by Amy Piers
I wonder what the holidays look like in a Children’s home. I wonder if all the kids go back to their parents, and then there’s ones like Dallas who can’t go home because they are no longer welcome. The thought that my Buddy doesn’t have a home suckerpunches me in the face, and I feel like a coward for exacting retribution by ignoring him. All of the hope I once had for this boy seems to be marred by the supposed human need for revenge. I am a shitty person, and this I know very well.
My phone buzzes, and I’m terrified someone from Starlight somehow called me back. I look at the screen, and it’s not the children’s home. It’s a message from Ezra.
“Dinner at seven. Meet at your house.”
I don’t deserve Ezra.
[I see red.]
Today is the forty-third day that I have lived at Starlight, and I have talked to Zoe zero of these days. I am in my session with Dr. Martinez, and he has decided to just sit beside me until I’m ready to talk. He hasn’t won in forty-three days. Alicia sits beside me and I let her, because I am starting to realize that Zoe has forgotten about me. I don’t have a chance at having a new Mom now, so I can forget about the idea of living in a big house with Zoe and ghosty Grey.
A lady who usually works at a desk knocks on the door, and Dr. Martinez jumps at the chance to talk to a person who answers his questions, instead of me, who ignores him. She talks to him, and says that there is someone on the phone who wants to speak to him.
“OK Dallas, we’re done for today,” he sighs, and walks out the room. He looks back and yells, “Maybe you’ll talk tomorrow.”
I say nothing, but I pull my head out of my hood and start playing with the blocks again. It’s Christmas time next week, so I decide to build a tree and some presents underneath it. After sessions I can build for as long as I like, and nobody ever interrupts me, except for dinner time. Dr. Martinez grabs the phone, and I watch his face get happy when he talks to the person. Maybe it’s his wife or Mom?
“I’m so glad you decided to call,” he says. “I’m having no luck getting through to him. He’s taken to his direct support professional, Alicia, but about once a day he just loses control of himself. We’re not sure what triggers the outbursts… he just seems to spend a lot of the day in his head. And he hasn’t spoken a word to me yet, and it’s almost been six weeks.”
[I see you.]
“What…” I stumble, “What do you need from me?”
“I know this is a huge ask, but we were wondering if you’d be able to visit?” Dr. Martinez replies. Damn right, it’s a huge ask. I think for a minute about my dwindling financial situation, my brand new job, and the reason I find myself penniless with a dog to feed. I won’t give Dallas the power to run through my life like a bull in a china shop—not again. My palms are sweaty, and I contemplate hanging up the phone. I am so angry—jeez—the nerve of this guy. Expecting me to drop everything and arrive on Dallas’s whim.
Just then, the puppy snuggles into my lap. He fits just about anywhere, and has a God-given knack of making situations feel better. Then, I look at sweet Cinnamon, and remember the day he came home, and how happy he made Dallas. I wonder if I could go with Cinnamon’s help. I think about all that Christmas means to me, and somehow I get caught up in stupid holiday goodwill.
“Zoe—are you still there?” asks the doctor.
“Would it be OK if I brought his dog with me?” I ask, regretting the words as they fall out of my mouth. I don’t want to go to East-Jesus-Nowhere Wyoming to see the demon child hellbent on ruining my sanity. I really friggin’ don’t. I need this trip as much as I need a punch in the face.
“I mean, how big is the dog?” he asks.
I size up the puppy in front of me, “Less than twenty pounds, more than ten.”
“As long as he has all his vaccinations, I can’t see a problem with that,” Dr Martinez agrees. “How soon can you get here?”
Awkward. There’s about twenty-five bucks in my bank account until Friday.
“Well, I’ve got to be honest with you—educating Dallas was my full time job. With him in Wyoming, I’m not making any money at the moment. It’s embarrassing to admit,” I pause, “But I can’t afford to come right away.”
“We have grant money for this kind of thing, Zoe,” the doctor assures me. “The foundation will cover your costs. I know he’s put you through a lot—at least I’ve read bits and pieces from intake forms his mom filled out pretty hastily. I want to know everything from your perspective. I don’t want to put undue pressure on you, but I think he needs you in order to start the healing process.”
