“No. I’m real. Why can’t everyone see that?”

Previously…

“Well,” said Noorah, “It looks like you two had a good time.” Susan shrugged her shoulders once again as she felt her cheeks grow warm. Tim tilted his head and squinted his eyes before saying slowly,

“Thanks for thinking of me. I guess I’ll see you in class on Thursday.”

Oh ominous place spellbound and unchild-proofed
My least favorite chill to bare alone
Compatriots in place they'd cringe if I told you
Our best back-pocket secret our bond full-blown

The office of Marie Chang, the following Monday…

It had begun to rain, almost a downpour in fact, but the rain did nothing to drown out the sound of the girl’s sobs as she leaned her face against side bolster of the couch.

“I hate myself.” The words were halting and interrupted by gasps and cries. Almost a stereotype of everything she’d ever read about girls like her, guilt and shame rose in her throat to throttle her. Arguing with Susan would be almost futile, so Marie took another approach.

“What do you hate about yourself?” She was ready to add ‘honey’ to the question, but thought better of it and waited for the girl’s answer.

“I….hate myself.” Marie resisted the temptation to remind her that she had repeated herself, instead asking another question.

“What have you done to hate yourself, Susan?” The name was important; an identification of sorts.

“I’m wrong. I’m all wrong!” She sat up and began to bang her head softly against the back of the couch; a habit she had when she was little. One might have called the moment petulant if they hadn’t known what she had endured for the past few years.

“What’s wrong about you?” No need to ask about actions or words; Marie knew very well it wasn’t about what Susan did but about whom Susan was that troubled the girl.

“I’m not real. I thought …. I should have never….”

“Never what, Susan? “

“I thought he liked me. I really….” She shook her head as her tears flowed freely. Condemnation from without and within pushed and prodded and poked in accusation.

“He….” Marie began to ask another question, but as much as the heartache du jour was about the rejection she felt, it still seemed to pale in comparison with Susan’s routine self-condemnation. It certainly didn’t help that the boy had been so cruel, but nothing could be crueler than all the messages she had sent herself.

“Susan? You know…. I can’t think of anyone who has been hurt more than you.” She paused, almost for effect, before continuing.

“But someone once said that it’s okay to cry, but eventually you’ve got to figure out why you’re crying. Why are you crying, Susan?”

“He….I thought he understood. How could he do that? I feel so….” She put her head down.

“Used? That must hurt so bad, honey.” The endearment fit for the moment. The girl looked up at her and Marie noticed her expression had changed. The heartache still remained, but something had returned. A spark of anger? An ember of strength?

“I….He acted all nice and…. In the theater, when nobody was looking.” She shook her head; the tears still flowed but her cheeks seemed to have lightened to a dark pink.

“So long as he wasn’t seen?”

“Yeah….but when everybody…. It was like I was just there to make him feel good. I was so…. In front of everybody… Why would he do that, Marie?”

“I don’t know. But it feels…. You tell me.” She pulled back slightly and smiled. Susan put her head down and seemed almost lost in thought for a few minutes.

“I feel …. It’s like when Lucy told everybody about Narnia and Edmund acted as if she was making it all up.” The stories from years past had been a comfort for her when she was beginning to realize how different she was. The characters had become almost life-long friends, even present as she neared her twentieth birthday.

“You aren’t making it all up, are you?”

“No. I’m real. Why can’t everyone see that?”

“Is it everyone?” The question was almost obvious but still necessary. Susan looked away before sighing a disappointed sigh. It would have almost been easier if everyone thought her unreal.

“No….” A sheepish reply coupled with more tears.

“Just the one?”

“Y…yes….” She put her hand to her face to cover her shame; unearned and unwarranted, but shame none the less.

“You thought he understood, right? And that hurts how?”

“I…. I thought….” She shook her head.

“I’m so stupid.” A girl on the cusp of making the Dean’s List isn’t stupid, of course, but even intelligent girls can be made to feel foolish and even worthless with the wrong signals from the ,em>right people.

“That sounds familiar, Susan. Who said you were stupid?”

“I….I’m so foolish…. “ A feeling not easily undone, but she was on the verge of change.

“Tim made you feel foolish. Who else has done that, Susan?”

“He….” She lowered her head, as if to identify the betrayal in her life was one more act to be condemned.

“Go ahead. You have every right to be hurt, Susan. He….?”

“Dad…” She didn’t cry, so to speak, but her tears still fell from her face.

