I kept hold of Lexi’s hand until we entered the house, where a young pretty woman, maybe mid-twenties, with beautiful dark skin and a bright smile, approached. “Hey Lex,” she called and we walked forward until we stepped into her office. The woman shut the door and held out her hand. “I’m Celesha, the manager of Kind, you must be Elsie.”
I shook Celesha’s hand and nodded my head. As always, my bravery of using my voice disappeared the minute I was faced with a stranger. But Celesha didn’t seem to mind, instead she waved her hand for us to follow.
We walked into the body of the house, but unlike the bigger house, the young people here weren’t underweight. In fact, they all looked like normal teens, sat in groups or in what looked like therapy sessions.
Celesha stopped at the mouth of a huge hall that was filled with young kids and teens playing ball. They were laughing and I couldn’t help but smile as I watched them play. I felt Celesha’s eyes on me. “Kind is a charity, Elsie, for young teens that are victims of bullying.”
My heart fell and I was sure it had landed on the ground. I clasped my hands together and my eyes focused downwards. I could feel the communal tension rising, when Lexi spoke. “A lot of these kids were runaways, Elsie, or ended up on the streets in other ways. Kind gives them a home and place to stay until they’re ready to return home. Or until they’re ready to face the world again when they’re older and healthy enough.
“But all have been affected, severely, by bullying—cyber, physical, verbal, mental, and—” I looked up when Celesha paused to look at a young girl, no older than twelve or thirteen, walk by and wave her hand in greeting. I stared at the young brunette. I stared because she had signed. She had used sign language to communicate.
“That’s Clara,” Lexi said. “She came to us a few weeks ago.” Lexi stepped closer. I watched as the brunette wandered off alone down the hallway. My stomach churned seeing her by herself. “She’s lived with her step dad since her mom died, but they’re not close. She doesn’t have many friends either.”
Like me, I wanted to say, but I held it inside.
I saw Celesha glance to Lexi and she stepped forward. I looked up at the woman looking down at me. “No one here knows sign language too well, and we were wondering if you could work with her some as you can sign? Even if that’s just to talk to her. If you want to, that is. No pressure.”
I rubbed my lips together, and forced myself to say, “My ASL is rusty, I haven’t used it in a long time.”
Lexi smiled, but put her arm around me. “Like we said, there’s no pressure, Elsie. We’d love your help if you think you can do this. If it’s too much, if all this is too soon for you, then it’s fine. I can take you home and we can figure out something else.”
“We want staff that have personal knowledge of what our girls and boys are going through.” Celesha smiled and intimated, “That’s what we pride ourselves on, truly understanding what our kids talk to us about. We’d love it if you can help, but if you can’t, then that’s just fine too.”
I turned my head to the hallway and saw Clara sitting by the window, staring out at the garden, all alone, and my heart broke. As I stared at the young girl, I found myself saying, “Yes, I want to try and help her.”
Lexi squeezed me tighter. “I’m so proud of you, honey.”
“Thank you,” Celesha said, and I could see the happiness on her pretty face.
I nodded my head when Lexi let me go. “Okay, I’ll be in the other house in my office if you need me, sweetie. I’ll be going home in a few hours. Take the time to wander around and familiarize yourself with the building and what we do. This is all on your terms, so talk to Clara when you want. It’s entirely dependent on when you’re ready. Remember that.”
I nodded my head again. It took me a few minutes to realize I was alone in the hallway. I’d been swept up in a daze of trepidation, and self-doubt. I’d been trying to push the thoughts of Annabelle and those girls from my head.
Feeling a wash of nerves, I crossed my arms around my waist and wandered into a room that was filled with about ten teens. A man sat in the circle, while a young girl was speaking through her tears.
“…he took a picture of me and I didn’t know.” The young girl shook her head, pausing in the middle of the sentence as I walked in. She sniffed and wiped at her eyes. “He sent it to his friends, they sent it to their friends, and by the time I went to school the next day, almost all of the student body had seen me… naked.” The girl covered her eyes, her voice raw with pain. “I couldn’t get away from it all. I was called a slut, a whore. They painted it on my locker, my mom’s car that I’d taken to school. It was all over Facebook, and it never went away.”
