Page 10 of We Redeemed the Rain

As an adult, I still struggle to forgive myself for staying silent. I can’t figure out why I didn’t speak up. Best I can figure is this: If a person doesn’t use their voice, maybe eventually they forget they have one.

That happened to Cooper and I.

We forgot we had voices.

Even if we used them, no one was there to listen.

Our only refuge was Mama and Sloan’s instability. They broke up and made up five times over the course of the school year. There were more months Sloan wasn’t in our home than months he was.

But it didn’t matter whether he was or wasn’t.

We were already broken.

Already voiceless.

Already alone.

Everything changed that spring.

“Sam.” A gentle hand shook my shoulder.

I startled and jerked my head off the desk, my fingers instinctively rubbing the crease a crinkled page left on my face.

“You fell asleep in class again.” Miss Greta stood over my desk, concern knitting her brow. “That’s the third time this week.”

I struggled to pull my eyes open. The last kids in the room were clearing out. I’d slept right through the bell. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Are you not getting enough sleep at night?”

I shrugged. I couldn’t sleep at night. “I just stayed up too late.”

She pursed her lips, thinking. For some reason, I doubted she believed me. And inside, I wanted her to find my lie. I didn’t know how to speak the truth, and I needed someone to pull it out of me.

“Well, now that you’re awake, I might as well tell you…you did an amazing job on the paper you turned in yesterday. I always love reading your writing, but your descriptions for the sensory writing assignment were absolutely phenomenal, Sam. You have a way with words. Most of my students picked physical things to describe. Like jumping into cold water or wind or cooking a meal. You picked something abstract and”—she widened her eyes in surprise—“knocked it out of the park.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you write a lot?”

“Not really. Just for classes. I wish I could write more.”

“You like it?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“It’s obvious you’re enthusiastic about the assignments I give you. I wish we had more options for gifted students here.”

Gifted?

“If there was a way to put you in an honors class for writing and language arts, I’d do it.” She tilted her head to the side, her bob brushing the top of her shoulder. “Feel free to say no, but I have an idea. Do you want extra work for fun?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“You probably don’t know that I teach a writing class at the library on Tuesday nights. Granted, it’s for adults…but I think your writing would fit right in and we’d be happy to have you. We learn the basics of poetry, creative writing, and all kinds of other things. I think you should come.”

“I will.” I meant it.

She smiled. “Good. And one more thing. I want to say something about the sensory assignment. Loneliness is a deep topic for anyone to explore. But you’re thirteen and you describe being alone like someone whoisalone.”

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