For The One(70)

“What do you think of our center?”

I nod. “It’s a very interesting place. I bet they are sad you are leaving.”

Raul’s head comes up. “You’re leaving?”

Jenna’s head jerks sharply toward the boy. “No worries, R. I’m not leaving anytime soon.”

“But—“ I begin.

“Wil, it’s time to go. ‘Bye, Raul!” She’s tugging me along and waving goodbye to Ann while giving her some instructions. Then she grabs her things, not speaking again until we are in the parking lot.

Letting out a breath, she says, “If you come back here, please don’t say anything about my leaving, okay?”

Jenna is still holding my hand, so I tighten my grip. “They don’t know?”

“They don’t need to know. Not yet. I’ll give them notice. The Faire doesn’t even leave the area for two and a half months.”

“You don’t have the courage to tell them now?”

Her eyebrows bunch together. “It’s not about courage. Jeez, William. Sometimes you can just be so…”

“Abrasive?” I’ve heard that one before.

“Judgmental of other people’s choices. I have good, valid reasons for leaving.”

Running away, I mentally add. “You also have good, valid reasons for staying,” I say aloud.

She drops my hand and blows out a breath. “Let’s just get in the car.”

Sitting with her arms folded across her chest, she’s silent most of the drive to Disneyland. So I begin speaking to her about the urban art that Raul was creating while pointing out some examples I see on our drive through Anaheim.

Some of it is just crude, ugly tagging, but there are some examples of truly beautiful artistic expression. It makes me hope the creators of that art will someday learn and push their craft to a professional level. I realize how good it felt to teach someone else a little of what I know—and for him to appreciate that knowledge I shared.

“I liked teaching Raul.”

“Good. Teaching can be fun.” She smiled, and I could swear the light inside the car grew brighter.

“Have you ever thought about becoming a teacher?”

She looks at me for a long time. “Yeah, actually. I think maybe, someday…when I’m done filling my need to wander.”

I frown. The less said about that, the better. “I was surprised to see Ann. I’d forgotten that she worked with you.”

“Yes. That’s how we met, and when I started going to the RMRA, she got really interested in it, too.”

“Is she also a war refugee?”

Jenna nods. “Yes. From Somalia. She and her family escaped the war there by fleeing to Kenya before making it to the US.”

I think about that as we continue to drive. “And Raul? Where is he from?”

“Honduras. His mom was killed on their journey here, which was almost completely on foot, all the way up from Central America. It was horrible.”

I picture Ann and Raul and their families walking through jungles or across deserts to find safety, and I’m suddenly sad that others have been born into such unfortunate situations. Like Jenna, for example. I can only imagine she saw more death and horror in the first five years of her life than I’ve ever seen—movies included. I realize how lucky I am, especially as I think about the news reports of the refugees from Syria who are escaping under similar circumstances.

“What was your journey like?” I ask.

“Huh? Oh, you mean from Yugoslavia?”

“Yes, was it like that? On foot?”

She pauses for a moment and glances out the window. “No, we were put on a truck in Sarajevo—my aunt, my sister and me—and driven to Zagreb in Croatia. There was a checkpoint along the way, and…” She shudders and shakes her head. “Anyway, it was not like Raul’s at all. We had some family in Zagreb and stayed there until we could fly to America. I was lucky.”

After hearing her story and some of the things she’s been through, I don’t think that she’s as lucky as she feels she is. I just think she’s strong. Incredibly strong.

And beautiful—not just on the outside, but all the way to the core of what makes her her. Jenna helps people and she’s compassionate…it doesn’t take a professional artist to appreciate that beauty.

I hope that in proving my worthiness, I’ll win her over and she’ll want to stay. Because the more time I spend with her, the more I want her with me for good.

But now my thoughts shift as we pull into the enormous “Mickey and Friends” parking structure that serves park guests. A weight drops into my stomach, my heart is racing and my breathing is coming fast. And though it’s not even close to what Jenna has endured, I’m still filled with dread at the thought of reliving some of my own childhood horrors.