Page 100 of Follow My Voice
My respect for him died along with my brother. He seems to know that because he has never made a comment about my playing.
“Who taught you how to play?” His question catches me off guard. He’s never shown any interest.
“Jung took me to a few private classes,” I reply, wary and confused. Why is he curious?
“Mmm, of course.” There is no sarcasm or malice in his tone, just acceptance that my brother was the kind of person to encourage you to fight for your dreams. He folds his arms across his chest. “Your mother told me you play in a bar.”
I swallow and hesitate. “Yes.” Is he going to lecture me about it?
“I’d like to go.”
“What?”
“I’d like to go and see you play.”
My heart races. Even though I’ve lost respect for the man and a part of me is still working on the anger I felt toward him after what happened, he’s still my dad.
“You don’t have to do that,” I retort.
“I know, but I want to,” he replies. “Just a heads-up, if you are not good at it, I will let you know. I am an honest man.”
I chuckle. “Right.”
He turns around and, out of nowhere, I find the courage to invite him to see me play sooner than I expected it. “Actually,” I start, and he turns to me, listening, “there is a talent show in Charlotte next month. You and Mom can come if you want.”
“Talent show?” He raises an eyebrow. “Sounds interesting. Okay.”
“Okay,” I say with a smile.
42Release Me
OVER THE PASTweek, I’ve relied on my friends for a distraction, meeting up for study sessions to prepare for finals. I haven’t talked to anyone about Kang, because I don’t think they would understand, and because I don’t even know how to explain it. I like Kang a lot, but I don’t want to hurt him after everything he’s done for me. I’m still processing so much that I don’t know if I can deal with anything else right now; I need time.
I want to spend winter break taking in all the changes I’ve experienced. I want to focus on my victories and be comfortable knowing setbacks will come. I want to strengthen my relationships with my new friends. And even though Kang is part of the group of good people who have come into my life and helped me make positive changes, worrying about the negative effect I may have on him is too much for me to handle right now. Maybe it’s selfish of me, but…
After taking my Personal Health/Wellness final, without realizing it, I’ve made my way to a completely different building, through a hallway where the art classes are held. Standing in front of an open door, I’m hit with the smell of fresh paint. I see blankcanvases, unfinished works, and completed paintings. I’ve spent a lot of time in classrooms like this one. I can almost see myself sitting there, headphones on, listening to music, my head bobbing to the beat as I paint. I can also picture my mother coming in, smiling, to remind me that I’ve lost track of time again and she’s come to pick me up.
“It must be hard, I imagine.” I’m startled by Ellie’s voice suddenly beside me. “I mean, it must be hard to lose something that used to be so important to you.”
The memory of my mother’s smile as we walked out of the art classroom, joking and laughing, is still so clear in my mind. “It is hard.”
“I know it doesn’t compare to everything you’ve been through, but I imagine I would feel something similar if I couldn’t read. Books are my way of escaping reality, losing myself in other worlds.”
I sigh. “It’s not just that I’m not able to paint anymore. It’s that I associate painting with sadness,” I say. “One day I just became afraid to paint, to see that sadness in my paintings.”
“Our brains work in strange ways, don’t they?”
“I think our brains have many ways of dealing with trauma so that we can survive.”
Ellie takes my hand. “Come on, my finals are over for today.”
I follow her silently. That’s not the only thing that’s over.
I’m back between my four walls.
I now find my room stifling, boring. It used to be my safe haven; I’ve spent so much time here. That all seems like a distant memory even though it’s only been a few months. Things can change so much in just a short time. When we’re in a slump, in the dark moments, we believe that we’ll feel that way forever, that we’ll never get better. But that’s not true. We just have to push back against that belief that sadness lasts forever or that crippling anxiety willbe our daily bread. We have to accept there will be good days and bad days, and hope there will eventually be more good ones. It’s something I’m still working on believing.
“Are you ready?” Kamila pokes her head through the half-open door. “They’re here.”
