Then There Was You(19)

“Anyway, I told them about the little Italian restaurant where we ate, and how the ravioli was the best I’d ever eaten, even if it did have little green specks in it. I told them about my dad reading me the menu and how I laughed that the Salmon was named Carlos. A few parents chuckled about that part. My mom never cracked a smile. She just sat at my desk, completely stoic. After everyone’s speeches, I saw her whispering to the teacher at her desk. I thought I’d made her so proud of me that night.”

My voice wavered, but I continued, “But, I didn’t make her proud. On the way home that night my mom barely spoke to me. I asked her if she liked my speech. She gripped the steering wheel tightly and started crying. Instead of telling me how proud she was, she asked me why I lied to everyone. I’ll never forget the tone of her voice. ‘You’ve never been to Italy, Salem,’ she said angrily. I didn’t understand. I didn’t lie. I still remember that day with my father like it was yesterday. It was one of the last memories I had of me and my dad before he died. She insisted it was just a dream, but I knew it wasn’t.” I looked around the room at the boys’ faces staring at me. As if I were trying to convince them all, I vowed, “I know it wasn’t just a dream.”

Burying my face in my hands, I tried to rein in my emotions. I knew my memory was real; I just never could convince anyone else of that fact. “Sorry, boys,” I whispered. “I didn’t mean to get so carried away.”

I didn’t think I’d tear up like I did. I hadn’t talked about my father’s death in so long that I was almost numb to it—until now. My mother had ripped my recollection of one of the happiest days I’d spent with my father away from me as if I’d stolen a cookie before dinner. I had mourned over the fuzzy memory that would never quite come into focus. My heart ached, not only from the loss of my dad, but from the hole in my heart of a robbed memory.

Chris rose to his feet and walked toward me. Placing his hand on my shoulder, he didn’t say a word. Instead, he patiently allowed me the opportunity to gain my composure. Other boys followed suit, and before I knew it, five sets of sympathetic hands were resting on my shoulders.

Chris spoke with conviction. “Thank you for sharing that with us, Mrs. H. I’m sorry about your dad.”

A few of the boys echoed him with ‘Thanks,’ and ‘Sorry,’ as they all returned to their seats.

I knew I had to lock my feelings away and move forward. I was worried when my emotions got the best of me that it would weaken the rapport I’d built with them or that they’d view me as weak. I continued the session, extremely vigilant in maintaining my professionalism for the rest of it. However, I found that the boys spoke more freely than ever before, giving me a whole new perspective on group dynamics.

Staring at me from across the circle, I sensed something in Chris. Empathy? Understanding? Compassion? Our eyes locked. With a single nod of his head and a flicker of a smile, he spoke volumes to me without speaking a word.





A couple of weeks later, Chris sauntered through the door for his usual appointment. “Mrs. Honeycutt, I’m here for my session,” he announced.

Sometimes it felt weird being called Mrs. Honeycutt. I’d only been married about nine months. A positive pregnancy test on that sweltering morning in the blistering heat of the summer resulted in a quick visit to the magistrate’s office for a not-so-fairytale wedding. I still wasn’t quite used to the new last name, much less someone just a few short years younger than me calling me Mrs. It made me feel old, like a staunch librarian with a tight gray bun on top of my head.

I’ll tell you what else made me feel old… no sleep. My legs felt like lead most days, and my brain worked in slow motion. I was only twenty-four, but Alexis made me feel like I was on my death bed.

I quickly wiped the tears from my eyes. Another sleepless night had rendered me weepy. Using my fingers, I tried to eliminate the mascara lines that I felt sure were running down my cheeks. I tried really hard to keep my emotions in check, but some days were harder than others.

I smiled through my tears. “Hey, Chris.”

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked, concerned as he slumped down onto the sofa.

“I’m fine. Just tired as usual.” I didn’t go into detail about my desire to drive my car off the bridge most days while the screaming baby in the backseat wracked my nerves.

“Okay, just wanted to be sure. I’m sorry you’re so tired.”

“Thanks. Having a baby is a lot harder than I ever expected… but enough about me. Sit down. Let’s chat for a while. How are you doing?” I thoughtlessly straightened a few items on my desk, grabbing a notebook and a pen from the top drawer, and sinking into my usual chair.