Therapy (39 page)

We finished our meal and left. Now Jess is pulling into the driveway at my new house right behind me. I still can’t believe she’s here. I kind of want to pinch myself, but I refrain. I get out and she meets me up at the door.

“Jace, this place is so great all tucked out here by itself. It’s beautiful and peaceful.”

“Yeah, I love it. It’s small but it has a ton of character,” I respond as I unlock the door and gesture for her to follow me in. “Come on in. Welcome to my little house of boxes,” I joke.

She steps inside and scans the space. “Wow, for a small place, these high ceilings really open it up. I love the skylights.”

She’s in my house. Again, I’m trying to convince myself that this is actually happening.

“Thanks, I like that touch as well.”

She sets her purse down by the door. “So, where do you want to start?”

I look around aimlessly at all the boxes and throw my hands up. “I guess it doesn’t really matter. Let’s just pick a box and go with it.”

“All right,” she agrees.

We both kneel down and pick up different boxes. I hand over a box cutter and we simultaneously open them up.

“Jace, these boxes aren’t even labeled,” she scolds with a smile.

“Um, yeah I know. I’m really bad at this moving stuff. Sorry.”

She shakes her head at me and digs into her box. “Well, this is all clothes. Which room is your bedroom? Or would you rather do the clothing yourself?”

“No, no, it’s fine. My room is the last one on the left.” I point toward the hallway.

“Okay,” she says, getting up to carry the box back to my room. Trying to resist the urge to follow her back there and throw her on my unmade bed is physically and mentally taxing, but I stay put and focus on the box of stuff in front of me.

Get it together, Jace. You don’t need to mess things up right when she just came back into your life.

A few minutes later, she returns to the living room as I’m digging through old photo frames and picture albums. I don’t look up until I hear her clear her throat. I snap my eyes in her direction and there she is, holding up my old
Music Makes Me Horny
T-shirt. It’s faded and worn from years of use, and I wonder if she remembers when she gave it to me, how she called it “Jace blue.” I know I sure do.

“You still have this after all these years?”

I stand up and walk over to her, reaching out for the T-shirt. “Of course I do. Why do you look so surprised?”

“Um, I don’t know. I just didn’t think you’d still have something from that long ago.”

If she only knew...

“Jess, there are many things from back then that still remain. That T-shirt is only one of them,” I say seriously.

I’m not sure if she gets the subtext, but I think she does because her eyes soften. I can tell she’s feeling nostalgic just like I am. Only it’s more than nostalgia. It’s a permanent memory of thoughts, words, feelings, and moments that never disappeared with all of the bridges we burned.

Just before I say something else she quickly snaps out of the moment and walks past me.

“Okay, what box is next? Let’s get crackin’, Collins. Let’s get this done.”

I lay the T-shirt down and smile.

“Yes, ma’am. I guess you can help me hang some of these frames and stuff.”

She joins me on the sofa and we start sorting through photos. She holds one up from my Baylor graduation. It’s me and Trent in our caps and gowns.

“How was it on that day? How did it feel to accomplish that?”

“It was good,” I assure her. She looks contemplative, but I can’t tell what she’s thinking. “You’ll know that feeling soon enough.”

She sets the picture aside and reaches out to turn over an upside-down frame. As soon as she flips it, she pauses and takes a moment before picking it up slowly. She pulls it in to take a closer look; the expression on her face is strange. Her brows crease and she glances over at me, confused.

“Where did you get this, Jace?”

“What do you mean where did I get it? It’s mine. Why? What’s wrong? You look weird, Jess.”

She stands up, gripping the picture, still staring at it intently. “Who gave this to you? How do you know my old neighbor?”

Her old neighbor?
She’s definitely mistaken.

“Jess, that’s not your old neighbor. That’s Genevieve, my little sister.”

All at once, the color completely drains from her face, and she glares at me with confusion and dismay. She shakes her head back and forth hurriedly.

“No, no, it’s not. It can’t be. This is Vivvie. She lived next door to me in high school.”

She turns the picture to face me and points right to Genevieve’s face.

“This is her. I know it. She’s even wearing the same purple jacket and pin she gave me in this very picture. This can’t be your sister, Jace.”

The pin. The purple snowflake pin... Jess was wearing one at Mom’s funeral. I don’t even know what to say. She has to be confused. This is insane.