“Take your time, Charlotte,” the man soothed. Charlotte took a deep breath.
“Weeks and weeks went by and it never went away. I kept thinking they would forget, that something else would happen to take the attention off me, but it didn’t. My best friends distanced themselves from me. I had no one to sit with at lunch. I had no one to talk to, to confide in… and I couldn’t do it anymore.”
My muscles were frozen as I waited for what came next, but I already knew. Because it had happened to me too. I suspected that every young person in the room knew exactly what came next; only the finer details would be different.
“It was late, and I knew my parents would be asleep. So I took the rope that I’d stolen from my dad’s shed and tied it to the top frame of my bed.” The girl hitched a breath, as another girl beside her rubbed her back in support. That one act of kindness made my eyes prick with tears, then the girl carried on. “My dad had been worried about me, he told me… afterwards. He came into check on me and found me hanging. I woke up in hospital and they brought me here.” Charlotte went quiet, and the man began to speak. I didn’t listen to the rest, the burning in my chest was too much for me to take.
Turning as quickly as I could, I rushed to an exit, pushing through the doors until the cool air washed over my face. I drew in a long breath, letting the winter chill fill my lungs. I stood there, at the edge of the garden, trying to calm down.
I wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but when I turned around, I saw a pair of dark eyes watching me through the glass of the sunroom: Clara.
I ducked my head as she watched me, looking so small and fragile in a large brown chair. I clenched and unclenched my hands, loosening up the fingers, when I forced myself to look Clara in the eyes and sign, “Hello.”
I saw the shock on her face. I saw her sit taller and shuffle to the edge of her seat. Then I saw her lift her hands, and shyly respond with her own signed, “Hello.”
I smiled. I smiled at how timid she appeared. Like a reflection, I thought, like looking in a mirror.
Clara sat back in her chair, but her attention never strayed away from me. Centering my calm, I trudged a foot forward, then another, and before I knew it, I was walking back inside the house, moving toward the sunroom.
Noises from the therapy sessions faded into the background as I entered the large domed glass room. Empty chairs were positioned round this large space, but only one was occupied—by Clara, overlooking the flowing river beyond the garden.
My panic faded the closer I got to the young girl, and it evaporated as I sat before her. She’s pretty, I thought, as I surveyed her fair skin and long brown hair. She flicked her eyes in my direction, brown eyes that could have been pretty if they weren’t filled with such pain. It’s strange how the eyes can show you so much. I agreed with the saying, ‘eyes are the window to the soul’. And Clara’s soul was broken, I could see it was shredded into pieces.
Clara’s eyes dipped, then focused back on the window. Shaking my hands, I held them in the air and signed, “Hello, Clara.”
Clara’s head turned back to me as my hands moved. Her eyes darted up to my eyes. For a moment I wondered if I had signed it wrong, or if she didn’t want me here. I worried that I was invading her space.
But a few seconds later, Cl
ara lifted her hands and signed, “Hi.” She paused then added, “Who are you?”
“Elsie,” I signed. “I’m a friend of Lexi’s. I came here today to see the center.” I pointed around the sunroom. “It’s beautiful.”
“It’s pretty here,” Clara signed back, and pointed out of the window.
I nodded my head and asked, “You like water?”
“It’s calming. Peaceful,” she signed. I pulled my chair opposite hers, carefully placing myself in her line of sight.
I stared at the water too, now able to hear it’s gentle flowing current through the open window above me. I must have tilted my head up for my good ear to hear it. Clara’s eyebrows pulled down in confusion.
“You can hear?” she signed as I watched her forehead line.
I tapped my right ear. “I have some hearing in this ear.” I turned my head to show her the aid that gave me partial hearing.
Clara leaned forward, looked, then backed away. Her haunted eyes turned back to the river. She enquired, “What does it sound like?” I followed her pointing finger and stared at the running river.
“The river?” I signed.
