Journey to Psitharis

Chapter 27

Twenty-seven

The end of January proved to be uneventful. During the day I muddled through school, getting surprisingly good grades and flying under the radar for the most part. Dr. Tonsch quickly bored with my endless ability to stay one step ahead of him, so he bowed out of the sessions altogether. Meeting with Ms. Martin were a hell of a lot easier than the third degrees I got from that quack. Once he had left, she spent a lot of time giving me honest advice on how to deal with the never-ending line of jerks I encountered in school. We got to talk honestly, and I got to tell her how I really felt about things that were transpiring around me, and how my friendship with Jordan was keeping me grounded. She congratulated me in being able to do what a lot of adults couldn't do; keep my life in perspective.

At night I spent my moments in sleep at Donla's cabin. The Counsel was now eight in number, as Donla became an invaluable source of reason when our suggestions skipped off the rails. Like Emyll's idea of creating a wooden horse and hiding inside as we were wheeled through the castle gates as a gift for the princess, as if we were the stealthily approaching army of Greek soldiers attacking Troy...yeah, she wasn't very wild about that one.

Barathasan was second in command, as his mind far excelled past the twenty-eight years of life his small body did not show. Yet he always consulted with her whenever we were brainstorming, and she never chastised us for very stupid ideas; just gently let us know they were very stupid ideas. It occurred to me to make them older, perhaps restore the fierce protector to her former self. But, as Donla would always assure me, that idea "would keep."

One day as January drew to a close and as we talked our way through life skills class, I asked Jordan "So, how would your dad react to me coming to your house or you coming to mine?

She fidgeted a little, biting her lip. "Umm, to be honest, I don't know. We've never asked anyone over before. And we don't ask to go to other people's houses. It just seems to save us the argument if he decided it was a bad idea. He's not very keen on inviting people who don't, well, think like us."

"Well, that's not that big an issue." I replied. "I'm not an atheist or anything like that. I just don't get to go to church that much. Mom's only into getting out of bed on Sunday if there's something to be gained by it. I'm pretty sure there has to be a God up there; otherwise we'd all be a lot more screwed up than we already are."

"Yeah, well, that's the problem." She replied nervously. "You believe in God, but you don't dedicate your life to Him. And Daddy basically thinks the only people who are going to show up in Heaven are the ones in our church, and sometimes I think he has doubts about half of them. It's just really weird, you know?"

"Was your dad just born with a Bible in his hand, or did they hand him one the second they put him in your Grandma's arms?" I joked.

"Oh no. That didn't happen. Grandma was Jewish! Grandpa was Methodist. Daddy was raised in the Jewish faith for the longest time. He had a bar mitzvah, planned to meet and marry a nice Jewish girl, the whole deal. But when he and Mama were dating he was not a very nice person. He somehow decided that religion was a joke. Decided he wasn't going to have anything to do with religion anymore. It broke Grandma's heart. When Mom first met him, he was really good at hiding his true character. But eventually, and way too late, she found out he was an alcoholic and an abuser. He hurt her a lot. We all suffered from his bad temper. Most of us kids learned from an early age how to stay out of Daddy's way. Unfortunately I was too young to learn that lesson. See?" She showed me a tiny scar on the side of her head, which I never noticed before because it was hidden underneath her hairline. "I was two and a half when he sent me flying into the bedroom wall. After that, Mama's dad, my grandpa, threatened to shoot Daddy on sight if he ever tried to come back to the house drunk. And Daddy took his word for it and abandoned us. He left for about six months. It left Mama in a real lurch. She had three girls and she was pregnant with Jacob; she had to go on welfare and food stamps. We lived in a one-bedroom apartment and us girls slept on the floor.