Le Chemin du Retour

CW: Suicide or self harm, mental health

Jessie sank into the honeysuckle cloud. Her bedroom was cool, but she groaned, eyes red-rimmed, hall light in her face.

“My skin is still raw, Mama. It was so cold there.” It was the first conversation they’d had that didn’t involve medication timelines, her yet-to-be finalized class schedule, or appointments.

“I’ll get you some of the intensive moisture stuff next week, Jessamine.” The corners of her mouth pinched, and Jessie knew she’d probably get the cheapest brand Mama’s coupon would help buy at the pharmacy. “And leave the door open, OK?”

Another check of her arm revealed the cocoa butter hadn’t faded any of the spray of bruises, like the violets they planted along the church’s walkway, during their service project when she and Terri were discovered.

She made it back inside these four walls, but it wasn't the same. Home was more than the farmhouse walls and rolling hills. It was everything she touched, and everyone who touched her.

Jessie sighed again, as the whir of the ceiling fan swirled a breeze onto her tepid forehead. Daddy and Papa hung it one particularly sultry June, before the drought ended. Papa’s friend in town owned a warehouse, and bartered ceiling fans for crops.

When Papa kissed her forehead later that night, tucked under pink rose-covered sheets, she felt like a princess in a beautiful castle.

All of her Heavenly fathers protected her, from batted balls, bone-rattling storms, and most of all, self-hatred. The two men she’d lost, despite their flaws and missteps, loved her more than anything, and they needed her in this place, not in another realm, or in that after place she didn’t want to leave.

They need you there. They nudged back to this home, to embrace it again, one memory, one word, one prayer at a time.

_____________________________________________

Jessie woke and dressed, then drifted past Randall’s room, bedspread tucked under Smurf pillows. Downstairs, a hint of lemony pine hovered above gleaming end tables and Daddy’s chair. Mama carried a chipped gray mug Jessie made at VBS to the table.

“I really wish you’d eat, Jessamine.” Mama swirled milk into her cup, then swirled a spoon in it. “Some oats or a piece of fruit?”

She took a long pull, gulped the thick pill, and sipped more water, a trick she’d learned from a girl in Group, in case a nurse checked that she actually swallowed.

“I guess you’re an old pro at that now, huh?” Mama carried her coffee to the table, and Jessie scooted her chair. “You’re fine, baby.”

“You didn’t come to check if I took it?” Anger flared in Jessie’s gut, weary of her endless hovering and pitying looks. “I don’t need a babysitter, or another nurse.”

Mama recoiled, a hand suspended above Jessie’s shoulder. “I go back on Monday, and I thought we could bake, or work in the flowerbed later.” Mama’s lips twitched upward. “Your brother will be back tonight.”

“I guess you told him I outta the loony bin, huh?”

Tears welled in the corner of Mama’s eyes, shadowed with circles, lifeless. The hand curled around her cup. This was different. Even during the worst days, Mama never seemed this broken. “I just don’t know what to say.”

“That’s a first.”

Mama covered Jessie’s hand with her own, velvety and smooth.“Tell me, Jessamine, what you need, why you’re so angry.”

“I thought you were dead!” Jessie jerked away, and Mama gasped. “He just stood there, didn’t say anything. I told him you needed help, and he just, I, I..”

“Oh Jessamine.” Mama’s hand flew to her mouth.

“And you, you’re just like him! I didn’t want to feel that way, Then, you hurt me, like he hurt you, I just love her so much.” Her shoulders shook with soul-wracking sobs.

Mama shook her head. “Jessamine. I apologize to you. I’m so sorry for my part in what has hurt you.” Mama’s voice cracked.“I can’t ever know how much you hurt, but I don’t want you to feel that way, ever again.”

“I’m OK.”

“I can’t change the past.” Mama reached inside the produce drawer. The thwack of the knife split the Granny Smith. “But I need you to at least try, to heal what we broke in you.”

She handed Jessie the slices arrayed on it in a perfect fan. Jessie winced, regret etched in every harsh line in her mother’s face.”Find a way back, not for me anymore, or for anyone at church, your friend. You.”

