Page 51 of Easy Reunion
I join in. “What’s the point of the struggle? The suffering? Is there a life beyond this pain?” Without thinking, I reach out to grip Max’s free hand.
He shudders as if touch is a foreign concept to him.
“There is.” Tears clog my voice as I speak to the young teen who’s hurting in ways I know intimately. “I found the way to the other side.”
“Can you show me how?”
I shake my head. “But I can talk with you about the tools I learned to get me through.”
“You’d do that for me?” he asks in disbelief.
“Absolutely,” I say firmly. “I wish I had a place like Le Cadeau to come to when I was your age. Who knows if it would have made a difference?” I squeeze his hand, then begin to loosen my grip. But suddenly his tightens with such a strength, my eyes fly up to his.
“Do you know what Le Cadeau means?”
I nod. “The gift. All of you are, you know. Not just to Ms. Morgan or Ms. Angel, but to people you haven’t met yet.”
“I’m not sure if I believe that,” he says starkly. He tugs his hand away and pushes his straggly hair away from his face.
“You will when you’re ready to.” I let that sink in for a moment before I reach for the pen. “Do you want me to sign your book, Max?”
He nods and hands it over. I touch the worn cover reverently, knowing this is a beloved treasure while I think of the right things to say to a boy who needs to feel worthy and to give him the strength to go on to his tomorrows where there might not be people to help cushion the pain of his struggles and celebrate his triumphs. With gentle care, I flip to the title page. And I write.
This isn’t a quick note. I take my time writing a message to a boy whose soul touched mine in a place where in a perfect world no one should ever meet—on the hunting ground for bullies. I know we’re strangers, but we’re not when it comes to the hurts of our hearts. When I’m done, my not-so-perfect penmanship has covered the front and back of two pages. I blow lightly on them before I turn to hand him his precious treasure. Then, I turn to the stack in front of me and begin writing. When I’m done, each book has a quick message of encouragement.
There’s an awestruck look on his face. I bite my lip to hold the tears at bay. “Let go of the words they throw at you. Don’t keep them inside. Don’t let them eat at your soul, and you’ll be just fine, Max.” Sliding the books in his direction, I stand and wait for his reaction.
His lips tremble before he picks up the books, turns, and walks away. He gets halfway across the room before he stops. “Ms. Kee?”
“Yes?”
“How long did it take before the words they said to you didn’t matter?”
They’ll always matter. I don’t say that aloud. Instead, I say, “They started to matter less when I began to write.” I nod to the books in his hands.
He offers me a fleeting smile, but a smile, nonetheless, before exiting the room. Dropping the pen I’m still holding, I sag against the table. “Jesus.” I rub my hand over my heart. I feel like I just relived my nightmares. Only I’m awake.
“I now have a better understanding of what your life was like during high school. Is that what you felt like?” My head snaps up to see Ry in the doorway. His face is somber. Intuitively, I know he must have overheard my conversation with Max.
Part of me feels like a private moment was violated, but another part of me wants him to understand how deep my scars run. “Yes.”
He slowly approaches until he’s a few feet away. I can’t read the expression on his face. “Then, to be honest, I’d have wanted much more than to shove your success down our damn throats. I’d have wanted to slice them instead.”
He closes the distance between us before reaching for my hand while I try to pick up my jaw from the floor as I try to process what he said.