“And when Tim used you, it was like that all over again?” Susan lifted her head at the question and her eyes widened in angry recognition. One might wonder why it took so long for her to gain that understanding, but betrayal, especially by a parent or friend, often shoves understanding rudely to the side as it has its way.

“Yes.” Not much more assertive, but plain enough and a huge moment for the girl as she realized one important thing.

“Are you foolish, Susan?”

“No…I…No!” Even as she spoke, the realization was overwhelming in a good way, so to speak and she began to sob heavily. Tears of relief might be painful for the moment but healing in the long run. She became groundbreaker in her own reclamation project; a feeling that left her in a wonder of sorts as she shook her head in denial.

“No….No….” She pounded the armrest firmly as she kept repeating the word. And Marie spoke once in agreement to affirm Susan’s beginnings of understanding.

“No, Susan, you’re not. Not foolish at all.”

I am a magnet for all kinds of deeper wonderment
I am a wunderkind oh oh oh oooooh
I am a pioneer naive enough to believe this
I am a princess on the way to my throne

At the church later the same day…

Most beautiful place reborn and blown off roof
My view about-face whether great will be done

Jerry sat at his desk, staring at the screen of his laptop. He sighed deeply and hit 'enter.' A moment later a single page rolled out of the printer onto the paper tray. He got up from his desk and stared at the page before laying it down on the desk. He grabbed a pen and scribbled his signature hurriedly before folding the paper and inserting it in an envelope. He sealed it and walked out of his office, but not before staring back at the pile of papers on his desk. Whatever would come next, he at least was convinced finally in his heart about what was most important.

On the UCC campus grounds, a few days later…

I am a magnet for all kinds of deeper wonderment
I am a wunderkind oh oh oh oooooh
I am a Joan of Arc and smart enough to believe this
I am a princess on the way to my throne

“Hi,” a voice came from behind Susan as she sat on the bench; her psych book lay to her side after a morning of study mixed with introspection. She turned to see Tim with a near-grin on his face.

“Tim,” she said flatly. He walked around and went to sit down but she put her hand on the bench.

“What do you want?”

“I wanted to say how sorry I am that you were embarrassed.”

“Okay…you’re sorry. Fine.” Her hand remained on the bench. She placed her right hand on her Psych book, leaving him nowhere to sit.

“Come on. It wasn’t that big of a deal.” He stepped closer; his shadow loomed over her almost like a threat of bad weather.

“No. It wasn’t.” She said it calmly, leaving him surprised. He motioned for her to move her hand but she remained almost motionless.

“You used me, Tim. You wanted to prove a point, and you did. You accept me for who I am. Fine.” He stared at her as she lifted her hand off the Psych book to her right. She lifted the book and placed it in her tote. He took that as an opening and sat down.

“You don’t quite get it, but I don’t blame you.” She sighed deeply before continuing.

“Love the sin and hate the sinner? I’m just fine for you so long as we’re just us, but you pulled back when everyone could see?” Tim went to speak but she put her hand up in caution.

“No, I understand perfectly. It’s a choice, Tim. You want to be seen as okay in everyone else’ eyes. You want to show everyone how nice you can be. I bet you even told your Dad how much you care.”

“That’s not what happened.”

“Happened? It wasn’t an event. People make choices. We all make choices, Tim. You spoke out of your heart; a heart that’s big enough to accept me but too small to show even the slightest evidence of love.” She paused.

“But…” His face had grown red from anger mixed with confusion. She cut him off with a headshake.

“No. I don’t even mean that kind of love.” She breathed out heavily. It hurt, of course, that he didn’t love her that way. But he really didn’t love her at all.

“Noorah isn’t even….she doesn’t share the same faith as us but she showed me more of Christ in the few minutes I sat waiting for Aunt Lina that night than you or your Dad have shown me in my entire life.” She gasped when she realized just how much of that love was withheld by her own father as well. She stood up as Tim held his arms open in plea.

“No, Tim. I forgive you. I guess I’ll have to keep on forgiving you. But I don’t feel like I can…. You were my best friend and you turned your back on me. Goodbye!” She picked her tote off the bench and walked away; her nose had started to run and she felt embarrassed from crying but relieved that in walking away she had finally stood her ground.

Destined to reign, destined to roam
Destined to reign, destined to roam
Destined to reign, destined to roam
Destined to reign, destined to roam

At the church, the following day…

“What’s the meaning of this?” Pat McKenna loomed over Jerry’s desk like a dark cloud. Jerry looked up and smiled as he stared at the paper in Pat’s hand.

