obviously knows what she’s talking about, is a great way to start.”

  Jane looks appalled. This department-store-dressed tart who needs a makeover is telling her how to behave and
the purpose of the class? Enough is enough.

  “Don’t talk to me like that!”

  “I’m simply telling the truth, Jane. You don’t have to get angry about that.”

  Kit and Leah are moving their heads back and forth as the conversation rolls from one woman to the next. Where did this come from?

  Dr. Bayer has already decided to let the dice roll on this one. After all, group means group, and this group has been way too silent.

  “I’m not angry,” Jane all but shouts.

  “You sound angry.”

  Leah takes a deep breath, her chest rises, she lets out the same breath, and says, “Sometimes it’s hard to change and to look at yourself in a new way.”

  Now everyone turns to look at her.

  “What do you mean?” Kit asks, finally looking at Leah.

  “Behavior becomes a pattern. Pretty soon you fall into that pattern and you don’t even remember what it was like before you got that way. That’s what makes change so hard.”

  Dr. Bayer wants to throw her hands in the air and shout, “Alleluia!” But she also knows it’s way too early for that.

  Leah closes her eyes. Everyone is silent.

  “Don’t you remember what it was like before all of this sometimes?” Leah asks quietly. “Before the class, before what brought us here, before we became the women we are right now? I feel new and changed because of this class. I’m never going back. I even liked bowling.”

  There is quiet again. The ancient furnace kicks in, a series of vehicles drive past the building on the street below; there is much shifting of feet.

  Dr. Bayer can clearly see that Leah has exposed a nerve that is terribly inflamed.

  “I don’t get us,” Kit says, once again looking at the floor to avoid eye contact. “At first glance we all seem so, well, normal but here we are and we’re all afraid to be honest. Leah, you’re right. You are the most sane and open woman in this room. We had so much fun bowling. I’m really struggling to understand what we’re even arguing about.”

  Grace and Jane are a bit taken aback, but perhaps not as taken aback as Kit, who can’t believe she just spoke so honestly.