Jessie slipped a slice between her lips, crisp and tart, its skin still cool. “OK, Mama.”

“If you don’t mind, will you put all this away?” Mama rose and patted Jessie’s shoulder, a whisper-soft caress. “I’ve got a few stops to make, store, pharmacy, before it gets too hot.”

“I’ll be ready in a few min-”

Mama smiled, a glimmer of light shone in her eyes. “No, stay here, Jessamine.”

She watched her mother walk to the staircase, but she didn’t look back as Jessie as she savored every bite of her apple. “Thanks.”

________________________________________

A week after Independence Day, Jessie climbed the steep stairs and paused at the office door, eyes wide at the gold lettering, Dr. Angela Turner, LPC, LMFT, Ed.D.

“Do you prefer Jessamine, or Jessie?” Her writing teacher wore a black t-shirt and snug designer jeans she’d never worn to school.

“It doesn’t matter." Framed certifications lined the exposed-brick wall, and the towering dusty shelves held more books than her classroom. “Why do we need to change things now?”

Dr. Turner’s brows shot up. “The name you’d like to be called matters to me, dear. I’m here for you.” Her smile was even brighter and sunnier than Jessie remembered.

“Well, I’m here because my mother made me come, and she doesn’t like Jessie. Says it’s too boyish.”

“How does that make you feel?" Dr. Turner slid a fist under her chin.

“I don’t.” Jessie shook her head. “She can call me what she wants.”

“Hmm.” Steam curled from her mug. “Well, my mama hated Angie, but I don’t.”

“Jessie?”

“Yes ma’am?”

“What happens here stays here. Not because it's something to be hidden, but because this recovery belongs to you and only you.” Angie became the imposing figure who confronted bullies and cheaters with equal severity. “I need you to feel comfortable enough to be honest. Those are my rules.”

Jessie banged a shoulder against the heavy gray chair. “OK, Dr. Tur-, I mean, Angie. I promised my mother I would try.”

“Well, tell me what your goals are for this.”

“You mean, for us talking?” Jessie pressed a nail into her forearm. “I guess, I wanna stop feeling like this.”

“Which is…”

Jessie rubbed her temple, but the tears fell anyway. “I hate myself, I hate everything, and I don’t know how to stop!”

Angie shifted in her chair. “What are you thinking at this moment, and feeling?”

She blew out a small breath and raised her head. “My head hurts, I couldn’t sleep last night. Summer’s almost over, I’ve been inside almost every day since I-, and I haven’t seen her, I miss her so much.”

“Teresa Morrow, or Jennifer?”

Jessie nodded. “I miss them both, but I love Terri.”

Angie smiled again. “She is really a great student, a good writer like you, but not-”

Jessie blinked. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

Fresh tears plopped onto her shirt. “I don’t know.” The box of tissues nearly tumbled from the desk. ”Thanks.”

Angie sniffed while Jessie dabbed the corners of her eyes. “Here.” The leather-bound notebook dangled from her pale pink nails.

“What is this for?”

Angie clucked. “For you to do what you do best, dear. A very special book for the most important, and last, assignment you’ll ever get from me.”

The journal’s cover was velvety sky-blue, extravagant, not unlike the stationery store that she didn’t dare to ask her mother to buy. “Thank you, but what am I supposed to do? Just write about what I want?”

Angie winked. “I want you to use this when you experience those feelings, when you want to scream, to just get it out of that big brain of yours.”

“Thank you so much, Angie.” Jessie reached down to slip the book in her bag.

“Not so fast, though.” She raised an arched brow. “It’s not a diary, but it’s for your homework.”

“What?” Jessie schooled her expression, her lips a flat line. She stretched a hand across the desk, their fingers brushing as she accepted the laminated card. “Really?”

“No length requirement, of course. Just date it, and write until you’ve responded to the prompt.” The ache had cooled to a dull roar, and a tall glass of lemonade or Sprite after this would likely act as the perfect balm. Mama had promised milkshakes and a movie later.

Later, curled up in bed, stuffed with mint chip vanilla swirl, Jessie twirled a pink pen in her hand, the journal from Angie atop a pillow. Write a letter to yourself about your greatest accomplishment.