“Jess, that
is
my sister. Look, here are my photo albums; you can see for yourself. And Genevieve’s nickname was Vivvie.”

I hand her the photo album and she takes it, dropping to the sofa. She desperately flips through page after page of family pictures. Tears form in her eyes and slowly roll down her face. Her hands are trembling; she’s really starting to scare me.

“Jess, what’s going on? How did you know her nickname and why did you think she was your neighbor? She’s been gone for a long time. I don’t understand. Make me understand.”

She looks at me with a blank stare. Her lips start to move as if she’s going to say something, but she stops short of vocalizing her thoughts and presses her lips into a hard line. Her head tilts down toward the album once more before she gets up. She walks quickly to her purse, brings it over to the sofa, and anxiously starts digging through it. Moments later, she removes her hand from the purse and displays Genevieve’s pin in her open palm.

The purple snowflake.

She points to the picture of Genevieve again and says, “She gave this to me. I’ve kept it with me always. She saved me one day. She’s the reason I didn’t go through with my first plan to kill myself after I had the abortion. And when I was in the hospital after Kingsley died, after my suicide attempt, I almost didn’t make it, but she was there again.”

Tears well in her eyes. She’s looking at me as if I can solve this crazy mystery, but I’m just as confused as she is.

“I was dreaming or something. Kingsley was in my dream and he was happy. He’d been reunited with his wife and son. I don’t know...it was all so strange.” Her brows draw together in a pained expression and I have no idea what to say. “But I remember that Vivvie was in my dream too. That dream has haunted me because she looked the same. She had on the same clothes and was still a little girl, even though six years had passed since I met her in my backyard. In the dream, she spoke to me. She told me it wasn’t my time to go yet and that I had to fight. She told me that I had things left to do, that I’d do great things one day. She told me that I was going to make a difference in people’s lives, that love would find me again, and that I had to open my eyes and live so that I could do all of those things.”

She pulls the photo in toward her face again and studies it closely. “She said teaching would be my life’s purpose, my gift, and that, like she told me before, it’s rude not to accept the gifts you’re given. Then she smiled and was gone. All I remember after that is waking up in the hospital. When I got better and went home for the first time, I went next door to find her. I wanted to thank her and see how she was doing after all this time, but no one was there. My mom told me the house had been empty for years.”

Tears are streaming down her face and her hands are trembling, causing the photo she’s still holding to shake in her grip. I focus on that, because the realization of what she’s just told me is starting to soak in and my mind can’t comprehend it all at once.

It’s too much.

“Why did she give you the pin, Jess?” Everything in me is pleading with her for some reasoning.

She looks at me through her tears and says, “She said it was my force field. She said her brother gave it to her because she was special and it was a special pin with special powers. She said it would protect me. I tried to tell her I couldn’t take it, but she insisted.”

I said those things. I gave Genevieve that pin. Those are my words. I can’t make sense of this. My palms are sweaty and my mind is racing a million miles a minute.

I have to stop trying to analyze any of this right now. At this point, I need to let my heart guide my reaction because explaining the unexplainable is impossible. I reach down and take the pin from her palm, pinning it to her shirt just above her heart.

Our eyes lock onto each other and the ledge I’m standing on seems to get smaller beneath me. But now, I’m no longer afraid of falling.

So I jump.

I cup her chin gently and look into her beautiful, confused eyes. “She was right, Jess, about all of it. This is for someone special, someone that I love with all that I am. You
are
going to do great things in this life,” I whisper, gently placing a kiss on her forehead.

I wrap my arms tightly around her and rest my chin on her head as she hugs me back and cries into my chest. For the first time since Genevieve died, I feel like a weight has been lifted, and I’m seeing clearly, like maybe there is hope for me, for Jess, for us. And, somehow, I have my little sister to thank for that. Because although Genevieve is there, she’s also here, with us. I don’t know what there is like, but here has never been so promising...

THE END

“Everything has beauty. Even the ugly. Because

without the ugly, there would be no beauty. Because without beauty, we would not survive our pain, our sorrow, and our suffering.”

—Madeline Sheehan

One month later...

