Karis
-Adjustments-
The next few days, I stayed in my room and stared at the walls, trying not to think or remember. I didn’t sleep much—when I slept, my dreams took me back to the museum. Kenny was the only companion I allowed to stay for more than a few minutes. On that first Tuesday afternoon, three days after the massacre, Paul poked his head in my room.
“Tamara, Tim and I have a friend from Pyramid City visiting tonight. You two have quite a bit in common. Do you mind meeting him?”
I shrugged and grabbed Kenny’s collar. Over the past few days, Kenny had started nipping at Paul, Tim, and Edmund. A young man came in following Paul hesitantly. He stood in the bedroom doorway for a second or two looking at me before following Paul into my new bedroom.
“Tamara Weatherby,” Paul said. “I would like you to meet Daniel Elliot. His parents were killed when he was your age, and he has lived with his aunt and uncle for the last five years.”
Daniel was just a few inches taller than me. His mouse brown hair was cut in the latest trend and he kept smiling at me, but his brown eyes held the sadness I had very recently come to recognize as deep mourning. He looked near thirty, but I soon learned he was only eight months older than Tim.
“Just Aunt Naomi and my cousins,” Daniel said sadly. “My uncle died almost two years ago.” He sat next to me on the couch. Kenny sniffed him apprehensively, but didn’t growl.
“I’m so sorry,” I said mechanically. I didn’t really feel sorry; I didn’t feel anything. But it was the polite thing to say.
“No, you’re not,” Daniel said with a sideways glance and the slightest hint of a grin. I opened my mouth to object with more insincere platitudes when he spoke up. “Don’t worry, it’s completely normal.” Daniel allowed my dog to inspect his hand. “I’m dealing in my own way—just like you will learn to do.”
The conversation paused as comfortably as possible while Daniel and I sat silently petting Kenny. A few minutes later
Paul broke the silence. “How long are you staying, Daniel?”
“I’ll be flying home tomorrow evening.”
“What do you do?” I asked after figuring I could humor them. I knew what they were doing, but was ready to think about something else for a few minutes.
“I’m a photojournalist. At least, I’m trying to be. All I need is one good shot to really break into the business, and the president is in Kingston tonight to lay a wreath at the museum—there’s quite a memorial forming there. Paul’s going to try to get me close.”
“That sounds interesting,” I muttered sarcastically. “Try not to get killed while you’re there.” Daniel grimaced and went back to silently giving the dog all of his attention—which Kenny enjoyed. Paul, sitting a few feet away, shuffled in an uncomfortable silence until he finally left the room.
Neither of us said a word for nearly two hours before Daniel looked at his watch. “Damn, I have to get going,” Daniel said. “Tamara, I’d love to talk to you again before I leave, if you would like. If you would like to talk to before that, I’m staying in the room by the library.”
The president’s visit was the leading story of the morning edition of the newspaper. The president had shed a tear on the museum steps, and Daniel had captured it perfectly in mid-air, gleaming in the twilight. It was a wonderful picture, but I couldn’t bring myself to read any of the words—the caption, headline, or story.
Daniel came to my room just before leaving for his flight back to Pyramid City the next afternoon. Kenny began wagging his tail expectantly when his new friend came in.
“Tamara, I just wanted to say goodbye,” he said sitting on the bed next to me.
“Yeah, okay,” I said, refusing to make eye contact. Daniel was silent for a moment.
“I know it sucks. God, I wish I didn’t know how much it sucks,” Daniel told me, hesitantly rubbing my back. “But you can trust Paul and Tim and me. Don’t be afraid to open up to people who understand; bottling up your emotions only makes them harder to control in the long run.” I didn’t say anything. “Can you look at me for a minute?” he asked. I did, reluctantly; Kenny seemed to trust Daniel, so I could, too.
“You’re not alone in this,” he told me. “I know it seems that way right now, but you are not. I lost both of my parents a month after I turned 15. They were killed in a shootout with the police—my parents were not the most law-abiding people in the world. My uncle was killed three years later in a drive-by meant for me--I was not what you would call a ‘law-abiding citizen’ until rather recently. My uncle’s death was a wake-up call, and it turned my life around.
“There will be a lot of people who think they know how you feel—and expect a fleet of greedy therapists to throw themselves at you trying to ‘help.’ But Paul, Edmund, Tim and I do know how you feel. And never, never let anyone tell you how you ‘should’ feel.” He pulled me close and hugged me. While I wasn’t sure that a hug from a perfect stranger was appropriate, I felt safe.
