August, 1997; Washington, D.C. …
"I don't see why we have to do this," Ellen said, sitting cross-legged on the sofa.
The office was spacious, with comfortable furniture, a beautiful Persian rug over the hardwood floor, potted plants in the corners, and an open window streaming in sunlight and fresh air. The whole thing had been designed to feel warm and inviting, enough to get all the pathetic crybabies who came in to blubber about their feelings. Ellen wouldn't fall for it. Not for such an obvious trap.
Sitting across from her was a middle-aged woman dressed in a wine-coloured skirt and white blouse. Her blonde hair was tied in a bun, and she had bright blue eyes. The woman's smile seemed genuine, but it only made Ellen wary.
"And why is that?" Dr. Carter asked, cocking her head to the side.
Ellen shrugged. She wore a pair of ripped jeans and a long-sleeved black shirt under a Metallica t-shirt. As had become her habit in the two years since…since Colombia, she'd put on black lipstick and eyeshadow. "Because we both know I'm not here by choice. Because my parents decided they can't trust me to be on my own."
"Your parents are worried about you, Ellen. They only want what's best for you."
"Do they?" Ellen retorted. "It seems like all they want is for me to talk about what…happened in Bogotá." She idly scratched her wrist, feeling the bandage through her sleeve. "I don't want to talk about it. I never want to talk about it."
Dr. Carter gave her a sympathetic smile. "I understand. But you survived a traumatic experience. Something no one your age should have to go through. It doesn't just go away, those feelings of anger and fear and grief. If we bottle those up inside and try to forget, then they'll only cause problems down the road. It's better to find healthy ways of unloading that weight." Her eyes flicked to Ellen's covered wrists. "Would you like to talk about what happened the other day?"
Ellen stuffed her hands into her armpits and stared at the floor. "What's there to talk about? It was nothing."
"You're a beautiful girl, Ellen, with a loving family and a bright future. You must have been in great pain." The older woman leaned forward. "Your parents love you, and I'm sure they want you to know that you don't have to go through this alone."
"I just…I…" Ellen said, struggling to find the words. 'What the hell am I doing?' she thought. Dr. Carter wouldn't let her leave until they talked, and despite her wariness, deep down Ellen wanted to talk to someone, even if it hurt like hell. She closed her eyes, exhaling. "I've been so angry, all the time. Ever since Bogotá, it's like a switch was flipped inside me and never turned off. There's this…need inside me. Like an itch."
"A need for what?"
"To hurt someone. I dream about what happened every night, and I see those ELN rebels. They kill the people at the embassy, then they kill my parents. I want to hurt them, to make them feel afraid. When they took me hostage, I never felt so helpless and scared before. So, every time I wake up after the dreams, I get angry. It's the only thing I feel anymore, and it gets so bad I think I'll explode. Since I can't hurt the bad people, I hurt myself."
Dr. Carter jotted something down on her notepad. "So you felt like you had to relieve that tension."
Ellen nodded. "Mom left to attend a charity event, and if I didn't do something about it, I'd tear the house down. So I grabbed a knife from the kitchen while Dad was busy in his office." She rubbed her wrists, feeling the bandages that covered the matching pair of cut marks on each wrist. "He came to check on me, and that's why I'm sitting here now."
"Talking about it is good. Recovering from trauma is never easy, but it helps if you have a support structure. Do you have any friends you could spend time with?"
Ellen snorted. "I'm sure you already know I don't have any friends. I've never been a really 'social' kind of person. People tend to see me as a freak anyway, especially after we moved back here."
"I know you've been suspended twice for getting into fights."
"Okay, the first time, this older boy was bullying a new kid in our class. So I roughed him up a little. He might have been on the football team, but I've been studying Taekwondo for six years. His buddies were scared of me after that, so they ratted me out to the principal."
"And the second time?"
Ellen paused, picking at one of her fingernails. "Um, I overheard a group of girls talking about me in the bathroom. They called me names, and when I came out of the stall they told me I should have stayed in Colombia and died." A single tear ran down her cheek, which she angrily wiped away.
