The Clay Lion (29 page)

Several moments of awkward silence passed.

“Jill, I came to say I’m sorry.”

She looked up from her nails and our eyes
met.  “What do you have to be sorry for?”

“I feel responsible for the pain that you
experienced because of Branson.  I encouraged him to pursue you.  I
feel like it was a mistake.  You got hurt in the end.”

Jill looked at me for a long time.  She
tried initially to hold back tears, pursing her lips and shaking her
head.  Finally, she placed her face in her hands and wept openly.  I
laid a cautious hand on her shoulder.  “I’m sorry,” I said again.

When at last the tears subsided, Jill met my gaze
again.  “Brooke, Branson was the best thing that ever happened to
me.  We had been friends for so long. 
For so many
years.
  But I didn’t think he liked me.  Not like that at
least.  So when I found that stuffed bear in my locker from him, it was
the most spectacular feeling.

“Having Branson love me was the most amazing
thing in my life.  And losing him was the worst.  But I wouldn’t give
up one for the other.  I don’t regret for one minute having loved
him.  What I would have regretted was if he had died having never known
how I felt about him.  But I got the chance to tell him.  He knew
that I thought he was incredible.  So please, don’t apologize to me. 
If anything, I should be thanking you for bringing him into my life. 
Even if it was only for a while.”

I found that I was now the one holding back
tears.  Quickly, I picked up my bag.  From within the large pocket, I
produced Branson’s sketch book and handed it to Jill.

“What is this?” she asked, opening the front
cover.

I watched emotion overtake her face as she
recognized her own portrait before her on the first page.  She stroked the
pencil marks with her fingers.

“Branson drew this?” she asked unable to look
away from the drawing.

“Yes.  Turn the page,” I instructed.

She carefully folded the first sheet over and was
met by yet another picture of herself, this one lovelier than the first. 
Slowly, methodically, she made her way through the book, stopping to admire
each and every drawing.  When at last she was finished, her shoulders
heaved with powerful sobs.  She placed the book on the counter and slid it
in my direction.

“Thank you for sharing them with me,” she said at
last.

“I didn’t bring them here for you to look at,” I
replied.  “I brought them here for you to keep.”

She lifted her face, red and splotchy from the
tears, and smiled.  Without warning, she threw herself at me and crushed
me in an enormous hug.  “Thank you,” she sobbed, her face buried in my
shoulder.

“You’re welcome Jill,” I replied.

C
HAPTER
F
ORTY

The final weeks of summer vacation sped by. 
Swimming lessons ended and I received a certificate from Garrett as the most
improved swimmer, complete with a large gold star.  I believe that Sarah
had something to do with my award.  And although I was fully aware that
there would be no Olympic medals in my future, the sense of accomplishment I
felt from achieving my goal of learning to swim was all the reward I needed.

Sarah and Garrett were excited to return to Brown
together for the fall semester of their sophomore year.  It was
fascinating to watch them, as their initial attraction developed into a
wonderful relationship.  Beyond that, Sarah could not resist commenting
about how much she loved his backside at every opportunity.  They drove
off, each in their own cars, two days before I was set to leave on my own
college adventure.  It was hard watching them leave together, knowing I
would be heading to college alone.

The night before I was scheduled to depart, my
mother prepared homemade lasagna for dinner.  The irony of her choice was
not lost on me, given the other trips in my life that were preceded by
lasagna.  I was optimistic the trip to college would be my most successful
ever.

After dinner, I retreated to my room to finish
the last of my packing.  My clothing, bedding, and books were already
loaded into the car.  I pulled a small duffle from the hall closet to pack
the last of my belongings that I wanted to take with me.

Before she left, Sarah presented me with an album
filled with pictures of Branson and me together over the years.  Without
my knowledge, she and my mother had been meeting during the summer while I was
working at the shelter to collect the photos.  I knew that it would be a
source of strength for me in the coming months.  Next to the album, I
placed the red binder of coping techniques prescribed by Dr. Richmond to aid in
my continued recovery. I would be unable to keep my weekly meetings while I was
away at school, so having the binder was as close to having Dr. Richmond with
me as I was going to get.  Next, I placed the pencil sketched portrait
that Branson drew of me on top of the binder.  In a moment of selfishness,
I had torn it from the sketch pad when I decided to give it to Jill.  I
had it framed and knew that it would always be displayed proudly in whatever
space I called home.

Finally, encased in a decorative box I bought at
a thrift store, I placed the clay lion in the bag.  I had faith that the
courage it represented would continue to carry me in the right direction along
the path of my life, into my future, full of unlimited possibilities.

E
PILOGUE

Tying my jacket around my waist, I walked out of the
science building and into the warmth of the September afternoon.  Mentally
exhausted from my first college biology exam, I had big plans of returning to
my dorm room to veg out in front of the television.  I spotted my roommate
Anne leaving the fine arts building and she waved to me from across the
quad.  I immediately changed course, heading in her direction.