Daniel stood and started toward the door. “Think about what I said. If you need to talk to anyone, you can call me any time. Paul has my number. I’ll be back as often as I can.”
For the next day, I sat in my room, consumed with grief, guilt, and a host of other emotions. The men who had, just a few days ago, been some of my closest friends, seemed distant, consumed in their own grief—but they were grieving together while I insisted on being alone with Kenny. I knew that I should be downstairs with them, but being that vulnerable with men who, until two months previous, were nothing more than pictures on the TV or computer screen, didn’t seem right.
“Kenny, why am I here?” The dog sat up and laid his head on my shoulder, pressing his body against mine. I wrapped my arms around his neck and gave him a quick squeeze.
“I know, Kenny. I just wish I had died with them. Would anyone notice if I’m gone? Paul and Tim would take good care of you, I think. Would you like to stay with Daniel?” Kenny’s tail began wagging at the mention of his new best friend.
A hesitant knock on the door interrupted me. “Come in,” I called.
Tim walked in, carrying a plate of food.
“Tamara, are you okay?” he asked.
“No,” I said, turning to face away from him.
Tim set the plate on the corner of the bed. Kenny eyed the food and edged closer to the plate, licking his lips.
“Tamara,” Tim said slowly. “I know you don’t want to talk right now, Paul said not to push you, but just let me stay here for just a minute and talk. Okay?”
“Probably can’t stop you. It is your house after all.”
“It’s your house too, now,” Tim gently reminded me. “Tamara, I know how you’re feeling: You’re wondering what you’re going to do without your family. You don’t know what the hell you’re going to do. You’re stuck in this huge house with strangers and you have no idea how you’ll ever call it home. You’re probably even considering jumping off the roof and ending all of this.”
I silently refused to admit he was right.
“Yeah, I thought so. I actually did the math to figure out exactly how fast of a running start I needed to make sure nothing would break my fall—and I hated math. Paul and I know—”
“How can you claim to know what I’m going through?” I snapped, turning to face him. “How can you even pretend to know what it feels like to lose your whole life in a second?”
Tim wasn’t surprised by my anger and spoke calmly. “You know that we know what you’re going through. Sure, we don’t talk about it, but you’re resourceful enough to have pieced the stories together by now.”
Tim took his cue and stood to leave. “Think about what I said, please.” He left and I was alone with Kenny again. I started thinking about what Tim said while Kenny took the opportunity to clean off my plate—as he had every meal for that week.
I knew Tim was right. My brain told me I could open up and talk to them about what I was feeling, but it still didn’t seem appropriate. But I knew that if anyone understood, it was them. Another voice that chose that moment to put its two cents in.
Be joyful always, pray continually, and give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus. The nearly constant reminders of God’s love that had been wandering through my mind for the last five days were no longer comforting, but mocking. And I was getting tired of it.
“Leave me alone! It’s your fault I’m here!” I screamed at God. Kenny looked up from the plate of food and cocked his head.
“Not you, pup,” I said, petting my dog’s head.
I finally wanted to talk to someone. I decided that Daniel would be the best choice as he had been my age when his parents were killed. “You think Daniel would take my call?” I asked Kenny.
As I was walking to the door to ask Paul for Daniel’s number, I noticed my appearance in the mirror. I hadn’t showered since my first night there. I had been in the same clothes for the past three days. I hadn’t eaten anything since the massacre and it showed. My face was gaunt and my clothes hung haphazardly off my body.
Suddenly self-conscious, I showered—and I realized just exactly how much weight I had lost over the past week—changed my clothes, and left to find my new housemates. They would at least help drown out God—who hadn’t stopped yapping since the hostage situation. Kenny leapt off the bed, ran to my side, and followed me on my search. We finally found Paul and Tim in the library.
“You came out of your room!” Paul said. He dropped his book and stood up.
“Yeah,” I said. “Tim said something, and I wanted to see if it was true.”
“Is that so?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. He glanced at Tim. “What, exactly, did Tim say?”
“He said you understand.”
Paul sighed and nodded slightly. “We do.”
Suddenly, a dam burst. I started weeping. Tim came over and guided me to the leather reading chair he had been sitting in. I collapsed into the chair, curled into a ball and sobbed. Kenny sat in front of the chair and rested his head on my foot.
It was nearly an hour before I finally stopped crying. Their words of comfort hit home, and I was able to release a lot of the initial hurt. When I stopped crying, my stomach suddenly grumbled.
“Can we get some something to eat? I’m starving,” I said.
We found Edmund, and some soup, and then went back to my bedroom where all four of us spent the rest of the night talking about their own experiences.
