I Said No

Chapter eight

It's Tuesday and on Tuesdays I have a meeting where we collaborate on new ideas and new messages to talk to our middle school youth group. I've been in this club for about a year now and I am one of the leaders. I usually love these meetings. I love practicing for a silly skit or writing a ridiculous song.

I decided it was a good idea for me to get out of the house. I never miss these meetings and I thought it would look strange if I didn't come. Or I guess, I just wanted out of the house. Out of this funk, if I can call it that, a funk.

But after getting here, I realized, I had made a monumental mistake. I shouldn't be here. I don't feel well. I can't think straight. I feel my body become tense, and my forehead begin to perspire. My heart begins to beat faster and faster until I'm sure everyone around me in this small living room can hear it. And if they don't hear that, I'm sure they can hear my loud breathing trying to calm myself. I think I may be having a panic attack.

I can't.

"Who wants to say this weeks message?" The leader, Estaphan, says as he looks directly at me. But I say nothing in return and wait for someone else to volunteer. I look down and avoid eye contact in hopes that he will move on.

"I will," says Erik. Phew, I definitely do not feel like I am even able to get in front of our kids and talk about God.

I can't help right now. I need help myself.

"What do we want to do this week? Does anyone have any fun ideas? Or have any proposals?" Again, Estaphan looks right at me, waiting for me to answer. I usually do answer. I usually have lots of ideas, I usually am willing to do anything for these kids, as ridiculous as some of our skits can get, or as funny as a costume can be—it's usually me. But not today, I pass on each position to be volunteered upon. I keep my eyes down and get lost in my thoughts.

I couldn't talk about God to these kids right now. I couldn't be my normal peppy self. I wasn't normal anymore.

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I have always believed in God. I don't think I understood the big concept of God, but I wanted to. I wanted to learn.

When I was four years old, while I still lived with my mother, my little brother was born. He was the only sibling I knew I had until I was sent to live with my father when I was in the third grade, all at the convenience to my mother. I had seen pictures of myself with my father's family, but for some reason, I don't remember him or any of them until I was in in the third grade.

I remember wondering if my father was even alive when I was little. I somehow did not know what he looked like, my own father. That could be due to some sort of brainwashing from my mother, but that is all besides the point, when my brother was born, he had a different dad than me. He had different grandparents, he had a different family.

I vividly remember the day I asked his grandparents, to be my grandparents too. We were all walking up to our apartment and I turned and ran up to his sweet abuela, and asked if she could be my grandma too. She told me, 'yes, mija! Of course!' And embraced me for a deep long loving hug. For as long as I can remember, my brother and I would go visit them every weekend.

They had a room with two twin beds, one on each side of the room, a small walkway in between the two. Each night we were visiting, we would kneel beside each other, facing opposite directions towards each of our beds. We would put our palms together, in our praying hands, the bottoms of our hands on the bed and then our faces crushed into the tops of them. We would squeeze our eyes shut, as tight as we could, and we would say the Lord's Prayer. Every night.