Clara nodded her head. I closed my eyes, wondering how to explain the sound to a girl trapped in silence. Opening my eyes, I leaned forward and traced my finger down her arm. I curved the invisible line I was making until it fell away at her wrist. “Like that,” I signed. “Only imagine several fingers increasing the volume.”
Clara stared down at her arm and retraced the path I’d just traced with my finger. Her eyes closed and my heart melted when I saw a tiny smile tug on her lips.
Her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks and, when her lids opened, her brown eyes weren’t quite as sad as before. Clara’s head dropped, when her hands asked, “Have you always been able to hear?”
I shook my head. “I had a tiny amount of hearing, only about seven percent. Mainly it was just little sounds, but nothing was clear. I had an operation when I was eight and suddenly I could hear. It was strange at first, but I had to learn how to deal with it quickly.”
“I can’t hear anything,” she divulged. “Neither could my mom.”
I remembered Lexi said her mom had died, and I replied, “My mom was fully deaf too.”
Clara’s expression relaxed, then it morphed into sadness. “My mom died,” she signed. “Last year. From cancer.”
A deep ache set in my chest because I understood what she was going through. I reached out and gripped her hand, squeezing her small fingers in support. Then I drew back, and confided, “My mom died too. Five years ago.”
Clara’s eyes shimmered. “Do you have a dad?”
I shook my head. “It was just us. When she died,” I stretched out my hands, and quickly signed, “I was put into a group home.” Clara sucked in a breath, and I asked, “You have a dad?”
She nodded her head. “My stepdad. He’s nice, but he doesn’t really understand me. He can hear, and he can sign, and he loved my mom with all of his heart. But… but he moved us from California when Mom died. He got a new job and said he needed a new beginning.” Clara stopped signing and I could see anguish flit through her eyes. “I started a new school, but I never really fit in.”
I noticed that her hands had started to shake, and I knew. I just knew what was coming next. I knew because I’d lived it.
“It’s okay,’ I mouthed when I took hold of Clara’s hands. She read my lips and pulled her hands back. I sat forward as she glanced out of the window.
“It was two girls mainly.” She brushed her hair back from her face. “I went to a deaf school, so it wasn’t because of my lack of hearing.” Her eyebrows pulled down. “I don’t know why it was, I could never think of a reason for why they singled me out, but they didn’t like me almost from the minute I arrived.” My stomach griped in pain, in sympathy.
Clara blinked back tears, but nothing else was said. I could see she was lost in the memory, in the pain she was still living with each day. Reaching forward, I held her hand and we stayed that way for a while, the two of us watching the river flow past the house.
A lady came into the sunroom breaking our silence. I looked up to see her carrying a tray. Two drinks and snacks were on the tray. She placed it down in front of us. I smiled in thanks, and we were alone again. I caught Clara staring at me.
“You okay?” I signed, dropping my hands only to place her drink in front of her.
“You’re the first person I’ve been able to speak to since I got here. I have to write everything down, but I don’t like to. The words staring back at me hurt too much.”
I chased the lump away from my throat, and signed, “Well, I’m here now.”
Clara cast me a smile and asked, “Are you going to be here a lot?”
“Do you want me to be?”
She nodded her head, a blush on her cheeks. “It’ll be nice to have someone to sign to.” She sucked in a deep breath. “I’ve… I’ve missed it.”
I swallowed. “Then I’ll be here most days. We can sign.”
Clara nodded and took a drink of juice. She didn’t say anything else as many minutes ticked by. But neither did I. I heard Lexi’s voice before she entered the room, and I turned to see her arrive in the doorway, a hesitant smile on her face. “You ready to go, sweetie?” she asked.
I nodded my head, and rested my hand on Clara’s arm. Clara turned to me, and I signed, “I have to go now. But I’ll be back tomorrow.”
Clara nodded.
I got to my feet, readying to move, when I stopped and signed, “I know how you feel, Clara. I understand how it feels. How it feels to be on the receiving end of hate. To be hurt by others for no reason.” I patted my hand on my chest and signed again. “I understand. You can talk to me.”