The next few days, I stayed in my room and stared at the walls, trying not to think or remember. I didn’t sleep much—when I slept, my dreams took me back to the museum. Kenny was the only companion I allowed to stay for more than a few minutes. On that first Tuesday afternoon, three days after the massacre, Paul poked his head in my room.
“Tamara, Tim and I have a friend from Pyramid City visiting tonight. You two have quite a bit in common. Do you mind meeting him?”
I shrugged and grabbed Kenny’s collar. Over the past few days, Kenny had started nipping at Paul, Tim, and Edmund. A young man came in following Paul hesitantly. He stood in the bedroom doorway for a second or two looking at me before following Paul into my new bedroom.
“Tamara Weatherby,” Paul said. “I would like you to meet Daniel Elliot. His parents were killed when he was your age, and he has lived with his aunt and uncle for the last five years.”
Daniel was just a few inches taller than me. His mouse brown hair was cut in the latest trend and he kept smiling at me, but his brown eyes held the sadness I had very recently come to recognize as deep mourning. He looked near thirty, but I soon learned he was only eight months older than Tim.
“Just Aunt Naomi and my cousins,” Daniel said sadly. “My uncle died almost two years ago.” He sat next to me on the couch. Kenny sniffed him apprehensively, but didn’t growl.
“I’m so sorry,” I said mechanically. I didn’t really feel sorry; I didn’t feel anything. But it was the polite thing to say.
“No, you’re not,” Daniel said with a sideways glance and the slightest hint of a grin. I opened my mouth to object with more insincere platitudes when he spoke up. “Don’t worry, it’s completely normal.” Daniel allowed my dog to inspect his hand. “I’m dealing in my own way—just like you will learn to do.”
The conversation paused as comfortably as possible while Daniel and I sat silently petting Kenny. A few minutes later
Paul broke the silence. “How long are you staying, Daniel?”
“I’ll be flying home tomorrow evening.”
“What do you do?” I asked after figuring I could humor them. I knew what they were doing, but was ready to think about something else for a few minutes.
“I’m a photojournalist. At least, I’m trying to be. All I need is one good shot to really break into the business, and the president is in Kingston tonight to lay a wreath at the museum—there’s quite a memorial forming there. Paul’s going to try to get me close.”
“That sounds interesting,” I muttered sarcastically. “Try not to get killed while you’re there.” Daniel grimaced and went back to silently giving the dog all of his attention—which Kenny enjoyed. Paul, sitting a few feet away, shuffled in an uncomfortable silence until he finally left the room.
Neither of us said a word for nearly two hours before Daniel looked at his watch. “Damn, I have to get going,” Daniel said. “Tamara, I’d love to talk to you again before I leave, if you would like. If you would like to talk to before that, I’m staying in the room by the library.”
The president’s visit was the leading story of the morning edition of the newspaper. The president had shed a tear on the museum steps, and Daniel had captured it perfectly in mid-air, gleaming in the twilight. It was a wonderful picture, but I couldn’t bring myself to read any of the words—the caption, headline, or story.
Daniel came to my room just before leaving for his flight back to Pyramid City the next afternoon. Kenny began wagging his tail expectantly when his new friend came in.
“Tamara, I just wanted to say goodbye,” he said sitting on the bed next to me.
“Yeah, okay,” I said, refusing to make eye contact. Daniel was silent for a moment.
“I know it sucks. God, I wish I didn’t know how much it sucks,” Daniel told me, hesitantly rubbing my back. “But you can trust Paul and Tim and me. Don’t be afraid to open up to people who understand; bottling up your emotions only makes them harder to control in the long run.” I didn’t say anything. “Can you look at me for a minute?” he asked. I did, reluctantly; Kenny seemed to trust Daniel, so I could, too.
“You’re not alone in this,” he told me. “I know it seems that way right now, but you are not. I lost both of my parents a month after I turned 15. They were killed in a shootout with the police—my parents were not the most law-abiding people in the world. My uncle was killed three years later in a drive-by meant for me--I was not what you would call a ‘law-abiding citizen’ until rather recently. My uncle’s death was a wake-up call, and it turned my life around.
“There will be a lot of people who think they know how you feel—and expect a fleet of greedy therapists to throw themselves at you trying to ‘help.’ But Paul, Edmund, Tim and I do know how you feel. And never, never let anyone tell you how you ‘should’ feel.” He pulled me close and hugged me. While I wasn’t sure that a hug from a perfect stranger was appropriate, I felt safe.
