Motivation of Memories: The Second Book of the Labors of Love Series

Fear and Sensitivity

Genevieve's POV

"So what are doing back in New York, Elly?" Baba asks bringing out the food.

"We're going to be on Letterman!" I say excitedly.

"Letterman? That's my girl!" He smiles kissing her forehead and taking his seat.

"Have you done any other interviews?" Mummy asks.

"Not yet but we did take some pictures for Essence magazine. I'll send you a copy." I smile at her but she doesn't look up as she fixes my siblings plates. When she stops, I make a plate for Prince before making mine. She glared at me from across the table the disapproval in her eyes is evident.

"You make his plate?" She asks ignoring my comment about Essence.

"I always make plates when I cook."

"You make plates for family and husbands not boyfriends."

"He is our guest he should not have to make his own plate." My mother grunts under her breath as she closes her eyes. I hold Prince's hand under the table and reach for Jack Jack's too.

"Father, we thank you for this meal and for bringing my Elly home. We thank you for Prince bringing her home, for their company at this table, and for the talents we all share. Bless the food, the cooks and the conversations of the night. Amen."

A series of amens follow as people begin to dig in. I sit quietly, not feeling very hungry under my mother's gaze. Was she always this suffocating? Is this why I was so eager to leave? My family normally lets my fade away in moments like this. I become part of the booth, just another part of the atmosphere. Prince touches my leg and I look at him.

"Not hungry?" He whispers leaning in. I shake my head. "I think if you ate a piece you'd change your mind."

Anthony's POV

I can see her shutting down. Normally, we just leave her alone and she comes back to us when she's ready. There were many nights at the dinner table where I would wrap up her food because I knew she'd get hungry for it eventually. Sometimes she just wasn't in the mood. Not for food, not for family, not for talking. I never wanted to force her so I'd leave her alone.

I watch as he leans into her and they have a almost silent conversation. She stares at her plate mindlessly but as he talks to her she responds. Maybe not with full words., maybe just nodding or head shaking here or there.

Jacklynn pulls on her sleeve forcing her to focus. She turns to her baby sister, leaning down so she can hear her.

"Gen Gen, will you cut it?" Without thought, Elly cuts the fish into smaller pieces and pushes them to one side of the plate.

I watch her mind for blank again and I watch as he persists. Whispering to her and keeping her company while she's off in her own world. I smile and laugh with the rest of the family but my focus has always been my little girl.

I knew she was special when she was a baby. She was so sensitive even then that if a feather fell on her head she'd start to cry. Her mother would scold her, tell her to be strong, but it only made it worse. So, I gave her music. She played her instruments and sang whenever she felt something. It was never quiet in our house again. It brought her peace to be alone with the sounds she created but I worried it wouldn't be enough.

Moving to the Congo to be with Florence's mother helped a lot. Hope was also a sensitive woman. She gave Genevieve dance. It was a way for them to connect and understand the world around them in the new and strange place.

When we came to America her sensitivity was joined by fear. I thought armed with music and dance she'd be okay. That it had strengthened her enough to go out and live her own American dream but we saw very quickly that that wasn't the case. She stopped talking and eating and soon she did nothing at all. She didn't sing or dance or play her guitar. She didn't go play with the other kids in the neighborhood. She just sat. Alone in her own world. I think she felt alone in ours too and decided it was better to be alone in her head.

We were poor for awhile as we worked to build the restaurant. We couldn't afford fancy dance classes and music instructors so I gave her her own time in our small living room to dance and play. Hope watched her during those moments. She kept her smiling even if she wasn't happy enough to talk.

Then, the dance scouts found her one day at school. Some ballerinas from a local school came to perform for them. When she came home it was all she could talk about. The first thing we had heard her say in nearly a week. We received a call from a teacher a few days later, she had been doing parts of their routine at recess from memory. I told her we couldn't afford dance classes. She told us to bring her in on a Saturday for a free lesson. What we didn't know was that it was a scholarship audition. This was the first of many. She auditioned for scholarships for all types of programs. Ballet, jazz, tap and they all saw something in her. They same thing I saw when she was a baby, sensitivity. She had a gentleness that they had never seen before and they all agreed to work with her. Same thing happened with her violin and flute instructors. Together all five of her teachers created a plan to break her out of her shell.

Dance gave her discipline and strength and confidence. Music gave her cleverness, flexibility and endurance but nothing could get rid of her fear and sensitivity. She was brave and confident but still such a quiet girl off the stage. She still wrote more than she spoke and I was realized I had done the wrong thing. I gave her tools and places to go to avoid her. I have her music to drown out the voices and dance so she could endure the pain but I could never make any of it go away. I had failed.

Her mother gave her pageants as she entered high school. She thought it would make her more of a lady and give her a place to showcase her talents other than the few recitals she did a year. She quickly became a force to be reckoned with. Pageants gave her poise and elocution. She learned to dress and speak well. She could walk with her head held high and stand with her shoulders back but I still knew it didn't save her. It only hid her fear and sensitivity even more.

I was her weakness. I was the only person she told everything to. I was the person who read the notebooks and responded. I was the person she came to when it all went wrong. I told her when she was small that I would always pick her up when she was down. And I did.

The night it happened, the night of her prom was the closest she had gotten to being whole. Her poise, her confidence, her wit, it was all on display that night I sent her to her junior prom. By the time she came home all that was left was my sensitive little girl more afraid of the world than she had ever been. That night she was so scared I had to sleep in her room with her. She woke up many nights crying and I was always right there. I lied awake with tissues and blankets and notebooks and songs and everything I could think of but nothing I had could cure her fear and sensitivity.

Sitting here, I'm happy to see that she has found someone that sees how fragile she is. That it hasn't deterred him but brings out his own gentle nature. I don't know Prince but I do know she's brings out something in him. I can see it. I can see it in the way he speaks to her and the way he holds her hand.

He's going to take good care of her.

As she takes a bite, I smile at the boy who's managing to do the one thing I was never able to do for her. The one person I've ever met who could get through to her when she couldn't reach herself. He's the one and I think she knows it but, I'll need to speak to him before I pass the torch.