No pressure at all, thanks Dr. Stupid Ramirez. Martinez? I don’t remember. Jeez, I can’t handle all this therapist bullshit right now. Maybe he’s beyond fixing? Ever thought about that, Doctor Grant Money?
“What about his mom?” I reply, probably a little too snarkily.
“She’s…” he pauses, “Not in a good place.”
“What about Dallas’s little sister?” I ask, with my heart beating out of my chest.
“The baby has gone to live with a relative,” he replies.
I ask, against my better judgement, “Not the dad?”
Ramirez/Martinez clears his throat, “No, not the dad.”
Thank God.
My heart has hardened like dried clay, and Ramirez/Martinez is trying to plant trees. He can push all he likes, but there’s no give in the soil. No matter how hard he pokes, there’s nothing but dust. I’ve always thought of myself as someone who is slow to anger and quick to forgive, someone who could put aside offense for another’s benefit—especially the benefit of a child. But here I am looking at a mirror, staring into the eyes of a hypocrite. I know that the worst punishment Dallas can receive is my silence, but I’m too selfish to speak. Am I secretly, sadistically enjoying my win?
“How soon can you come?” he repeats.
“Not before Christmas,” I whine, as though it’s a knee jerk reaction. This was all set to be my first Christmas with Ezra, my first real kiss under the mistletoe, my first time bringing him home to my family. No, Dallas, you’re not taking this away from me. The hairs on the back of my neck begin to stand on end, as I realize just how mad this is making me. If I thought I was quick to forgive people, then I thought wrong. The woman I once thought I was is not the woman who is reacting with such volatility right now. Dallas Jensen has a way of creeping back into my life like an octopus escaping from a jar—spinelessly, silently, and rapidly.
“I’m going to have to think about all this,” I reply. “I’ll call you back.”
I hang up the phone, with my stomach in knots. I catch myself biting the inside of my lip, and grab a piece of gum instead. Scrunching up the wrapper, I realize I’ve chewed a full pack before eight in the morning. Reaching for a black and white striped shirt and some black jeans, I dress myself for my third shift at the coffee house. Peering at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I see the face of someone twice my age. I notice, to my horror, that three gray hairs have sprouted in my mane of dark brown hair, and I call each of the wiry old hairs by name—DALLAS JEDIDIAH JENSEN.
For Pete’s sake! I’m only twenty-six, I’m not ready for this kind of milestone.
[I see red.]
Today is the forty-fourth day that I have lived at Starlight, and I have talked to Zoe zero of these days. I wake up, I eat, I don’t talk in sessions, I play by myself, I eat, I don’t talk in another session, I play by myself again, I eat, I shower, I read, I go to bed. That is how forty-four days have gone, and the only people I talk to are Alicia, Grey, and God.
I tell Grey about the weird kids here, and how they get into all kinds of fights together. They yell, and if they punch, they aren’t allowed to watch TV for a week. I told Grey if he were on the Earth I wouldn’t bring him here, because he doesn’t deserve to be at a kid jail. I know it’s not a jail with bars and orange outfits, but I have decided that’s kind of what this place is. Starlight is a place where parents put kids when they’re too n
aughty to live in normal houses. Grey would never have done anything to end up here.
I tell God about my feelings, and I squeeze his hand, even though it’s invisible. God tells me he’s here, so I believe Him. Another thing about God is that it is Christmas in five days time, and that means God is getting ready to have a baby. God’s baby name was Jesus, and he’s the one who died on Easter, but also is still alive. People think it’s hard to figure out God and Jesus, but I don’t need anyone to explain it all to me. I talked to God and he explained it already, and he told me that I would be OK. Everything is going to be OK.
This Christmas I have a different kind of list. I started to write a normal Christmas list all those times ago when I lived at San Francisco, but I don’t want anything like that anymore. I want Zoe to come get me, and be my new mom. When I close my eyes I can see her now, walking into Starlight and walking out these locked gates, holding my hand. Even if the part where Grey is a ghost is fake, at least I can have Zoe back. That's definitely real. I will do anything to get my Zoe back, I really will.