Daniel stood and started toward the door. “Think about what I said. If you need to talk to anyone, you can call me any time. Paul has my number. I’ll be back as often as I can.”
For the next day, I sat in my room, consumed with grief, guilt, and a host of other emotions. The men who had, just a few days ago, been some of my closest friends, seemed distant, consumed in their own grief—but they were grieving together while I insisted on being alone with Kenny. I knew that I should be downstairs with them, but being that vulnerable with men who, until two months previous, were nothing more than pictures on the TV or computer screen, didn’t seem right.
“Kenny, why am I here?” The dog sat up and laid his head on my shoulder, pressing his body against mine. I wrapped my arms around his neck and gave him a quick squeeze.
“I know, Kenny. I just wish I had died with them. Would anyone notice if I’m gone? Paul and Tim would take good care of you, I think. Would you like to stay with Daniel?” Kenny’s tail began wagging at the mention of his new best friend.
A hesitant knock on the door interrupted me. “Come in,” I called.
Tim walked in, carrying a plate of food.
“Tamara, are you okay?” he asked.
“No,” I said, turning to face away from him.
Tim set the plate on the corner of the bed. Kenny eyed the food and edged closer to the plate, licking his lips.
“Tamara,” Tim said slowly. “I know you don’t want to talk right now, Paul said not to push you, but just let me stay here for just a minute and talk. Okay?”
“Probably can’t stop you. It is your house after all.”
“It’s your house too, now,” Tim gently reminded me. “Tamara, I know how you’re feeling: You’re wondering what you’re going to do without your family. You don’t know what the hell you’re going to do. You’re stuck in this huge house with strangers and you have no idea how you’ll ever call it home. You’re probably even considering jumping off the roof and ending all of this.”
I silently refused to admit he was right.
“Yeah, I thought so. I actually did the math to figure out exactly how fast of a running start I needed to make sure nothing would break my fall—and I hated math. Paul and I know—”
“How can you claim to know what I’m going through?” I snapped, turning to face him. “How can you even pretend to know what it feels like to lose your whole life in a second?”
Tim wasn’t surprised by my anger and spoke calmly. “You know that we know what you’re going through. Sure, we don’t talk about it, but you’re resourceful enough to have pieced the stories together by now.”
Tim took his cue and stood to leave. “Think about what I said, please.” He left and I was alone with Kenny again. I started thinking about what Tim said while Kenny took the opportunity to clean off my plate—as he had every meal for that week.
I knew Tim was right. My brain told me I could open up and talk to them about what I was feeling, but it still didn’t seem appropriate. But I knew that if anyone understood, it was them. Another voice that chose that moment to put its two cents in.
Be joyful always, pray continually, and give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus. The nearly constant reminders of God’s love that had been wandering through my mind for the last five days were no longer comforting, but mocking. And I was getting tired of it.
“Leave me alone! It’s your fault I’m here!” I screamed at God. Kenny looked up from the plate of food and cocked his head.
“Not you, pup,” I said, petting my dog’s head.
I finally wanted to talk to someone. I decided that Daniel would be the best choice as he had been my age when his parents were killed. “You think Daniel would take my call?” I asked Kenny.
As I was walking to the door to ask Paul for Daniel’s number, I noticed my appearance in the mirror. I hadn’t showered since my first night there. I had been in the same clothes for the past three days. I hadn’t eaten anything since the massacre and it showed. My face was gaunt and my clothes hung haphazardly off my body.
Suddenly self-conscious, I showered—and I realized just exactly how much weight I had lost over the past week—changed my clothes, and left to find my new housemates. They would at least help drown out God—who hadn’t stopped yapping since the hostage situation. Kenny leapt off the bed, ran to my side, and followed me on my search. We finally found Paul and Tim in the library.
“You came out of your room!” Paul said. He dropped his book and stood up.
“Yeah,” I said. “Tim said something, and I wanted to see if it was true.”
“Is that so?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. He glanced at Tim. “What, exactly, did Tim say?”
“He said you understand.”
Paul sighed and nodded slightly. “We do.”
Suddenly, a dam burst. I started weeping. Tim came over and guided me to the leather reading chair he had been sitting in. I collapsed into the chair, curled into a ball and sobbed. Kenny sat in front of the chair and rested his head on my foot.
It was nearly an hour before I finally stopped crying. Their words of comfort hit home, and I was able to release a lot of the initial hurt. When I stopped crying, my stomach suddenly grumbled.
“Can we get some something to eat? I’m starving,” I said.
We found Edmund, and some soup, and then went back to my bedroom where all four of us spent the rest of the night talking about their own experiences.