Page 175 of Unspoken Lies

“Hello Santa Barbara! It’s been way too long since I’ve stepped out onto a stage. Shall we see if we’ve still got it?” she yells.

At our screams, she looks over her shoulder and says something to the band. They immediately begin to play, Roark’s heavily corded arms pounding on the drums.

The next two hours are intense. Theo sings the songs with me as loud as possible, while the others jam with us, and he holds me in his lap when the lyrics get to me and I cry. Elijah joined us in the row after the first song, and he holds my hand when I curl up in Theo’s lap.

I notice though that I’m not the only one who’s emotional, and several other girls are brushing away tears as they sing the lyrics with Lennon. There are hard core rock songs, ballads with heavy bass, and duets between Turner and Lennon.

“Thank you, Santa Barbara, for your energy tonight,” she says with a happy smile. “My sister and I have been working on a new song. I want to convince her it’s ready for you all to hear. Let’s make some noise!”

The entire amphitheater stands as they yell, and her smile turns wicked.

“I’ll probably be spanked for this, but do I care? Nah,” she says. “Layla, get your ass out here.”

Her sister walks out with a smile, her blonde hair now tempered with brunette lowlights. I heard that she had a roughpatch with her new band when she started her solo career, but she looks happy and relaxed now.

“I’m going to kill you,” I hear her say as Lenny smirks. “Alright, Santa Barbara. Let’s do this!”

The night ends with a new song that talks about finding yourself, despite your broken pieces, and I feel every word as I lean against Jared.

Three Years Later

Lookingaround the group of teens sitting in a circle around me, I rub my baby’s back as she sleeps against me, safely wrapped in a baby carrier. With a lot of help, the foundation I always wanted is coming together.

There’s an outreach center for teens, a homeless shelter, a private school that runs on all scholarships, and a hotline for when people just need to talk. Now, I’m sitting in a therapy circle at Chesterfield Prep where they’re volunteering to come speak with me. I’m well aware that they’re only doing it for the benefit of getting special privileges, but it’ll have to do for now.

“Before we get started, does anyone have any questions?” I ask.

Ariyah’s blonde curls peek out of the woven rainbow colors of the carrier, a testament to how strong her father’s genes are. Elijah adores his daughter and wasn’t the only one to voice his concerns about my bringing her to work today. She’s only six months old though, and I’m not ready to pump all day for her.

The students here aren’t violent either, just confused and angry.

“Why should we talk to you?” a girl with beautiful braids and curls asks. “You look like you’re sitting pretty with your perfect life and baby. What could you possibly know that’ll help us?”

“Perception is a really interesting thing,” I say wryly, my arms loosely wrapped around the bundle in front of me. “It tells you that I couldn’t possibly have ever have had a fucked up day or that I barely made it past my sixteen birthday. So, let’s talk about that. What are the perceptions others have about you?”

Iris pales as she gazes at me, pushing her braids over her shoulder. She presses her lips together as if she wants to yell at me for turning this on her but she doesn’t.

Slowly, the circle of students tell me the perceptions other people have about them. They’re called things like trash when their mother did everything she could to keep a roof over their heads and shoes on their feet and spat on for things outside of their control. As the circle ends at Iris, she looks around the group and nods tensely.

“The perception people have of me is that I’m mouthy and rude,” she says. “I really just want to know things, but I don’t have the best delivery.”

“I didn’t think you were rude,” I say with a shrug. “The world tells kids that their words don’t matter, and when that happens, some people have to get louder to be heard. Now, we have time for one more thing before you all go back to class. What is one moment in time that you wish you could change if you could?”

A few of them take turns discussing things like school shootings, losing a parent, or even wishing they’d gotten caught the first time they stole something.

“Regrets are something we all experience,” I explain. “There are only two ways through it. If it’s because you hurt someone, find a way to apologize and mean it. They won’t always accept it, and that’s their right. However, it’s a good start to mending what’s broken. If it’s an event that you can’t change, you have tofind a way to live with it. As someone who has struggled a lot with this, I will acknowledge that it takes work. I’m not talking textbook work though, I mean some real soul searching to find out how you’re going to live from that moment on. Thank you for coming today, I hope to see you next week.”

The teens jump up like their hair is on fire, but I’m not surprised. It’s not comfortable for most people to discuss things like this, much less kids their age. Halfway through the group session, I had to stand to sway for Ariyah to keep her asleep. I’ll feed her as soon as I return to my office.

Picking up a folding chair, I close it and walk it toward the back wall. Since I’m wearing Ariyah, I have to take it slow so I won’t bump her head with one of the chairs.

“I’ll help you with that, Miss Rachelle,” Donovan says, rushing over to take the chair in my hands from me.

I didn’t notice that he’d stayed back, and flinch in surprise. I’m still not great with people sneaking up behind me. I know he didn’t do that, but still. My anxiety felt it as such.

I was pregnant the same time as Liliana, and we decided that if we have more kids that we’re going to try to time our pregnancies that way again. We helped each other when our hormones and emotions went haywire. The good news is that I was able to stay on medication that didn’t affect Ariyah at all.

“Thank you,” I rasp, forcing myself to smile. “Are you sure?”