Where she belongs.
With him.
The first night of the rest of their lives.
*
Elsie walks silently into the partially filled room. It’s a room like you’d find in the basements of churches, or those big cold empty spaces filled with rows of folding tables, where you can visualize the furls of smoke wafting up into the air from the cigarette smokers playing Bingo.
Some of the diverse men and women are talking amongst themselves, in separate little groups, while others are sitting alone, pretending to check their messages on their phones in order to avoid eye contact with others. And others are sitting at the tables, waiting patiently for the meeting to start.
Elsie wants to be invisible, like a fly on the wall. She hates being the center of attention. She sees a seat alone at the end of a row, the farthest one from everything and everyone. What she doesn’t realize is that her attempts to be separate draws attention towards her.
A handsome, middle-aged, man walks into the room acting like he’s late, making a bee line straight to the head of the table.
He must be the moderator, Elsie thinks nervously, chewing her lip.
She checks her watch. There’s still five minutes until the meeting’s supposed to start.
What the hell am I doing here?
Her courage is just about gone. She thinks she can’t do this, so she decides to leave and she starts to get up .
“He’s always like that,” states a sweet feminine voice coming up quietly beside her.
Elsie looks in the direction of the voice, and into the face of the most beautiful woman she’s ever laid eyes on. It belongs to a young blonde woman, with striking features, and a perfect body. Even with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, and sweats on, she is a vision of beauty.
“He’s always early but acts like he’s late. I call him the Mad Hatter,” the mystery woman says to Elsie, smiling like a child with a naughty secret.
Elsie giggles at her perfect description. She instantly likes the woman.
“I think, next time, we should swap out the regular coffee for decaf. Dude doesn’t need any help being wound up,” Elsie whispers conspiratorially.
The two new friends laugh at their secret.
“Hi, I’m Brooke,” the mystery woman introduces herself, extending her hand to shake Elsie’s.
Elsie takes it smiling.
“Hi, I’m…,” she begins.
“Alright everyone, let’s get started. We’re running late,” chimes in the Mad Hatter. “We’ll start with the Serenity Prayer and then move right into newbie introductions.”
Brooke jabs Elsie lightly in the side.
“That’s you,” she smiles teasingly.
John moves silently into the room. He’s a little more practiced at sneaking and moving unnoticed, even as big as he is. He glides casually along the side wall and moves to the back of the room. He had to be here for his girl tonight. She was scared, coming here and baring herself in front of a room full of strangers. He needed to be here to support her…and just in case she needed him.
Hatter’s eyes look directly at Elsie on the last word of the Serenity Prayer. It’s a signal for her to stand and introduce herself.
“Sheez, Dude, freakin’ keep your shirt on,” Elsie mumbles under her breath as she stands.
Brooke chuckles.
They both get stern glares from the Mad Hatter Hitler.
Elsie clears her throat. She’s nervous. She’s wringing her hands as she looks at all of the inquisitive faces looking back at her. Her eyes find John’s proud face. He has gotten her here today, and all that they are and all that they share. Their special relationship has helped her to heal, has helped her to find her way to release some of her pain. The pride and the love John has for her shines brightly in his face and it gives her the strength she needs.
She begins.
“Hi, I’m Elsie and I’m a survivor,” she says, choking on the lump that’s forming in her throat.
John fights the tears that want to fall. Tears of pride, of agony, of fear, of despair, and especially of hope.
Because really, aren’t we all survivors?
The End
(I hope you were touched by this tumultuous, passionate, love story as much as I was)
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*Author’s Note: There were very intense subjects in Elsie’s and John’s story. And they are heart wrenching. It is true, we are all survivors of some kind. Rape and sexual assault is much more common than we would ever want to imagine. But I’m sure the numbers are even more than what is reported. My hope is that we, as a society, let the survivors of these kinds of attacks know that we are waiting for them, open armed, or just take our hands and we’ll walk with you side-by-side. We have to let them know they are not what happened to them, they are beautiful, loving, worthy individuals. Never let anything or anyone steal that from you, only you can give them that, so don’t!
And Self-Mutilation/Cutting is something that is fairly new to me, but seems to have been an issue, especially with young adults, for quite some time. Now, in my opinion, it has grown to almost epidemic proportions. I would be almost willing to bet that someone you know is a ‘cutter’ and you very well might not know it. To me, what is most frightening about this situation is that the level of depression associated with cutters is oftentimes suicidal. Suicidal. Read it again. Our young people, our children, many of them babies at least in my eyes, want to kill themselves. THAT is scary. I was SHOCKED to find out how many children my children are friends with that cut. I am fortunate that my children talk to me, unlike so many teenagers. WE HAVE TO TALK, LISTEN TO AND LOOK AT OUR CHILDREN. Take those blinders off, it might
