Hidden in Her Past

It had been nearly six months working with troubled teenagers leave their old lives behind, many who were abused and ready to leave. Some of them had mental illness take over their life, hallucinating the trauma and having outbursts unimaginable. I wasn’t just a normal therapist, I worked with who I was assigned to everyday and was to give them daily therapy along with financial help, emotional support, and overall guidance in their everyday life. 

I hadn’t planned to be doing this job, or any job, really. I was a stay at home mother since I was 22 and only worked at grocery stores and fast food chains before that. I had my son and watched him all day while my then boyfriend worked to support us. When my son, Blake, turned five his sister Amelia was born and I had no plans to work again. Sadly, things got hard when Amelia turned 14, she started hanging out with the wrong people and skipping classes and running away when punished. One night she left and she was found dead in an alley the next morning. She was shot twice. Even though she was going through a rebellious stage, her life goal was to help others and I decided to take that over for her. 

The first child I was assigned to was 16 year old Connor. He was expelled from school after getting into fights and drinking in the bathroom. Even on his first meeting with me he was clearly drunk and had a small bottle of alcohol stuck in his back pocket. Surprisingly, six months of working with me did him well and he is clean and back home with his family. I was there for the reunion just the day before and I was on to my next assignment. 

“Ms. Rodgers, someone’s here to see you,” said my assistant Mr. Black. He had his large hand wrapped around the shoulder of a teenage girl walking in slowly. She had long, light brown hair that curled down her arms and she carried a bag over one shoulder. 

“You must be Violet,” I said, reaching out a hand to the young girl. She slowly shook it without eye contact. I guided her to the chair in front of my desk and told her to take a seat before saying, “So Violet, how old are you?”

Violet shifted in her seat. “17,” she replied quietly. She looked around the room at my small office and stopped at a small family picture I had on my desk. I was on the boardwalk with my arms playfully wrapped around Blake as he tried to pull away laughing. Meanwhile, Amelia was jumping around trying to help her brother free. Even as they got older they still were young at heart. 

“Who’s this,” Violet asked in a whisper. I picked up the picture silently. Tears formed in my eyes as I remembered the time it was taken, it was the last picture taken with Amelia before her death. 

I put it back down and answered, “That’s me at the nearby boardwalk with my kids, Blake and Amelia.” I watched as Violet stared at the picture in silence. 

I went through the rest of the questions quickly. She would be in 11th grade if she still regularly went to school and she was kicked out for be accused of a violent encounter with a younger girl in her school. There wasn’t much about that and the accusation was never confirmed or denied. She lived with her mother and step father before she ran away and had been staying with her paternal grandmother without her mother knowing. 

The two of us talked for nearly three hours while I secretly wrote notes on a pad of paper under my desk. She told me about her step siblings who she didn’t like and how much she missed her dog, a three year old husky with a broken paw. Violet didn’t seem bad at all. Before getting kicked out of school she had decent grades with nothing below a B- and she seemed to be smart, kind, and an overall good person. I also learned that she was a very talented person. She played softball and did gymnastics, she played clarinet, piano, and guitar, she knew French, and she was a very good artist. I tried to write down all her skills but couldn’t keep up with her long list. She seemed amazing. 

The first night I’m assigned a teenager, they are to be evaluated at a hospital. No kid is ever excited about it but Violet seemed pretty understanding and complied without complaint. She didn’t even argue when I told her to leave her backpack. Violet emptied her pockets into her backpack and tucked her belongings under my desk with her coat draped on the back of my chair. I told her I’d see her the next day and she agreed and followed what the doctor said. 

When Violet left, I sat at my desk and started to type her first report. Violet reminded me a lot of my Amelia, smart and talented. I typed a lot about Violet in the computer, trying not to forget a single detail. 

“How’d it go?” asked Mr. Black, walking into my office. I fixed my skirt and stood to pull him a chair where Violet had previously sat. 

“She’s wonderful,” I answered truthfully. I took a seat again and flipped the page on my notepad, ready to begin again. Mr. Black pulled his chair closer to where I sat and skimmed over my notes. 

“A very talented young woman I see,” Mr. Black thought aloud. 

“Yes she is.” I continued my report without looking away from my computer. I typed quickly fearing I’d forget something if I stopped too long. 

Mr. Black stood again and said, “I’m going to head out, I’ll see you tomorrow ma’am.” He zipped up his coat and gave me a smile as I balled up a empty piece of paper and threw it at him. 

“Don’t ma’am me!” I said. “I told you it makes me feel old.” Mr. Black laughed as he picked up the piece of paper and threw it back at me. This went on for a moment before he threw it in the trash. 

“I am civilized enough to stop a fight,” Mr. Black said with a fake accent. He turned dramatically as I grabbed my pen and threw that at the back of his head, missing by about a foot. “You can pick that up,” he told me as he left. 

I continued to smile as I picked up my pen and returned back to my desk, accidentally kicking over Violets unzipped backpack. A variety of things fell out including a pencil, a stuffed panda, a phone and charger, a granola bar, and a pair of headphones. The one thing that got my attention was a small black journal with blue binding and a heart shaped golden lock. I tried to open the journal, hoping the lock was a child one but it wouldn’t come undone. I reached into her bag and moved things around hoping to find the key. I took out a sweatshirt and sneakers and a silver bracelet before I saw a small golden key attached to bags bottom. I ripped it out, leaving a small tear in the bags fabric and opened the lock. This is what is said:

I never thought I’d be writing in a journal but here I am. Today I lost everything. All over one dumb thing. I was hanging out behind a package store with my best friend Serena and her boyfriend Mitch along with some guy I’ve been seeing, Ryder. Some guy owed Ryder money and he shot him. It was terrible. Ryder went to the body and took all the money, which was $300 more than owed. Serena, Mitch, and I had to swear to him we wouldn’t tell or he threatened to shoot us too. There was another witness though. A girl in my school saw and she ran. Ryder told us, mainly me, to chase her and I did. He threw me the gun and I shot her twice. I regret everyday. It killed me to hear it on the loudspeaker at school the next day: “Sadly students, a friend of ours passed away yesterday. Amelia Rodgers was shot and killed in an alley and we ask that any students with information come forward.”