We will have our own kind of Christmas next year, far away from the snowy land of Wyoming.
[I see you.]
“I think you should go,” Ezra says, nonchalantly. I can’t believe him sometimes—it’s like he has no idea what it’s like to live with my emotions. Doesn’t he know how I am wrestling with this? Doesn’t he see how complicated this is? He looks frustrated, and I feel like he's done talking about Dallas. It's almost like he's jealous.
“Zoe,” he adds, “You’re overthinking. The coffee house will be fine without you, and if they’re not, who cares? You’re too worried about what other people think.”
“It’s Dallas I don’t want to see,” I snap. “The exact person I would be going to see.”
“You can’t live with him, and you can’t live without him. I know you’re going through a rough time right now, but it’s getting old. It’s time to shit or get off the pot,” Ezra sighs. “It’s not going to be comfortable, but it needs to be done.”
I always thought falling in love would feel like rainbows and butterflies, but our story is that of elephants and gray skies. Giant, totally uncoordinated elephants stomping on delicate flowers, and the constant threat of rain on sunny days. Nothing seems graceful or ‘on purpose,’ instead it feels like a series of chaotic events, one after the other. I wanted someone to sugar-coat difficult conversations, and tiptoe around me in this fragile post-Dallas state. Ezra doesn’t mince his words, and I could take the offended road if I wanted to, but the funny thing is, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Ezra has taken me at my worst, carried me through depths of despair, and met me on the flipside with a smile. With all the sass and attitude I throw at him, he completely holds his own. I have taken his interest for granted, and with comments like the one he just made, I’m starting to realize I’m not pulling my weight in this relationship.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
He shrugs, and takes a bite of his dinner, “Want to see a movie tonight?”
I nod, secretly seething that Dallas has put me in a funk again—this time all the way from friggin’ Wyoming. If there’s one person I have forgiven less than Dallas, it’s myself. But how am I supposed to move forward with forgiveness when I’m knee deep in hatred? I want to change my heart, but my heart is reluctant to change. Ezra’s right; if I am to move beyond this season, I need to see Dallas again.
I snap myself out of my mood, keenly aware that I’m on the edge of ruining yet another date. If the tables were turned, I wouldn’t like me right now. It's only a matter of time before he's done with me.
#
I arrive at the coffee house at 6 am, with the intent of broaching the subject with my new boss.
“Ed?” I stumble.
“Yeah?” he replies.
“You remember the kid on the roof of Log Nation?” I wonder.
“Yeah,” he looks down, clearly embarrassed of his first impression.
“He got placed in a group home in Wyoming, and I’m going to see him the day after Christmas. I know it’s short notice, but I’m going to be gone until January third. I understand if that means I don’t have a job here anymore.”
“It’s cool,” Ed shrugs.
“What?” I say, taken aback.
“I’ll figure it out,” Ed says. “Come back when you’re ready.”
I didn’t expect the interaction to go this smoothly. In fact, I stand there with my apron in my hand, ready to hand it in after a measly few weeks of work. I grasp its leather straps and smile, “Thank you.”
[I see red.]
Christmas wishes are bullshit.
Zoe is never coming back.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Tilling the Soil
[I see you.]
Ezra turns up at seven wearing jeans, a hoodie and T-shirt schwag from the startup where he works. When I open the door, he's there on time, with a steadfast, unconditional smile. Ezra will be my undoing, if in fact I am not already undone. I can’t help but shake the feeling that if this relationship were happening at any other time of my life, I’m sure I’d be able to handle it a little more gracefully... I’d be better at being a girlfriend, there’d be more reciprocity, I’d be sunnier somehow. I'm constantly worried that I'm not holding up my side of the bargain. I’ve spent my life waiting to be in a perfectly ready place for romance, and here I am, caught off-guard in the least available time of my life.
“You look beautiful,” Ezra smiles.
“Thanks. So do you,” I awkwardly respond on autopilot, desperately trying to fill the empty space with words. He laughs a little; I laugh a bit, and then we both laugh too much. “I mean, you look handsome.”
He holds out his hand, and we walk from my front door to his car.
