My Purgatory Hell

Chapter 15

"You are my distraction now, whether you want it or not. So take responsibility for it."

― Melanie Sargsian

Samantha had reluctantly surrendered herself as the perfect distraction to my horrible day. "Fine, I concede," Samantha responded with raised hands. I was surprised, because I had this feeling she was in denial about letting anyone investigate her life and would continue to put her foot down to my attempts at helping her.

"So what now?" Samantha asked skeptically. She had a sour look plastered on her face, and I couldn't help but find the expression amusing.

Where was I supposed to start? I never imagined in my lifetime helping another human being--spirit--find peace. I thought for a moment. What was her trigger? I paused for a moment before remembering her knee jerk reaction to seeing her home, parents, and even bedroom.

"Can we start at your place?" I questioned.

Samantha clearly didn't like this suggestion, because her sour face turned into sadness. I found this was a good place to start, which may even bring her true issues to the surface. The ones she refuses to acknowledge and conquer. Reluctantly, Samantha responded. "Fine," she said in a typical teenage mellow-dramatic way.

"Great. Take us there." I gestured in front of me for Samantha to lead the way. Samantha didn't vocally respond to my demand. Instead, she complied by reaching out and grabbing my hand. Her facial expression became blank as she thought of the home she's always known, and the parents who've had her back time and time again until that disheartening day at the lake. Her parent's place materialized in front of us, and I was yet again amazed by the beauty in the landscape surrounding the house. Even though her parents were probably still grieving their baby girl to this day, they still kept up with the house chores. "Tell me more about your parents?" I prodded.

Clearly not wanting to mention her parents, Samantha made a face, but was civil in asking her question. "What do you want to know?" Using the reverse question tactic to avoid talking about what was truly going on inside of that turmoil-ridden brain of hers. Classic. Even I have to admit I've used that plan myself.

"Can you just tell me more about them? In general, what are they like?" I questioned, aspiring to earn some kind of response from Samantha this time, because I wasn't sure how I should phrase specific questions to obtain what I was seeking.

Samantha shrugged. "Okay, let me think." She tapped her chin as she processed her thoughts. It only took her a few moments to compose her words and speak about her parents as if her death didn't haunt her or them. "They are very sweet. My mom used to do everything with me. And yeah, my father worked a lot, but we needed the money to get by. Once a week there was mandatory family dinner. You could say we were the typical American family. Well, sort off. It feels like more of an illusion now" Her description was brief, but I kept my mouth shut until she finished her explanation before I voiced any more questions.

"And what did they do for hobbies?" I asked her with a yearning for more information.

"My mom loved to draw and paint. C'mon, and I will show you her paint room." Samantha wasn't kidding when she said her mother liked to draw and paint. The bedroom next to Samantha's told of a hobby of drawing and painting. A tall-standing easel stood in the corner with a half-painted canvas on it. I walked closer to the easel to get a better look, and the message that screamed at me was one of despair. Samantha's mom clearly missed her daughter, which was screaming from the paintings around us. I glanced at the other canvases scattered around the messy art room, and they all portrayed this same message.

"How often do you come here?" I questioned Samantha as I approached a blackened canvas of a small woman hovering over a darkened lake. Her mom had some real talent, even if it was bogged down with her pain and suffering. Sometimes those who suffer are blessed with the greatest gifts.