The sobs that wilt our mother at this proclamation are soul-crushing. I reach for her at the same time Dad does. But she pushes us away. “You’re right! You’re right!” she keeps repeating, wiping her eyes as she stares at her son like he finally broke through the hell she’d been living in.
Reaching for napkins left from the last meal, I hand a couple to her. “Here Mom.”
She uses it while staring at Tonk Jr. “What do I do?”
He extends his hand to me, asking for a napkin, too. I give one to him and watch him blow his nose and wipe his eyes before he can start. “Excuse me,” he mutters, embarrassed at being emotional. “I can’t believe I have something to offer that can help.” Clearing his throat a few times, the used napkin gets stuffed in his pocket. “I’m not a therapist, but here’s what I know. You need to purge the painful memories with actions. If something is physically inside your cells, you have to do something physical to get it out. There are many ways to do this. And they’re not hard, except for the emotional part. Pen to paper is a very useful tool. Once you write out everything as best you can, you burn that paper, watch it catch fire and burn to ashes. It’s a purging, and the fire is the cleansing ritual that heals. You can do this over and over if you need to, until the emotion no longer has a charge. Once you write down the memory and feel nothing, it’s over. That memory is healed.”
Mom’s head tilts, leaning in closer, “How do I write it?”
“How?”
“I mean, what. What do I write?”
“You can either write out what happened. Or you can write a letter to them, the men who did that to you. Don’t worry about anything but your feelings. Punctuation doesn’t matter. Grammar isn’t important. It’s not an essay. Nobody but you will ever read it. You’re going to set it on fire, so say anything you really, deep in your heart, need to say. Swear at them. Plead with them. Get angry, get sad. Anything that feels the hardest and the most true. I’d suggest writing one to your parents, too.”
Mom’s breath hitches, and she chews back the pain that just shot into her. Dad starts to reach over but withdraws his hand, knowing she wants to face this on her own this time, especially now that she believes she might be able to put it to rest with a little work.
Tonk Jr. motions to her, “See that reaction you just had? That means you need to heal the pain your parents left in your heart. And after you do, completely and fully, guess what? Someone could say something about them and it would slide off you like water off a duck.” He leans on his elbow, fingers stretched as he explains, “You can’t run or hide from pain. It waits for a chance to bite you in the ass. So in order to get past something that happened in your life you have to go through it to get to the other side. That’s the only way. Through it to get past it. There is no going around. But the good news is that it works. The emotional charge does vanish.” Leaning back he runs a hand through his neatly trimmed hair. “You can also write a letter to the girl you used to be, and this I’d do last. After you’ve purged the other feelings, however long that takes, you sit down and write a letter to her saying all the wonderful things you have in your life now. It’s a gratitude list. It’s a list of promises for her future. It’s burying the past forever and living only in today.”
We stare at him in wonder, truly amazed. After maybe fifteen seconds of silence my brother shifts his weight and mutters, “That’s just one way, but it’s a good one to start with. I can look up some others if you’d like more ideas.”
Mom jumps out of her chair like she was shot from a cannon, hurling herself to grab his face and shower it with kisses. He laughs and begs her to stop, and I glance to my Dad to see a trace of a smile smoothing his brow.
Her face twists all over again as she turns toward me. “I’m so sorry, Celia.”
“Oh, Mom! I can’t imagine how awful it was. To think of anybody hurting you…”
She grabs my shoulders, insisting, “Tonk is your dad.”
“I know.”
“Maybe you could do what Junior told me.”
“I don’t think we have the same thing. I need to digest all this, what it means for me.”
“It doesn’t mean anything!”
“Mom, Dad, let me just—”
“Guys, Celia needs time. This is a big deal for her.”
“Thank you, Junior.” Taking a deep breath I walk away, stop at the door. “Mom, you need to know that Sean and I care about each other. I hope that’s okay with you. Because I need him. He’s become important to me.”
She frowns, “I won’t get in your way.”
I nod and walk out.
CHAPTER 32
SEAN
Scythe jumps up from the couch where he was watching football with Denita, to give Celia a hug as soon as she appears. “Hey kid, how you doin’?”
“Not great.”
Melodi says, “I made you some hot chocolate, honey.”
Ceels glances to me as she walks to accept the marshmallow-filled cup. “Where is everyone?”
“Back porch. I waited here.”
Offering me a smile, she says, “Thank you,” and turns to Melodi. “You knew, didn’t you?”
The woman known for
