The Clay Lion

by Jahn, Amalie

  “You are the only one I’ve told about my trips?”

  “Yes. That I know of.”

  “When Branson died… how was it?”

  “You showed great strength and wisdom for someone your age. When I think about it now, it makes sense that you were able to process his death as you did, having had the experience of losing him so many times before. You stayed with him until the end. You were with him when he passed away. You told me it was peaceful and that you knew it was his destiny.”

  Unable to hold back tears any longer, I wiped my eyes with my shirt. Dr. Richmond handed me a tissue and I attempted to compose myself.

  “It’s okay Brooke,” he consoled me. “You have every right to feel sad.”

  “And so I’m doing better,” I asked when I was able to continue.

  “You were never clinically depressed this last time. You’ve been resolved and focused on your future, but it’s still okay if you have to take things one day at a time. You have a notebook of techniques we have discussed over the months that you can use to help get you through the rough days, especially when you head off to college next month.”

  “I haven’t found that, I said.

  “You have it. It’s a red binder. Read through it when you have some time. It’s helped in the past. Any other questions for today?” he asked, glancing at his watch.

  “Yes. One. Do you know why I might have signed up for swimming lessons this summer?”

  Dr. Richmond laughed aloud, causing him to choke on his water. “Yes!” he replied. “Part of our therapy was to pick a new thing to learn how to do. Something you had never done before that you could focus on. You picked swimming. You said that Charlie said he was going to teach you but that with or without him, it was worth learning to do.”

  Heat rose to my face, turning my cheeks crimson. “I told you about Charlie?”

  “Yes, Brooke, you told me about Charlie. Branson wasn’t the only loss you have had to confront. There are some strategies for him in the notebook too. Read through it and let me know what you think about the suggestions next week, okay?”

  “Okay,” I replied, still embarrassed at just how much I had chosen to share with Dr. Richmond. I stood and walked quickly to the door. I lingered, my hand on the knob. “Thanks Dr. Richmond,” I called over my shoulder.

  “My pleasure, Brooke. And for the record, I am glad to have you back.”

  “Me too.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

  I left Dr. Richmond’s office with a sense of peace that had eluded me since returning to the present. It was a wonderful relief to know that there was someone in the world who knew my story, my whole story, with whom I could share my confidences.

  Instead of returning home after my appointment, I headed out of town to a small residential area close to school. I consulted my tablet to confirm the address and continued winding my way through the subdivision. At last, I pulled into the driveway of a modest colonial. There were no cars in the driveway, but I walked to the front door, hoping for the best.

  I rang the doorbell and waited nervously on the porch for signs of life from within the house. After several seconds, I saw movement behind the sheer of the curtained window and heard the sound of the deadbolt being unlatched. Jill Overstreet opened the door.

  “Brooke?” she said, squinting at me as the brightness of the sunlight blinded her momentarily.

  “Hi Jill.”

  “Hi. Is everything okay?” she asked, suddenly concerned.

  “Yes. Everything is fine. I was just wondering if you had a couple of minutes?”

  “Yeah. Sure. Of course. Come in,” she said, leading me into the foyer. She closed the door behind me, resetting the deadbolt and directed me into the kitchen where the local news was blaring on the television. She turned it off and sat down at the breakfast bar. The silence was immediately deafening.

  “Can I get you something to drink,” she asked politely.

  “No, I’m fine. I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

  She did not speak immediately. I watched as she picked nervously at her fingernails. “I’m good,” she said finally.

  “Good. That’s good,” I replied.

  Several moments of awkward silence passed.

  “Jill, I came to say I’m sorry.”

  She looked up from her nails and our eyes met. “What do you have to be sorry for?”

  “I feel responsible for the pain that you experienced because of Branson. I encouraged him to pursue you. I feel like it was a mistake. You got hurt in the end.”

  Jill looked at me for a long time. She tried initially to hold back tears, pursing her lips and shaking her head. Finally, she placed her face in her hands and wept openly. I laid a cautious hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” I said again.

  When at last the tears subsided, Jill met my gaze again. “Brooke, Branson was the best thing that ever happened to me. We had been friends for so long. For so many years. But I didn’t think he liked me. Not like that at least. So when I found that stuffed bear in my locker from him, it was the most spectacular feeling.

