My Day 1

SCENE I

On the abandoned barbershop along South Street is my wall of tally marks. Tally marks representing every day I have resentment toward. And since today is my twentieth birthday, I am sitting at 7,305 marks.

It may be a tad dramatic, but I’ve been adding to (and catching up) the wall since 2nd grade. Today, I trudged to the wall despite the pouring rain to celebrate the big 2-0. 

With a solid swipe of sharpie, I stand back and look at my wall. Quite picturesque if you ask me. I’ve seen teens come to the wall to get pictures, it’s a hit destination in our church mouse slum.

What you’re probably wondering is why I keep such a depressing monument. I am haunted by if only’s.

If only…

If only my parents would have stopped fighting each other and started fighting for me.

If only I hadn't ended up in the Foster Care System, only to age out worse than I went in.

If only I wasn't raped and abused repeatedly ever since I was eight. 

If only my teacher hadn't said I was stupid, never going to get anywhere with my dyslexia.

If only I wasn't living in a $150 car that I can't even drive to my minimum-wage job.

If only…

If only I had never been born, then the wall could sit clean from the marks of my pain. The crumbling bricks and chipped paint could fade without the years of sharpie, pen, pencil, or whatever I could get my hands on. 

But since I have been born, the wall gets to display my pain. It’s not enough for it to remain in me, no one would look twice.

The rain starts to slow, and I take a moment to look around me. The sun is setting behind the clouds. In the park across the street, animals scurry across the lawn as they emerge from their hiding. 

This world really is beautiful, I can’t deny that. 

A bluebird lands on the nearby park bench and sings the tune I walk “home” to.  

SCENE II

Early the next morning, my alarm goes off at 7:30. I was already awake though, the mornings were starting to get cold again and never failed to wake me up rudely.

I shuffle around my backseat, dressing for work. I look at the mess that is my sheets but there’s no point in smoothing them out. I’d only collapse once I came back from my double-shift.

Tumbling from the car, I take a moment to brush out my hair, then start my walk to work. 

Unlocking the gas station, I take a moment to wash my face and brush my teeth - along with a much-needed bathroom break - before taking position by the register. 

The hours fly by: “$30 on pump 2,” “6 scratch-offs,” “Well, hello there gorgeous,” “$10 on pump 1.”

Among the normal currents of traffic and coffee drinkers, I never would have guessed someone could change my life. 

Around 7:00 that evening, when the after-work rush was finally coming to a close, a middle-aged man came into the station in a manner that reminded me of dancing.

In a loud voice, the man sings “Hello, hello! How are you this fine evening! Praise God for this wonderful evening!”

“Uhh,” I start, caught off guard, “Fine, and you?”

The man leaned against the counter, looking up to the ceiling as if he was gazing at a cathedral basilica rather than some cheap styrofoam. “I am doing good! Blessed! I woke up today, praise God!”

The man pushes away from the counter and starts looking through the rows of snacks. Continuing, he asks, “What would you get if you were to choose something that was replacing your dinner?”

Caught off guard again by his odd but definitely relatable question, I answer, “We don’t have much in terms of good replacements, but I’d suggest beef jerky and mixed nuts.”

“A wonderful idea! Thank you, young lady!” The man has an energy that must be exhausting, but he keeps on, “And what would you get as dessert?”

“Personally?” I start to laugh a little at this point, “I’d get cherry sours, but we definitely have plenty of sugar to choose from.”

“An excellent suggestion!” the man exclaimed, grabbing a couple of bags.

While I start ringing up everything, the man starts going on about some story from his childhood. I started to zone out a little as I was putting the food in a bag but came to attention just in time for another question.

“What do you want to do with your life?”

I heard this question asked many times in foster care. A method of advertising you to potential families. I also had a class my senior year of high school with a teacher that would keep asking but never really cared to hear our answers if they didn’t include college. 

“To get out of here I guess.” It wasn’t much of an answer but it was true.

“Tell me more!” 

“Well,” I sigh, ready for him to leave, “I’m saving to move to New York City, start working for a real estate company, maybe even get into modeling if I can figure out how. Your total is $7.38.”

“That’s amazing!” The man gave me the biggest smile before digging through his wallet for change, “I’m sure your family must be so proud.”

My parents are in jail, I haven’t visited them since I was still in the foster system and I only did so because I was guilt-tripped. “Yeah, it’s pretty exciting.” I hand him the bag.

The man stood therefore a second, seeming to contemplate something. “Look, honey, I have a prophecy. You are going to change the world. I know that life can be hard, especially in this area, but don’t forget what it has shown you. I pray that when you move forward that you can forgive the life that moved you.”

I started laughing. This man is nuts. “Forgive this life? You’re insane.”

“It’s made you strong hasn’t it?” The man prodded.

“Well, yeah. I don’t need to be strong though. Not when there are no chances for which strength could be useful.”

The man looked at me with such a gentle gaze. “If you are here then there is still a chance. God doesn’t give life only for death. I’m sorry if life has been mostly death up to this point.” Sliding one of his cherry sour bags to me, I look up to him confused. “If it’s any consolation, I am grateful that you have made it this far. Your story will inspire many who are hurting.” With another smile and awkward tilt of his baseball cap, “Have a good night, brave girl.” And he was gone.

SCENE III

The next morning, I’m awake again thanks to the cold. I don’t have work until the afternoon but get up for a walk anyway. Keep moving, keep warm. 

The conversation that I had the night before still rattles around in my brain. Who does he think he is, asking me questions like that? Forgive this life? Outrageous. Maybe? No! Where did “maybe” come from?

I start toward my wall, adding two tallies for today and yesterday. These are my days and I don’t have to be okay with a single one of them. 

Is being okay with something a requirement for forgiveness? 

I sat along the wall, pulling out my phone to google it. Turns out people on the internet can’t agree per usual, but the overwhelming majority seemed to separate forgiveness from approval.

Did I want to believe the man? Could he be right? I want him to be right. Can I just decide he’s right?

Standing up, gazing at my wall, I brush my hands across the tallies. Then I start running. 

SCENE IV

15 YEARS LATER

I ran to the hardware store and painted my wall over that day. Every tally is gone. 

I live in Chicago with my husband of three years and the sweetest daughter we adopted from the foster system. I am a stay at home mom; and yes, you heard that right, HOME! We currently have three children - siblings - staying at our home from the foster system, waiting to return home to their parents. 

I am taking college classes online, something that my teachers said I could never succeed in, studying social work to become a child therapist. 

I fight for my children, bettering myself for them. 

I can only thank God for sending me that man and his words of encouragement. Redemption is my story because of it. I thank God for everything that has happened to me, it has driven me to intercede for those with the same dull eyes that I once had.

Forgiveness didn’t take place all that day, but I am so glad I had a day 1.