Paint Chips Read online

  “Oh, good. I’m glad all that stuff can be used.”

  “You want to know the weirdest part?” He looked at me, a little puzzled. “The woman there was a dead ringer for you. I mean, I had to keep looking at her to make sure it wasn’t you. I think she must have thought I was crazy or something.”

  “That’s strange.” I said, my mind starting to wonder. “What was her name?”

  “Gosh, like I can ever remember names.” He scratched his head. “I know your name. That’s a pretty big accomplishment for me.”

  “Oh, you’ll probably think of her name as soon as you fall asleep tonight.”

  “No, babe, you’re the only woman I think of in my sleep.” He winked at me.

  “It’s a good thing, too.” I walked toward the kitchen. “I think you deserve two scoops of ice cream.”

  “Sounds great!” He looked at me. “You’re beautiful. You know that, right?”

  “I guess.”

  “You are.”

  “But I’m a mess. Look at this mop!” I felt the frizz of hair on my head.

  “It doesn’t matter.” He stood and walked toward me. “You could be bald and wearing a garbage bag; you’d still be the most beautiful thing in the world to me.”

  He pulled me toward him, kissing my forehead.

  “You’re the only thing I need,” I whispered.

  “I know.”

  Dot – 10

  “I ain’t writin’ that stupid essay,” Promise pouted. “I didn’t come here to do no homework. I never wanted to be here in the first place.”

  She sat in a chair, her arms crossed over her chest. She and Nesto had lived with us for three weeks. She didn’t want to do anything.

  “Promise, you don’t have to do any homework,” Lola said calmly. “But your grade will reflect that. And your case worker might have something to say about a poor grade.”

  “Whatever, you know.” Promise pulled her long blond hair into a ponytail. “I really don’t give a—”

  “Watch it, Promise,” Mercy interrupted.

  “I do ask, however, that you maintain the same level of respect that is expected of the other girls.” Lola pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “You are a smart girl.”

  “Yeah right.” Promise pulled together her perfectly plucked eyebrows and pushed out her full lips. Her skin was flawless, her hair shiny, her body far too mature for her fifteen years. And she didn’t have an ounce of baby weight on her. She looked like she came straight from a modeling job. “You don’t know nothin’ ’bout me.”

  “I know more about you than you realize. Now, please sit quietly so I’m able to complete the lesson for the others.”

  “You think you can tell me what to do?” She stood. “I don’t know who you think you are. Just ’cause you took me in don’t give you the right to boss me around. I’m outta here. Ain’t nobody gonna tell me what to do no more.”

  She stormed out of the room, leaving Nesto asleep in his swing.

  “Oh, fiddle faddle,” Faith murmured. “Go on, Lola.”

  “Thank you, Faith.” Lola passed around a stack of papers. “Take one and pass it on.”

  “What’s this?” Mercy asked.

  “Your assignment. I want each of you to write a memory. Perhaps you will write about an embarrassing moment or a painful time in your life. Others of you might choose to write your earliest recollection. You may write anything you choose.”

  “Anything?” Grace called out. “You might not want to open that can of beans.”

  “Worms,” I corrected her. “Can of worms.”

  “That’s stupid. Why would there be worms in a can? That’s just gross.”

  “Ladies, I’d like you to disperse to write.” Lola made her way out of the room. “And no talking.”

  We all took our papers and pens and moved into different corners of the house. I sat at the table in the kitchen and stared at the paper. I couldn’t think of a memory I wanted to write down.

  “How’s the writing coming?” Lola asked, walking into the kitchen. “I figured you would enjoy this assignment. You are a gifted writer.”

  “Right,” I answered.

  “Are you having difficulty?”

  “Yes,” I answered. “Remember, no talking.”

  “You are correct. My apologies.” She started chopping vegetables. “I hope this racket doesn’t bother you.”

  “No. It’s fine.”

  “Oh!”