  “Having Branson love me was the most amazing thing in my life. And losing him was the worst. But I wouldn’t give up one for the other. I don’t regret for one minute having loved him. What I would have regretted was if he had died having never known how I felt about him. But I got the chance to tell him. He knew that I thought he was incredible. So please, don’t apologize to me. If anything, I should be thanking you for bringing him into my life. Even if it was only for a while.”

  I found that I was now the one holding back tears. Quickly, I picked up my bag. From within the large pocket, I produced Branson’s sketch book and handed it to Jill.

  “What is this?” she asked, opening the front cover.

  I watched emotion overtake her face as she recognized her own portrait before her on the first page. She stroked the pencil marks with her fingers.

  “Branson drew this?” she asked unable to look away from the drawing.

  “Yes. Turn the page,” I instructed.

  She carefully folded the first sheet over and was met by yet another picture of herself, this one lovelier than the first. Slowly, methodically, she made her way through the book, stopping to admire each and every drawing. When at last she was finished, her shoulders heaved with powerful sobs. She placed the book on the counter and slid it in my direction.

  “Thank you for sharing them with me,” she said at last.

  “I didn’t bring them here for you to look at,” I replied. “I brought them here for you to keep.”

  She lifted her face, red and splotchy from the tears, and smiled. Without warning, she threw herself at me and crushed me in an enormous hug. “Thank you,” she sobbed, her face buried in my shoulder.

  “You’re welcome Jill,” I replied.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  The final weeks of summer vacation sped by. Swimming lessons ended and I received a certificate from Garrett as the most improved swimmer, complete with a large gold star. I believe that Sarah had something to do with my award. And although I was fully aware that there would be no Olympic medals in my future, the sense of accomplishment I felt from achieving my goal of learning to swim was all the reward I needed.

  Sarah and Garrett were excited to return to Brown together for the fall semester of their sophomore year. It was fascinating to watch them, as their initial attraction developed into a wonderful relationship. Beyond that, Sarah could not resist commenting about how much she loved his backside at every opportunity. They drove off, each in their own cars, two days before I was set to leave on my own college adventure. It was hard watching them leave together, knowing I would be heading to college alone.

  The night before I was scheduled to depart, my mother prepared homemade lasagna for dinner. The irony of her choice was not lost on me, given the other trips in my life that were preceded by lasagna. I was optimistic the trip to college would be my most successful ever.

  A
fter dinner, I retreated to my room to finish the last of my packing. My clothing, bedding, and books were already loaded into the car. I pulled a small duffle from the hall closet to pack the last of my belongings that I wanted to take with me.

  Before she left, Sarah presented me with an album filled with pictures of Branson and me together over the years. Without my knowledge, she and my mother had been meeting during the summer while I was working at the shelter to collect the photos. I knew that it would be a source of strength for me in the coming months. Next to the album, I placed the red binder of coping techniques prescribed by Dr. Richmond to aid in my continued recovery. I would be unable to keep my weekly meetings while I was away at school, so having the binder was as close to having Dr. Richmond with me as I was going to get. Next, I placed the pencil sketched portrait that Branson drew of me on top of the binder. In a moment of selfishness, I had torn it from the sketch pad when I decided to give it to Jill. I had it framed and knew that it would always be displayed proudly in whatever space I called home.

  Finally, encased in a decorative box I bought at a thrift store, I placed the clay lion in the bag. I had faith that the courage it represented would continue to carry me in the right direction along the path of my life, into my future, full of unlimited possibilities.

  EPILOGUE

  Tying my jacket around my waist, I walked out of the science building and into the warmth of the September afternoon. Mentally exhausted from my first college biology exam, I had big plans of returning to my dorm room to veg out in front of the television. I spotted my roommate Anne leaving the fine arts building and she waved to me from across the quad. I immediately changed course, heading in her direction.

  Anne and I hit it off from the moment we were introduced. She was artistic and spunky. The creative yin to my scientific yang. An overbearing optimist, she infected me with her positive energy and I could not help but feel happy when I was around her. She skipped toward me, her knapsack flopping loosely against her back.

  “Where ya headed?” she asked.

  “Back to the room. I’m wiped. I think I did well though.”

  “I’m headed to the green. It’s so nice out, I thought I would just lay on the grass and absorb some sun for a while.” She grabbed my hand. “Come with me!”

