She thought about his initial question. “I like the idea of a mantra. A reminder in the moment. But it’s probably better to have one that’s not such a mouthful. How’sThat was then, this is now.”
“Try it,” he suggested.
She experimented. “That was then, this is now. Not then, now. This is now, this is now.”
“Play around with it. Pick one that feels right, stick with it for a while, see if you can get into the habit of using your mantra when you’re feeling stressed.”
“Okay,” she agreed. She was motivated. She didn’t want to feel bad. She didn’t want to be the Orchid who could be triggered by the sight of blood.
“Good. Now, homework for next week.” He ignored her groan. “Have you ever tried journaling?”
“I kept a diary as a kid. I stopped after my parents died. I wonder why?”
“Why do you think?” he asked.
“Question with a question,” she grumbled, and he shared another laugh. She thought for a moment, taking herself back to that time when she’d moved to her aunt’s apartment. “My diary was a place to say what I was really feeling, and after they died, my thoughts were so terrible, it made me feel worse to write them down. I needed to move forward.”
He dipped his chin. “If you decide to try it again, you don’t have to write about their accident. Only if you want to. One of my clients writes the ending shewisheshappened. As if her life were fiction. It gives her power. Would you like to try that?”
“I’m on it, doc,” she promised.
That evening, Orchid opened her laptop and started a fresh document. She stared at the blank page, feeling the years melt away until she was twelve again.As if your life were fiction, Todd had said. Her story began to flow from her heart to her fingertips to her keyboard.
“You look so pretty,” I told Mommy. She was wearing a dress I loved.
She leaned down to kiss me good night. Her feather earrings tickled my nose. I pulled my covers up to my chin. Extra layers of winter blankets pinned me like sandbags in a storm.
“We won’t be long. And if the weather turns, we’ll come home early,“ Mom promised. She’d always kept her promises.
Mom flipped off the bedroom light, and clacked down the wooden stairs. I heard the front door bolt click into place.
I must have dozed off. The sound of car tires crunching down the driveway woke me. The clock ticked past midnight.
I sacrificed my warm bed to peek out the window. Car lights shone at the top of their steep driveway. Two lit orbs inched down the winding path, careful to navigate the pavement that Dad had salted earlier that day.
I ran downstairs, turned on the porch lights, and unbolted the heavy front door.
Just in time, I watched Dad help Mom emerge from the passenger seat. The car’s front hood steamed in the frigid air. Its smooth metal gleamed in the moonlight.
“Hi sweetie, you’ll catch cold!” Mom called.
Her feather earrings whipped in the wind.
Ice pelted the layers of her colorful dress visible below her short coat.
The red splotches were peonies. Not blood.
Mom clung to Dad’s elbow. They came inside and shed scarves, gloves, and layers of outerwear. I flung my arms around Mom.
“I was scared,” I said. “I was scared something happened to you.”
She was warm. Her feather earrings tickled my cheek.
“You’re never alone, hungry bird. Even if something were to happen to us, we’re with you always,” Mommy said. Daddy joined us.
We rocked like we hadn’t seen each other for a long time.
Their embrace filled me all the way up to the empty space into the sky.