  “What?” I jumped up, hitting my head on the light over the table.

  She spun around. “I almost forgot. I set up a college visit for you.”

  “You what?” I rubbed my head as I sat back down. “I thought you cut your finger off.”

  “There’s a college in Lansing.”

  “Right, I remember.”

  “Well, next week is a campus visiting day. We’re going together.”

  “Great.” I didn’t cover the sarcasm in my voice.

  “They called a few days ago. They would like to give you a very generous scholarship.”

  “Is it a pity scholarship?”

  “Actually, no. It’s for your academics. They know nothing about your past.”

  “Oh.” I scribbled on my paper.

  “We have a meeting with the dean of students.”

  “Do I have to tell him about my life?”

  “Not unless you wish to.” She continued chopping. “And, incidentally, the dean is a she.”

  “Fine.”

  “Good. I’m glad you see it my way.”

  “Listen, Lola. The only reason I’m going on this visit is because I know you wouldn’t leave me alone otherwise.”

  “Oh, and I’ve been praying about this for you.”

  “That, too. But it doesn’t mean I have to go to school there. Besides, I have a lot of time before I have to make a decision. I’ve still got a whole year of high school to make up.”

  “Whatever you say.” She used the broadside of a knife to pound a clove of garlic. “But you can’t make me stop praying.”

  “I know that. Nobody can. Now, may I please get started on my writing assignment? I wouldn’t want my teacher to get upset.”

  “Please do.” She smiled at me.

  She hummed, off key, as she cooked. I couldn’t place the melody, but assumed it was some old hymn. What she lacked in talent, however, she made up for in enthusiasm. As she stirred the soup in her stock pot, she swayed her hips, pumping one hand in the air above her head.

  Listening to her, smelling the simmering soup, touching the rough table, I allowed my brain to travel back to a memory. From my familiar, comfortable place, I moved my pen across the paper.

  When I pushed aside all that clouded my mind, I could see the beauty of my childhood. I strained my memory to see the earliest moment I could find.

  ~*~

  My brother Pete was two years older than me. I invaded his world, but he never complained. He was more than happy to share his family, his toys, and his bedroom with me.

  Before we moved into the yellow house, we lived in a small apartment. Pete and I shared the only bedroom. Our parents unfolded the couch into a bed each evening.

  I must have been three years old. I woke up in the middle of the night and feared the darkness of the room. I’d had a nightmare that I couldn’t put into words. Frightening images flashed through my sleeping brain. I cried out.

  “Dot?” Pete’s small voice called from his bed.

  “Petey! I had a bad dream!”

  “It’s okay, Dot. What happened?”

  “I don’t know. I’m scared.”

  “Do you need a hug?”

  “Yes,” I cried so quietly.

  Pete left the warmth and comfort of his big-boy bed and climbed into my toddler-sized cot. He wrapped his arms around my neck and snuggled his head close to mine.

  “Jesus is with you, Dot. He’s going to make it all better. Don’t be scared. Jesus loves you,” he whispered into the dark. “No matter what
happens Jesus will never let go of you.”

  He sang Sunday school songs to me until I fell asleep.

  The comfort of my big brother, his soothing words, his gentle hug. All things that I missed after he was gone. Things that wove a memory of peace that couldn’t be undone. Not by anything.

  Cora – 11

  The schedule of the institution rarely differed from one day to the next. Each week we were fed the same menu. Each day we woke and ate and slept at the same times. It wasn’t unusual for me to forget what month or year it was.

  On occasion, I looked out the window, shocked that life outside seemed to be constantly changing. The shifting seasons scandalized me. The audacity of God to progress with time while I sat to gather dust.

  One day I peered out the window in the dayroom. I’d gotten good at looking through the grid built into the glass. I focused my eyes on the vibrant hue of the crimson maple below. A familiar form walked toward the entrance below the window. Lisa used her key, opened the heavy door and disappeared from my view. I knew she worked in an office somewhere in the building. Still, I hoped that she stopped upstairs to see me.