  Before I could object, she was dragging me across campus to a large grassy knoll affectionately dubbed “the green” by the students. I had to admit that it was beautiful outside and to spend the afternoon in front of the television seemed a waste.

  “Okay! I’m coming!” I hollered, trying to encourage her to slow down.

  As we arrived, it was apparent that we were not the only students to have our idea. Countless others decided that spending the afternoon outdoors trumped just about every other possible activity. The knoll was teeming with life. We found an open spot and sat down on our jackets.

  It was relaxing watching my classmates enjoying the day. Some were jogging. Others threw Frisbees. There was a group listening to music and a rare few appeared to be trying to study. Close to where we were sitting, a half a dozen boys were throwing around a football. I watched them, thinking of how Branson would have loved to have joined in.

  Lost in thought, I was startled by the sight of a boy standing in front of me.

  “We need a couple more to play. You two want to join us?”

  Anne was on her feet before my brain had even registered the question. “Come on!” she called to me, already running toward the other boys.

  I slowly lifted myself from the ground and jogged over to the group. Within moments, I was sprinting across the green, chasing down the boys. It felt good to run around again, the way Branson and I had years ago. After catching several of our quarterback’s difficult passes, I was elevated to full time receiver by my team.

  As we lined up for the hut, I was startled by a voice to my right.

  “We playing touch or tackle?” the boy asked, lining up beside me.

  “Touch,” I replied, turning to face him, the hairs on the back of my neck pricking with anticipation.

  Charlie Johnson, the older, more handsome version, was only inches away, smiling brightly at me.

  “Well, come on,” he laughed, “I’ve been watching you make some serious catches, Superstar! I’m gonna want you on my team all the time!

  “Josh,” he called to his friend, “where’d you find this girl?”

  We continued playing for the remainder of the afternoon. Initially, I was anxious about having Charlie by my side once again. But slowly, it began to feel like life had brought me full circle and I was right where I was supposed to be. Perhaps I could change my fate, but in the end, I realized, my destiny may have already been written.

  Between Charlie’s blocking and my receiving, we led our team to a landslide victory. There were high fives and ‘good jobs’ all around. One by one, the players dispersed as the sun fell behind the horizon. Anne and I were gathering our jackets from the ground when Charlie appeared beside me once again.

  “Listen, I can’t keep calling you ‘Superstar.’ And I doubt that I’ll find you in the school’s directory under that name. So if I wanted to look you up, you know, to ask you out for pizza or to the movies or something, what name should I use?”

  “Brooke. Brooke Wallace,” I said, unable to keep the smile from my lips.

  “Well, I’ve never seen anyone able to catch a ball like that. I’d say you are one special girl Brooke Wallace.”

  “That’s what I’ve heard,” I replied.

  AKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I would like to begin by thanking my family and friends for listening to me droning endlessly about “the book” in the months before its publication, but more importantly, for continuing to encourage me just the same.

  Ann Bevins-Selig, your attention to detail and love for proper grammar were invaluable to me throughout the editing process. Thank you for “getting it” when no one else did. You, my friend, are the reigning queen of second chances. We have been blessed with so many for which I am truly grateful.

  Lori Andrulonis Gilbert, thank you for your reflections and for being my second set of eyes. And don’t worry, I was kidding about English being a snooze-fest… honest.

  Dave Vespa, thank you for being on speed dial to assist with the formatting of headers and footers. Who knew it was all so complicated?

  My husband Drew, thank you for dealing with my constant preoccupation while I was writing. And editing. And formatting. Thank you for figuring out how to configure the layout just as I was ready to gauge out my own eyes. Thank you for accepting frozen pizza as a substitute for homemade dinner. Also, I appreciate that you did not complain at all when I woke you night after night at two in the morning because I had ideas that simply could not wait until morning to be written down. And most importantly, thank you for supporting our family so that I was able to pursue my “starving artist” ambition. I love you.

  Finally, thank you to everyone who has ever said to me “you should write a book.” This first one is for you.

  Thank you for reading The Clay Lion E-book on your Kindle device.

  I hope that you enjoyed reading the book as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you did enjoy it, please share your rating at Amazon.

  Thanks again and happy reading!

  Amalie Jahn