Accomplishment? Winning a stupid junior high school writing contest? Sending her brother for help, when she should have gone and moved faster?

After she doodled a few roses in the margin, Jessie wrote until her fingers cramped. About her parents, her brother, fears, and Terri.

When tears clouded her vision, she folded her hands and closed her eyes. Thank you God, for everything. And God, please watch over and keep them all, Mama, Randall, Jenny. And her, too, Please God, watch over and keep her safe and happy.

__________________________________________

At church the next Sunday, Jenny hugged Jessie, and heads turned at the squeals, as they hurried inside the sanctuary. When they broke apart, she plopped a handful of fun-size peanut butter and chocolate bars into Jessie's palm.

“No M&Ms?” Jessie pushed her bottom lip toward her chin.

Jenny bumped her shoulder. “She ate ‘em all, but you like peanut butter, right?”

“Sure, I like these too. Is she here?”

“She’s staying with our aunt.” Jenny dug into her bag again. “She left this with me, too.”

Jessie flipped the tiny ivory envelope, and she aahed at its heft and sparkly lettering of her name.

. “I’m just the messenger. Hope you like it.” They linked arms, and Jessie rested her head on her friend’s shoulder, delicate and almost perfect.

Mama zeroed in on the letter, and Jessie braced herself. The first notes of the choir’s next selection reverberated, and Mama turned around as the soloist began.

The girls exchanged a look, and Jenny bit her lip, as Jessie slid the envelope in her own purse. “I miss her so much.”

Jenny squeezed Jessie’s hand, her Bible across their laps.“I’m happy you’re back, Jessie.”

“Me too.” No doubt Mama would ask about it later, and Jessie wouldn’t hide or lie again.

______________________________________________

“Do you want mashed or scalloped, Jessamine?” Mama raised an eyebrow. Jessie’s fingers curled around the package and stilled.

“Oh.” She stuffed her purse out of sight, just below the seat. If she asked for nothing, maybe Mama wouldn’t ask about it, and they could make the trip back faster ”I’m OK, whatever he wants.”

Mama turned in the seat, and chuckled at the sight. Randall snored, drool dribbled down his chin, in the back seat. A bit of “He likes ‘em either way, so it’s up to you.” Mama threaded a finger through a lock of Jessie’s hair. “You barely ate when you were gone, and since you’ve been home. I know you want mashed potatoes.”

“Jessamine? What is going on with you? You’ve said less than five words since we left. Didn’t want to greet anyone or be friendly. They won’t be so patient next time.” She slipped a nail into her wallet for her card.

She leaned into the headrest. “I’m just so tired, Mama. I just wanna sleep now. Get what you want for all of us.”

Mama scoffed and passed up her card. She laughed with the cashier, then pulled the huge white bag, steaming and greasy onto the seat between them. Jessie stretched her arm across their meal, grateful for the silence.

“I’ll be back in a minute.” Jessie strode back to the car and pulled her bag from the footwell, then huddled in the shade near the garden.

She caressed the gold letters of her full name, then gasped when her finger breached the seal on the flap.

Terri had glued a pink heart with her initials to a full-sized pack of M&Ms. Behind the candy, a silver charm bracelet, adorned with a ceramic baseball and a red enamel heart, hung from a yellow sheet of stationery. She giggled, and tears glistened in her eyes. The links glittered against her skin as she read. I’m never taking it off.

Dear JW,

I’ll never write anything as beautiful as you do, but I gotta get this out.

I miss you so much, it hurts. I won’t give up the chance to have you in my life, even if we’re only friends.

I miss you, and I pray you’re safe, happy and shining.

Thinking of you, and hoping to see you soon. TM

She looked over the yard—Mama’s station wagon in its spot, a scuffed ball nestled in grass near the cottonwood. Her eyes slipped shut, and Daddy carved a path through the field, a king tractor like a king on his throne.

Bursting pods of beans stood at attention, and herbs and tomatoes scented the warm breeze.

Jessie’s heart squeezed again, filled to the brim with what she thought was lost.