WALKING ACROSS THE cemetery, I know I should feel something like anxiety or sadness, but mostly I feel a sense of serenity. The warm Texas breeze has the tree branches swaying and the sounds of rustling leaves and birds chirping are peaceful. The smell of freshly cut grass moves through the air and reminds me of the happy days I had as a kid. I hold my journal under my arm as I make my way to Kingsley’s grave. His headstone is simple and the engraving his family chose is perfect. Everyone always focuses on the dates but all I can see is the dash. His birth and death aren’t what mattered. The life he lived is what truly mattered most.

My chest tightens and my heart feels a small spasm of pain. I swallow down the lump in my throat and push away the tears that want to come. I won’t be sad today. It’s been over a year since I lost him, but I can’t continue to grieve for him. He would hate that. I wish he could know me today. He would be so proud of me. I think back to something he once told me; something I never understood until now.

“I love you for you, Jess. Your past doesn’t define who you are. Biography isn’t destiny.”

I kneel down as his words finally resonate. The soft grass meets my knees and I open up my journal. I flip to the last page where my newest poem is. My mind rewinds back to the precious moments I had with Kingsley and I smile. He was one of those people that came into my life and shone a bright light on it, showing me everything I never saw in myself. He opened me up to the endless possibilities of who I could be. He planted the seeds that slowly grew inside my heart, bringing me hope and love. Kingsley was one of those once-in-a-lifetime people that can never be forgotten because his impression upon my life and the world will always be there. I tear out the poem and fold it into a small square. I reach out and prop it up against the headstone. The sky is bright blue today with crazy deep blue hues surrounding the fluffy clouds; it reminds me of his eyes. I close mine to get a clearer picture of him in my mind, the words of my poem running through my head. I titled it “Rafters Above.”

Walls had been built

Fears birthed from unrelenting

self-doubt

Seated alone within the confines of my mind

Peeking out

I captured a glimpse

There you were

I saw you

Looking closer

Looking through my defenses

You saw me

Step-by-step

You traveled the emotional miles

You pushed

You magnified

Standing me in front of myself

A bright light

You shined upon me

You forced me to see it

The real me

Seeds that you watered

Never once taken for granted

They grew

Implanted

Inside my heart

Branching out into my soul

Breaking

Destroying

Each boundary deploying

Every bridge burnt

Rebuilt by a carpenter of love

A creator of hope

Now resting upon rafters above

A once-in-a-lifetime person

A friend

An infinite impression

I bring my fingers to my lips, placing a kiss to them before reaching out and pressing them against his engraved name on the stone. I whisper two words, “Thank you.”

The tears start to come and I quickly stand up, brushing off my knees and taking in a deep breath. I pick up my journal and look at the headstone, but I know he’s not there. I look up to the sky and smile once more.

“Good-bye Kingsley,” I tell him. Then I turn and walk away.

Jace and I have been dating for a month now, but we are taking things slow. He’s been incredibly patient, but he’s also been persistent in making sure I know that he’s in this for the long haul. School takes up a lot of my time and he’s really busy with work. Oddly enough, we’ve decided to start going to a few joint sessions with his therapist to sort through some of our demons from the past. Our first session together is today. Seems strange to be in counseling with your boyfriend, but I think, knowing our pasts and how upside-down our lives have been, it’s a positive thing for us. Everyone needs a little therapy at one point or another in their life. We’re trying to do better now that we know better. I love Jace, and his undying love for me is something that I never thought I could accept, because I never believed I deserved it. Therapy has taught me many things about myself. Believing that I
am
worth it is the hardest lesson of all to fully absorb. It’s still a daily struggle, but it’s a battle I gladly face because it’s a fight worth fighting.

I have a ton of homework piled up in front of me. Jace is coming to pick me up in a bit, so I need to get on it, but I bought myself a new journal yesterday and I’m dying to put a few words in it. I reach down and pull it out of my purse, opening it to the first page. I run my hand over the crisp, white, blank page and try to think of a title. “Therapy”, which seems pretty fitting, sounds good.

Pain and hurt

They move quickly inside you

Stripping away layers of self-worth

Crashing through your thoughts

Rearranging your ideas

Sifting through your soul

Dragging you along

Love and hope

They take their time

Tip-toeing through your mind

Rethreading the frayed edges of time

Giving you signs

Love will always show up

It wants in

Open the window to your heart

Let. It. In.

Love will see you

It saw me

I see it too

Self-love

It’s my THERAPY.