Memory Lane

Chapter Sixteen

"The most creative thing in us is to believe in a thing." - Robert Frost

Memory Lane: Chapter Sixteen

My conversation with Aunt June replays in my mind every time I consider the support group.

I've been so afraid to talk about my parents, to open myself up to all of the pain that comes from losing them. When I was talking about them with Aunt June, I was surprised that it didn't hurt. Not as badly as I always thought it would, at least.

Listening to the stories she told of my mom getting into all sorts of trouble as a teenager, or the stories of my mom and my dad as they navigated the early stages of their relationship, even the stories of their different struggles with raising me... those stories didn't tear my heart apart. For the time being, it felt like they filled a portion of the missing piece I spoke to Jesse about.

I can't do that every day. I know that. I can't talk about them that loosely- I'm not strong enough for that yet. But, I can consider letting their memory in enough to talk about them once a week. Otherwise, I'll never allow myself to heal.

So, that's why I find myself standing outside the Bennington Community Center at 7:27 on this chilly Tuesday night. I stare up at the once bold lettering at the top of the building, my bottom lip pulled between my teeth. I've been standing here for the last ten minutes, my eyes darting between the building, my car, and the old red pickup truck that I parked next to.

I've avoided Jesse at school all week. It hasn't been hard. He hasn't made much of an attempt to talk to me, but I did catch his eyes on me on more than one occasion. I've filled my time by hanging out with Kendall and Quinn after school, inviting them over and spending time exploring Bennington with them. Allen and Steven met up with us a few times, realizing their grave mistake on Saturday when we all ended up at the mall one town over. Allen was as supportive as he could be to Kendall as she tried on nearly the entire mall's worth of clothes along with me and Quinn, while Steven snuck away to some shoe store for the entirety of our mall trip.

Despite the distractions I gave myself during the week, my conversation with Jesse has been very evident in the back of my mind every stupid second of the day. I've been going back and forth in my mind about coming to this support group, but every time my mind has come to the same conclusion: if I don't find an outlet now to talk about the accident now, I'll never allow myself to get past this.

As for my anger at Jesse, while it's still prevalent... if it weren't for him I'd be stuck in the same rut as I was for 8 months.

Finally, I shake away my nerves and doubt. A chilly breeze blows by, scraping up some leaves from the ground and carrying them across the old sidewalk. I pull my thin jacket tighter around my body and push the door open, making my way up the staircase and down the brightly lit hallway, stopping in front of the A-frame sign that sent my whole world crashing down last week.

I can just slip in and keep to myself, right? Maybe I can avoid even saying who I am. Just an observer for the day. If I don't find it helpful, I never have to come back and there's no damage done.

With a deep breath, I push the door open and step inside. I must have been debating my decision for longer than I thought, however, because I don't walk in to people mingling as they wait for the support group to start. Instead, I walk into a silent room aside from one older man sitting at the head of the semicircle of chairs speaking to the group. He stops talking at the sound of the old, creaky door squeaking open and his blue eyes land on me, along with everyone else in the room. 

I'm now acutely aware of every breath I take, how often blink, and have no clue what to do with my hands. Not to mention the low grumble in my stomach since skipping dinner once again.