Anne and I hit it off from the moment we were
introduced.  She was artistic and spunky. 
The
creative yin to my scientific yang.
  An overbearing optimist, she
infected me with her positive energy and I could not help but feel happy when I
was around her.  She skipped toward me, her knapsack flopping loosely
against her back.

“Where
ya
headed?” she
asked.

“Back to the room.
  I’m wiped.  I think I did well
though.”

“I’m headed to the green.  It’s so nice
out,
I thought I would just lay on the grass and absorb some
sun for a while.”  She grabbed my hand.  “Come with me!”

Before I could object, she was dragging me across
campus to a large grassy knoll affectionately dubbed “the green” by the
students.  I had to admit that it was beautiful outside and to spend the
afternoon in front of the television seemed a waste.

“Okay!  I’m coming!” I hollered, trying to
encourage her to slow down.

As we arrived, it was apparent that we were not
the only students to have our idea.  Countless others decided that
spending the afternoon outdoors trumped just about every other possible
activity.  The knoll was teeming with life.  We found an open spot
and sat down on our jackets.

It was relaxing watching my classmates enjoying
the day.  Some were jogging.  Others threw Frisbees.  There was
a group listening to music and a rare few appeared to be trying to study. 
Close to where we were sitting, a half a dozen boys were throwing around a
football.  I watched them, thinking of how Branson would have loved to
have joined in.

Lost in thought, I was startled by the sight of a
boy standing in front of me.

 
“We need a
couple more to play.  You two want to join us?”

Anne was on her feet before my brain had even
registered the question.  “Come on!” she called to me, already running
toward the other boys.

I slowly lifted myself from the ground and jogged
over to the group.  Within moments, I was sprinting across the green,
chasing down the boys.  It felt good to run around again, the way Branson
and I had years ago.  After catching several of our quarterback’s
difficult passes, I was elevated to full time receiver by my team. 

As we lined up for the hut, I was startled by a voice
to my right.

“We playing touch or tackle?” the boy asked,
lining up beside me.

“Touch,” I replied, turning to face him, the
hairs on the back of my neck pricking with anticipation.

Charlie Johnson, the older, more handsome
version, was only inches away, smiling brightly at me.

“Well, come on,” he laughed, “I’ve been watching
you make some serious catches, Superstar!  I’m
gonna
want you on my team all the time! 

“Josh,” he called to his friend, “where’d you
find this girl?”   

We continued playing for the remainder of the
afternoon.  Initially, I was anxious about having Charlie by my side once
again.  But slowly, it began to feel like life had brought me full circle
and I was right where I was supposed to be.  Perhaps I could change my
fate, but in the end, I realized, my destiny may have already been
written. 

Between Charlie’s blocking and my receiving, we
led our team to a landslide victory.  There were high fives and ‘good
jobs’ all around.  One by one, the players dispersed as the sun fell behind
the horizon.  Anne and I were gathering our jackets from the ground when
Charlie appeared beside me once again.

“Listen, I can’t keep calling you
‘Superstar.’  And I doubt that I’ll find you in the school’s directory
under that name.  So if I wanted to look you up, you know, to ask you out
for pizza or to the movies or something, what name should I use?”

“Brooke.  Brooke Wallace,” I said, unable to
keep the smile from my lips.

“Well, I’ve never seen anyone able to catch a
ball like that.  I’d say you are one special girl Brooke Wallace.”

“That’s what I’ve heard,” I replied.

A
KNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to begin by thanking my family and
friends for listening to me droning endlessly about “the book” in the months
before its publication, but more importantly, for continuing to encourage me
just the same.

Ann
Bevins
-Selig, your
attention to detail and love for proper grammar were invaluable to me
throughout the editing process. 
Thank you for “getting
it” when no one else did.
  You, my friend, are the reigning queen
of second chances.  We have been blessed with so many for which I am truly
grateful.

Lori
Andrulonis
Gilbert, thank you for your reflections and for being my second set of
eyes.  And don’t worry, I was kidding about English being a snooze-fest…
honest.

Dave Vespa, thank you for being on speed dial to
assist with the formatting of headers and footers.  Who knew it was all so
complicated?

My husband Drew, thank you for dealing with my
constant preoccupation while I was writing. 
And
editing.
 
And formatting.
  Thank you
for figuring out how to configure the layout just as I was ready to gauge out
my own eyes.  Thank you for accepting frozen pizza as a substitute for
homemade dinner.  Also, I appreciate that you did not complain at all when
I woke you night after night at two in the morning because I had ideas that
simply could not wait until morning to be written down.  And most
importantly, thank you for supporting our family so that I was able to pursue
my “starving artist” ambition.  I love you.

Finally, thank you to everyone who has ever said
to me “you should write a book.”  This first one is for you.

Thank
you for reading
The Clay Lion
E-book
on your Kindle device.

 
I hope that you enjoyed reading the book as much
as I enjoyed writing it.
 
If you did
enjoy it, please share your rating at Amazon.

 
Thanks again and happy reading!

Amalie
Jahn