Page 55 of Only the Small Bones
Aside from music, I’d developed a love of reading from an early age. It started with my mother taking away TV time if I misbehaved. She’d tell me to read a book. I listened.
“Anyway, they’d chase you through the streets, clearing the way for Samuel to hobble home safely.”
“He lived a few blocks away from the school,” I frowned. “He was seven.” Samuel was a latchkey kid, and on the days when my mother or my grandfather couldn’t make it to the school by the time the final bell rang, so was I.
“All your classmates were a year older. You’d been skipped from first to second grade early in the school year. It leant credibility to your smarty-pants routine.” She chuckled, then shook her head, sobering. “The bullies eventually grew bored of you. Guess it was no fun harassing someone who’s literally asking for it. They cornered Samuel one day and pushed him to the ground, then kept pushing him down every time he got up. They didn’t stop until he stayed there. A crowd had gathered round, mocking and laughing at him. His knee brace broke, and his parents ended up transferring him to a school across town.”
“So I was upset they did that to him?” I asked, unable to recall my feelings about it back then. It angered me to hear about it now, though.
“You were upset because you weren’t there to help him. You’d been home getting over the flu when it happened. By the time you went back to class, Samuel was gone.” My mother stepped up to the island, her tone anguished, desperate even.
“The day you came home angry… I couldn’t get you to eat dinner that night, and I had to threaten to take away your Faith Ringgold bookcollection to get you out of bed for school the next morning. I should’ve been more understanding,” sheadded, no doubt believing my behavior to be an early sign of my depression. A sign she missed. I squeezed her hand.
“I came home with a black-eye that day,” I whispered.
“Yeah, Mr. Jackson said you’d gotten a good swing in on the big one before they jumped you.”
“Yeah, that I remember.”
“You’ve always been a crusader. A champion for the underdog, even when you were the underdog yourself. It both inspires me and terrifies me, because you’ll fight harder for others than you will for yourself—and at the detriment of yourself.”
I let the first tear fall, and the rest soon followed. She came around to my side, and I twisted in my stool to face her.
“Seeing you like this is more than I can take, baby.” She cradled my cheeks in her hands, her voice begging me to help her understand. “Tell me, what makes him so special?”
I breathed through all the pain I’d been holding on to, all the pain I’d nourished throughout the years before confessing, “He reminds me of someone I once knew.” It wasn’t a lie. It felt like the first real step I’d taken toward the truth.
I held onto her forearms for support, expelling another breath before whispering, “There’s something I’ve never told you.”
With one hand covering her heart, and the other one pressed to her mouth, she listened to the story I’d never told anyone before. Then I removed my shirt, showing her the tattoo on my back. The memorial to everything good, to the things I prayed Gargantuan would return.
My mother didn’t try to diagnose me, didn’t come up with a mental health gameplan like I was one of her patients. She’d shown up at my door as my mother. My momma. And that never wavered no matter how weak I became in front of her. No matter how afraid she became for me.
She cried with me, and then she did what she used to do every Sunday after church when I was a kid. She let me pick a couple of titles from my “most iconic movies” list, and listened while I dissected the instrumentation of the score—the heartbeat of every film.
I’d unlocked my dark prison and allowed someone else in, taking me one step closer to leaving those steel bars behind.
My mother built me up that night. She infused me with love and shared stories, highlighting the grit I forgot I possessed. She’d broken through my gray cloud and shined a light on the courage needed to carry me to the pinnacle of being whole. She taught me another important lesson that night.
“Sometimes guarding a secret gives us purpose. We find false honor in the keeping of it. We allow it to define us, because without it we feel as if we’re nothing. The truth is letting go is where we find our true selves. So let go, William. Tell him.”
William
Thanksgiving came and went weeks ago, with Christmas now banging down my door. I had yet to hear from Ryan. I’d gotten a glimpse of him in the holiday group photograph the Safe Haven staff emailed me. We never spared any expense in making holiday celebrations special—although Christmas was one where we went all out. I sometimes attended the parties, but I wouldn’t show up there again until Ryan confirmed it was okay. I’d respect his decision to heal under his own terms.
He’d gotten his hair trimmed, which made me hopeful for his progress. A month ago he wouldn’t have allowed anyone that close to him. He gazed into the camera as though he knew I’d eventually see the photograph, like he knew he was looking at me. Ryan could be intense, so it could’ve just been natural for him to peer into the lens as if peering into a soul.
I’d gotten a lot done during the weeks I spent in Brooklyn. My barber was able to fit me in, so I no longer walked around with an uneven line-up. I’d started running again, and taking pleasure in the sunrise. More importantly, I resumed therapy.
Dr. Stein prescribed something stronger for my anxiety, but I decided to hold off on the antidepressants. Talk therapy, sticking to a structured routine, adjusting my diet, and integrating more of the things that brought purpose into my life worked before, so we’d agreed to try them again and see where things went from there.
Feeling stronger, I kissed my mother goodbye and headed home. I’d stayed much longer than I anticipated.
The apartment was warm, and every surface sparkled when I walked in. The air smelled like the cedar spice plug-ins I loved but ran out of. Even the bed linens had been changed. It explained where my mother disappeared to, yesterday evening. She’d supposedly gone grocery shopping, but returned empty handed.
“No good sales,”she’d explained.
She now had the access codes to the elevator and apartment, and I’d added her name to my pre-approved visitors list. Prior to her finding me in the depths of one of my episodes, Ryan was the only other person with that level of clearance. It made her feel better knowing she could physically get to me if there ever came another time when she couldn’t reach me by phone.