  “What day is it?” I asked one of the nurses as she walked past me.

  “Monday,” she answered.

  I tried to mask my disappointment. That day I needed a friend.

  A minute later Lisa walked into the dayroom and sat next to me on the couch.

  “It isn’t Thursday,” I said to her.

  “I know. I hope you don’t mind me coming up for a few minutes,” she said. “I just felt like popping in to see how you were doing today.”

  “I don’t mind at all. It’s nice to see you.” I pulled my bathrobe tighter around my neck.

  “Gosh, it sure is getting cold out there,” she said, blowing on her chilled hands. “And so gloomy.”

  “That’s Michigan for you,” I said. “It always comes as a surprise, though.”

  “I know. I never look forward to it.” She clapped her hands and rubbed them together quickly. “I dread the cold setting into my bones.”

  “You are far too young to be talking about cold in your bones.”

  “I’m not as young as you think.” She smiled at me. “I bet this weather is hard on you. You’re from the South, right?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your accent. It’s Southern, right?”

  Even my husband had never picked up on the accent that I worked so hard to cover. I didn’t want Lisa to ask any more questions. Too much of my past was tied up and stuffed in the back of my mind, covered over with layers of deception. I tried to think of a diversion.

  “Do you mind if I ask you a question?” I asked.

  “I don’t mind at all.”

  “Has anything bad ever happened to you?”

  “Sure,” she answered. “Bad things happen to everybody. I don’t know of anyone who hasn’t had some kind of hardship in their lives. It’s all part of living on this broken earth.”

  “What happened?” As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted them. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to tell me. I just assumed too much.”

  “Don’t be sorry, Cora. That’s a fair question. Friends open up to each other, right?”

  Friends. The word warmed my heart. “I think so.”

  “Well, the year before I graduated from seminary my husband and I had a baby boy. He was born with some problems. He died when he was just three months old. He never got to come home with us.” She cleared her throat. “The stress turned out to be too much for our marriage. My husband left me shortly after the funeral.”

  My heart ached for Lisa. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I am too.”

  “How did you survive it?”

  “All I had was my faith. As shaky as that faith was at times. I just refused to give up on God because I knew He wasn’t going to leave me.”

  “But didn’t it feel like He gave up on you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He let your baby die. And He let your husband leave.”

  “Well, those are good points. But I think God’s heart broke when Luke died. You know, I felt peace knowing that God held my baby. That was one thing I never doubted.” She wiped a tear. “I still have a hard time making sense of why Luke couldn’t have lived longer or why he wasn’t born healthy. The hope that has kept me sane is that one day I’ll get to see him again.”

  “What about your husband?”

  “Well, I know God had nothing to do with Matt leaving me. Matt made that decision on his own.”

  “But isn’t God in charge of everything and everyone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why didn’t He force your husband to stay?”

  She inhaled, her eyes narrowed in thought. “Because God gave us all free will. He could force us to do things, but He doesn’t. It’s important that we make the right decisions on our own.”

  “But if He really cared for us at all, then why wouldn’t He protect us?”

  “Oh, He does protect us. From much more than we will ever realize.”

  I paused, thinking about what she’d said.

  “Do you pray a lot, Lisa?” I asked.

  “Yes. Not as often as I should. But I spend time praying every day.” She pushed a stray curl out of her face.

  “Does it ever feel like He’s not listening?”

  “Sometimes. And that can be pretty frustrating.”

  “Why does He ignore us?”

  “He’s not ignoring us. Sometimes, though, I think He’s waiting for the perfect time to show us what He’s going to do.” She smiled. “And sometimes what He has planned is completely different from what we ask or expect.”

  “What if He decides not to reveal Himself?”

  “I don’t know that He would do that.” She looked into my eyes. “Someday He will show you the ways He’s making all this work for your good.”

