The Dark Journey
Chapter 15 - Reprieve



Emotions in turmoil
at odds with myself
an impasse
which way do I go from here?
On the one hand, loneliness
On the other, damnation
so I sit here in the middle
going neither right nor left
I had built up my walls
made them strong and thick
sealed with blood and tears
and the inevitable pound of flesh
(ok, so it was only a few ounces)
bricks made of pain and horror
the stones of guilt and sorrow
all piled one atop the other
until the walls were so high
I couldn't see
beyond what was my reality
then along you came
and with one quick sweep of your hand
you have demolished
my house of cards
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I still worked the streets and I still managed to get high quite often. I stopped by the mission once or twice a week for a decent meal and to see Mary and Rachel, who seemed like very nice people and never pried into my personal matters. I picked up bits and pieces of sign language from Mary. I adopted 'Nadine Swan' as my street identity, combining two of the characters from the book, Nadine Cross and Lucy Swan, into one name.

As the time passed I found myself going more and more often to the mission and spending less time on the streets. Rachel never openly mentioned my line of work or my habits, but I knew that she knew about both. She was a shrewd woman and had been volunteering time at this place for almost 5 years, ever since her husband had died. She told me one evening about how he had been driving back up from a medical convention of some kind in L.A. and was in a head-on collision with a drunk driver. I never found out if she did it on purpose, but that story went to my heart and I began telling her about my father and how he had been killed. I told her about the hard years when mom was raising us by herself, and finally about Mark.

One evening in August as we sat around talking, Rachel was called aside by another one of the volunteers. I overheard a part of their conversation having to do with some deadline or other that was the 20th. Rachel told the woman not to worry as there were still three days to meet the deadline. I didn't think anything of it at the time, and we continued our conversation when Rachel returned. About an hour later it dawned on me. It was the 17th of August.

Rachel asked me what was wrong. I had suddenly gone very quiet. I asked her to tell me what today's date was and she confirmed that it was the 17th. I smiled a little as I told her that I had just turned 17. I never expected a party, but I got one anyway. Later she told me that any excuse to ease the depression of some of the guests was welcome, and my birthday was a perfect reason to get the others involved in some kind of celebration.

I think over a period of time my addiction shifted from cocaine and alcohol to the companionship of Rachel and Mary. Rachel got me a job working at a small café near the shelter as a waitress, helped me to get a little one bedroom apartment, and simply encouraged me whenever she could.

Rachel invited me to her house for both Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners. We exchanged gifts and enjoyed one another's company. I asked her why she wanted to spend so much time with me when there were so many others that she should be helping. She hesitated for a few moments then rose from the couch where she was sitting and went into another room. She came back in after a minute or so holding a gold-framed picture. She gazed at it for a long while before handing it to me.

There was a little girl of maybe five years old with dark wavy hair and a radiant smile looking back at me. As I looked Rachel told me her name had been Susan. She was her only child. She had been seven years old when she died. Tears streamed down her face as she told me about the illness that had taken her so swiftly. There was nothing anyone could do.

I got up and went to her, holding her gently and she rested her head upon my shoulder and wept for a minute or so. She pulled back from me, her hands on my shoulders, and said that Susan would have been 17 years old this year. She said that I represented to her the daughter she had lost and she was going to do anything in her power to make sure that I had a decent life. As long as I was willing to accept her help and love. I stood staring at her. Now it was my turn to burst into tears and she held me just as I had held her moments before.


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