Clara’s eyes filled with tears, and she dropped her head, but I caught her soft nod. Laying my hand on her shoulder, I signed, “Goodbye,” and walked to Lexi who led me out to the parked car.
When we got inside, I couldn’t get Clara from my mind. I couldn’t get how alone she must feel from my head. I couldn’t rid my mind of the deep sadness in her stare, and I couldn’t rid myself of the fear, of the hopelessness in her words.
“You okay, sweetie?” Lexi asked. I blinked back the blur from my eyes realizing we were already on the road, driving home.
I nodded my head, then said, “She was so sad, Lexi. She… she was so hurt and in pain.” I pressed my hand over my stomach. “It caused me pain to see her that hurt.”
Lexi sighed. “Honey?”
I lifted my gaze to Lexi. “Yeah?”
“She’s like you.”
My heart fired off, its beat coming too fast. “What do you mean?”
“You have the same sadness in your eyes as Clara when I look at you. You seem to be carrying the same pain inside you as she does.”
Lexi’s words stabbed me like daggers. Clara’s lost expression filled my mind. I was like that? I asked myself. I thought of Clara’s hesitation as she spoke, of the darkness that hovered over her like a rain cloud. And I knew, deep down, I was like her.
I shuffled on my seat, the realization making feel uncomfortable. “How,” I cleared my thick throat, “how did she try to kill herself?”
Lexi tensed. “How do you know she tried to commit suicide?”
Without conscious thought, I ran my hand over my left wrist, over the wide silver cuff that I never took off, and admitted, “I can see it in her eyes.”
“The first time it was pills—”
“The first time?” I interrupted. Lexi sadly nodded her head.
“Yes. The second, she tried to gas herself. Her stepdad found her in their garage with the car switched on, the garage door shut and a pipe from the exhaust coming through the door’s window.” Lexi shook her head. “She’d left him a note explaining how she couldn’t go back to school, that she couldn’t cope with being the target of her bullies for one more day.” Lexi turned to me when we stopped at a red light. “It was the first ti
me he’d even heard she was being bullied. The school hadn’t said a thing. They didn’t even know. And that’s the problem we’re facing most days—the fact that schools can’t see everything that’s happening under their noses, and that those being hurt and torn apart each day rarely tell anyone what’s happening. It might be embarrassment, shame or fear, but most of our kids in the center never told a single soul that they were going through hell. They simply suffered alone, until they couldn’t take it anymore.”
“I know. Like me,” I whispered. I shot a worried glance to Lexi who had started to drive again. She exhaled through her nose, but didn’t say anything in response. She placed her hand in mine and held it all the way home. No judgment or questions… she was simply there for me.
When the car pulled to a stop, she asked, “I’m back there tomorrow at eight if you want to come and see Clara again?”
“Yes,” I answered immediately.
Lexi nodded, then just as I was about to leave the car, she said, “I found you on the missing persons register, Elsie.” All of the blood inside me cooled to ice and my hand froze on the door handle. “The minute we discovered your name, I searched for you and found an entry for Elsie Hall from Portland, Oregon.”
I sucked in a strained breath.
“I announced you found, though from what I can tell, you have no family. The missing person’s report was made by a Susan Addison, she runs a group home for girls on the outskirts of Portland. It was made a few months before you turned seventeen. The case was still open when we brought you back here. It was filed when you ran from hospital, never to return.”
My whole being trembled with fear, with the fear that Lexi knew my past. A hand pressed on my back causing me to jump. Still I didn’t turn round. I couldn’t. I was paralyzed with fear.
“I haven’t told Levi. It’s not my place to say a thing to anyone.” Lexi took a deep breath and continued. “I have an idea what you have been through, Elsie. As in, I can piece together what might have happened to you in your past. I’ve seen the reports from when you were taken into care, and why. That’s your pain and this is your journey to find peace.” She moved her hand. “But you have a boy in that pool house who I believe is already head over heels in love with you, even if he hasn’t said so himself. And if I’m not mistaken, I think that you love him back.” I closed my eyes and fought back the rush of emotion welling to the surface.