“Simple enough. It’s my letter of resignation. I can’t expect any agreement at all in my decision so I didn’t include any notice.” He smiled again and turned his head to face the pile of boxes on the chair in the corner of the office.

“Over this?” Pat pointed to the letter in his hand?

“You’re giving up the ministry over some folly? Foolishness? Your son is living in sin and you’re going to endorse that?” Pat shook his head. He was convinced in his beliefs just as much as Jerry was in doubt of his. They may have shared a faith, and even the means to express that faith at one time. But their paths diverged sharply; perhaps belatedly as well for Jerry and not at all for Pat.

“I don’t pretend to know everything or even half of what I should know about what my child has to deal with. But I do know this. To be a minister to the church I first need to be a minister to my family. And my family includes a daughter who I grew to hate. I’m sorry, Pat.”

“You don’t have to apologize for your child, Jer. Can’t you see this is wrong?”

“No…Pat? You don’t get it. I’m sorry for my behavior. I'm sorry for you and for me. I’ve hurt my daughter. Yes, Pat. My daughter. And my sons. I can’t do that anymore. And I can’t be here anymore. It took me so long to understand that I don’t expect you to….for now. I hope you come to a place where you do, but I can’t be here while you make up your mind.”

“I’ve made up my mind, Jerry. It’s you who’s being foolish here.”

“I know you’ve decided what you believe. I just hope you start to act like the one we both believe in.”

“You can’t say that to me!”

“I just did, Pat. You and I go back a long way and I’m very grateful for you. But the days of just agreeing with you for the sake of keeping my position are over. I don’t agree with you at all about a lot of things; especially where my family is concerned. And I can’t honestly remain as a pastor here when I don’t share the same vision as you do. I've been blind, Pat, but my eyes are finally open, and I’m seeing myself clearly for the first time since Louise died. I don’t like who I see, and I aim to change that.”

Destined to reign, destined to roam
Destined to reign, destined to roam
Destined to reign, destined to roam
Destined to reign, destined to roam

At the DePasquale home the same evening…

It would have been very easy and quite understandable for Susan to stay angry, but as someone once said, she would be ‘wasting no more time looking back over her shoulder!’ She lay in bed and surveyed her room; what seemed for so long as a place of exile in the midst of the oasis of her Aunt’s tender care, it had finally become a haven for her. She noted the nearly-new compound bow that lay on her divan. Too long neglected for her sake as an athlete but even more so as a human being. Her eyes darted to the poster on the far wall.

“I guess we really don’t fit in anymore, but maybe that will change.” She stared at the girl; tween-ish and pretty. And an archer as well. Her namesake of sorts, Susan Pevensie as a character was destined to leave the series in order to follow how she was portrayed in the books. And destined in fantasy to have turned her back on Narnia. Funny thing how the real girl held an affinity for both the girl in the poster and the rejection she must have felt. In the final book of the series, the elder Pevensie girl is declared to be no longer a friend of Narnia. Susan picked up the copy and turned to the back of the book; a dog-earred page revealing the sad reality. She read the passage out loud.

"She wasted all her school time wanting to be the age she is now and she'll waste all the rest of her life trying to stay that age. Her whole idea is to race on to the silliest time of one's life as quick as she can and then stop there as long as she can.”

No mercy for either girl; her namesake almost a hopeless outcast in her own family; too similar and painful if somewhat dissimilar in circumstances. Susan looked up at the poster again.

“Maybe we both need to return?” She sighed and laid back on her bed; her head propped up by several pillows as she gazed out the window into the dark night.

“You and me!” She said finally. She turned over and cradled her head with her hand. Every night since she had lost her mother, she prayed and prayed and cried and prayed some more. And every night was met with a soft silence that seemed to promise answers some day soon. Soon can be a very long time for a child who feels alone and abandoned; even if she does have the love and support of a precious few. She closed her eyes and began to mouth words perhaps only she would hear and understand as she began to cry softly into the pillow.

“You and me,” she repeated before drifting off into a tear-filled, fitful sleep.”

Oh ominous place spellbound and unchild-proofed
My least favorite chill to bare alone
Compatriots in place they'd cringe if I told you
Our best back-pocket secret our bond full-blown

Most beautiful place reborn and blown off roof
My view about-face whether great will be done

To be continued…

Wunderkind
Words and music by the performer
Alanais Morrisette
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uYIH00DJEss