  “Has your son’s death ever made sense? Or your divorce?”

  “Little by little. But you have to trust Him first, you know. If you don’t, then you’ll have an awfully hard time seeing His work.”

  “I still believe in Him, I suppose.” I could hear the tone of my voice flatten. I looked at the floor. “Sometimes I feel like I can almost see Him. I nearly feel Him. But He’s so far from me. And if I even tried to reach out to Him I would tumble down the space between us. The risk of belief seems much greater than my need for Him.”

  Her eyes moistened. She, a woman who overcame deep sadness and now basked in the warmth of God’s love; I, a woman shivering in the cold of His indifference. Her concern brought a sob to my throat, choking me.

  I cried because of the darkness and the loneliness and the void in my life. Lisa rubbed my back, causing more tears to flow in a river down my face.

  “‘Save me, O God,’” she said into my ear. “‘For the waters have come up to my neck. I sink in the miry depths, where there is no foothold. I have come into the deep waters; the floods engulf me. I am worn out from calling for help. My throat is parched. My eyes fail, looking for my God.’”

  Psalm 69. The Psalm my mother read over and over. So many times and with so many tears. She never found Him. He never came to rescue her from drowning. Or, if He did, she didn’t reach out to take His hand.

  The words of David brought a flood of memory. Visions of people in my life. Some of them people who loved me, others who hurt me. Graves, cribs, homes, shacks.

  Images of life went spinning and tumbling and turning. My body went numb. I felt like I was falling, out of control.

  Later that night I woke on the couch in the dayroom, covered by a thin, hospital-issue cotton blanket. The lights were still buzzing overhead.

  Lisa sat, sleeping in a chair at my side.

  For the first time in years, I knew I was loved.

  Dot – 12

  The day was unusually warm for fall. I decided to nap in the hammock on the porch of Lola’s House. It turned out to be a short nap. After only twe
nty minutes I woke with a start. Yelling from the street jolted me awake.

  “Hey! Get back here! You hear me? Come back here right now.” A deep voice boomed up the street. “Did I tell you to walk away from me?”

  I lifted my head. Promise walked quickly toward the house, pushing Nesto in his stroller. Fear, anger, hate, and shame blended on her face. The man following her jutted his face forward, his eyes squinted. He had his shoulders pulled back, his chest puffed out.

  “Must’a forgot who your daddy is.” The man spat at her. She kept walking, not wiping the spit off. “I told you from the start, if you tried to leave me I was comin’ to find ya. Well, here I am. And you’re comin’ with me now!”

  “I ain’t,” she said, continuing in the direction of Lola’s House.

  “What you say? You say you ain’t? Who says you got a choice?” He laughed. “I don’t know why I want you back for. You ain’t good for nothin’ but trouble. But somethin’ about you drives them guys crazy. They been askin’ for ya.”

  “Lola!” I called, struggling to get out of the hammock. “We got trouble!”

  Bare feet slapped against the hardwood floors. The screen door swung open.

  “What that tat on your arm say? Huh?” He reached forward, grabbing Promise’s shoulder and spinning her around. The stroller nearly tipped over. “Jenny, I’m talkin’ to you! What that say on your arm?”

  He took her arm and pushed up her sleeve. He beat his chest with one fist.

  “It say you belong to me. You’re my property. That mean you gotta do what I say and go where I tell you.”

  “Oh, Jesus,” Lola whispered, slipping on the shoes I’d kicked off before my nap. “Jesus, give me strength. Holy Spirit, give me Your words.”

  “Jenny, what you think you is now? Huh? You think just ’cause you had a baby that you somethin’?” He flung his arms into the air. “What you gonna do? Who gonna hire you? You gonna put whore and stripper on your application? You used up piece of—”

  “Excuse me, young man,” Lola interrupted him. “I would like to have a word with you.”

  Promise’s face became even more terrified. “Best leave this one alone, Lola. I can take care of this by myself.”