“Old faithful Carlton the car,” I laugh, swiftly exhaling from my nose. “I can’t believe he’s still going.”
“Carlton is immortal,” Ezra smiles. “And I won’t have you saying otherwise.”
Carlton is a nineties station wagon with roof racks for a surfboard that Ezra doesn’t know how to use. The back windows are plastered with ‘coexist’ bumper stickers, and ‘Keep Santa Cruz Weird,’ slogans, which were clearly stolen from Austin, TX. A relic from a different era, Carlton is from a grungy garage-band time, given to Ezra by his uncle. Legend has it that the uncle got rid of Carlton because he grew up, cut his hair, and got married—such is the circle of life. Carlton is functional, for sure, but a grown up man’s car he is not. Ezra opens the door for me, and I get in the passenger seat.
Carlton smells like crayons and wet dog.
#
After dinner we walk to a man-made lake in a park that is slightly scary after dark. I tell Ezra about my plans to go see Dallas, and he’s just as supportive as I’d expect him to be. In fact, he seems relieved that I might just move past this state of being frozen in a moment—or at least I’m projecting that relief because I know I’m being an ass. Ezra seems to waver between wanting me to talk about Dallas, and wanting me to get past him. I’m apprehensive about all things, to say the least. I've not yet warmed to the idea of travelling to Wyoming, even though I agreed to go. I’m convicted, deeply convicted, by the idea of making amends with this child. The act seems superficial, disingenuous. I’m not ready.
“I don’t want to go. A children’s residential home is completely out of my comfort zone,” I hiss, like he’s poked at a bruise on my heart.
“Has anything good ever come out of comfort zones?” he says, as the question fills the air like fog. It hangs there, staring at me with eyebrows raised, unwilling to relent until I respond. I’m uncomfortable, and maybe that’s the point. We sit and stare at the lake for a while, watching the water dance in the wind. Ezra puts his arm around me, to elevate my awkwardness level just that tiny bit more as I begin to wonder if I’ll ever feel normal again. My comfort zone has become limited to my house, and my adopted dog-in-training. Maybe I need to visit Dallas as much as Dallas nee
ds my visit. Ezra quickly changes the subject, but I remain unresponsive. He exhales.
Once upon a time, my heart was malleable like clay. I could be flexible, I could go with the flow, I could love and be loved freely. Like soil, it was soft and fertile. I grew oaks from acorns; I was part of transitioning kids from demonic to dynamic, shackles to freedom. My heart has sat still these last few months. Caught in arrested development. It’s air dried and ready for the fire. With Ezra’s help, the firm clay of my hardened heart begins to break a little, as I consider what it would take for seed to grow once more. I’m nowhere near ready to plant trees, but I know it’s possible for maybe not a forest, but a garden, to come up from this ground. I grab Ezra’s hand, and we sit on that bench for hours.
For the first time in a long time, I feel like someone’s got my back.
[I see red.]
Today is the forty-sixth day that I have lived at Starlight, and I have talked to Zoe zero of these days. I have decided not to let her on the roof with me and Grey anymore, because she isn’t being kind to us. In real life I am laying on a huge beanbag in Dr. Martinez’s office while he waits for me to talk. Of course I’m not actually talking, because I am mostly busy spending the afternoon with Grey. Me and Grey only, nobody else is allowed. Oh, and I don’t have any moms anymore, just to let you know. My actual mom fired me, so I fired Zoe from being my new mom. I don’t need anyone but Grey.
I climb up onto the roof of our new house in San Francisco, in my mind. Just so you know, there’s a waterslide from the roof to the pool, so you get to slide down three stories before splashing your body into the pool and wetting all the bricks around. We have to go from up high, because Grey can’t get down from heaven without a ladder. He can only stay on earth ground for like two or five minutes, kind of like how fishes have gills and people don’t, so that’s why people drown. Grey did a swimming class in heaven, so he’s good at it now, but we still go on the slide together so I can save him if he falls under the water. Grey can walk on earth grass for only, like, one minute because it feels like glass to him but it doesn’t make blood on his feet. It just feels too pokey for heaven kids.