"That must have been very hurtful," Dr. Carter said softly.
"Yeah. The next time I saw one of those girls in class, I punched her in the face. Just as the teacher walked in. Got suspended for three days."
"I know school can be difficult for a lot of kids. Formative years are often quite a minefield to navigate, especially for someone as unique and independent as you. At the very least, you should feel like you can be honest with your parents. They'll be willing to listen to anything you have to say. Home should be a safe space where you feel comfortable and supported. It's also important to find healthy outlets for your anger and aggression. If you bottle it up, then you run the risk of exploding at the wrong moment and hurting the wrong person."
Ellen nodded. Both times she'd gotten suspended earned her lectures from her parents and groundings. But for a few nights after each suspension, she slept like a baby. Life didn't seem as miserable when she got to punish the right people.
After the session ended, Ellen got into the car sent to pick her up. She stared out the window as they drove through D.C., thinking about how her life seemed stuck in an endless loop of pain and anger. She felt like a steam tank, ready to blow from all the pressure. Dr. Carter told her to find an outlet. Martial arts helped, and it was one of the few things that made her happy these days. But there wasn't much else.
The car pulled up to the house, and the driver opened the back door for her. Walking across the expansive driveway, she opened the front door and stepped inside. The house was nice, with an open floor plan and several glass walls. Kicking off her shoes, Ellen went into the kitchen. Renata, their housekeeper, was busy cleaning the counters. "Oh, hi Ms. Pierce!" she greeted cheerfully.
"Hi Renata," Ellen replied. Pouring herself a glass of milk from the fridge, she asked, "Is my dad still here?"
The brunette woman nodded. "He's just finishing a meeting in his office."
"Thanks."
Ellen made her way to his office, enjoying the cold milk. When she turned a corner, she saw him stepping out the door. He spoke with another man who she didn't recognize. But judging by his suit and general spookiness, he probably worked for S.H.I.E.L.D. or some other agency. They shook hands, and the man walked past her without a nod or single word of greeting.
"Hey, sweetheart," her father greeted with a smile.
"Who was that?" Ellen asked.
"Mitchell Carson, Head of Defense at S.H.I.E.L.D. We were just going over some things." Giving her a kiss on the forehead and a hug, he asked, "So how was the session?"
"Good."
He took off his glasses and stuffed them into his jacket pocket. "Yeah?"
He tried to avoid sounding too obvious or hopeful, but she noticed. A part of her felt annoyed, but the other part felt glad she had such a caring parent. Looking back on the hour she spent with Dr. Carter, Ellen said, "Yeah. At first I didn't want to say anything, but then everything just sort of…came out. She's scary good at getting people to talk."
He chuckled. "I'll bet. Actually, you remind me of Grampa Joe. He had nightmares for years, after the war, but in his day no one ever talked about their feelings. People would tell him to 'man up' and 'deal with it'. Men of his generation tend to keep their feelings hidden so others wouldn't see them as weak or fragile. I was in college by the time I talked him into getting therapy."
"Did it help?" Ellen asked.
"It took a while, but eventually he worked through his nightmares." He put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently. "It's okay to talk to someone when you have a problem."
"I know. Dad, I'm, uh…I'm really sorry for scaring you like that. I don't want you to worry. It's just…Ever since that day, I'm always reliving it in my mind. It makes me feel scared and helpless and angry, and I'm just hurting. All the time. I wanted the pain to stop, to make it all go away."
His eyes started to tear up, but he wiped them with his sleeve. "Ellen, you can always count on us to have your back. Whatever you're dealing with, I don't want you to feel like you can't talk to us about it. I'm your father, and to me you will always be my little girl. I…" He started to choke up, but cleared his throat and didn't let himself break down. "I will always be here to help you."
Ellen's jaw ached, and the dam she'd erected inside to keep her emotions in check cracked. Her feelings flooded into her chest, and despite herself, she began to cry. He pulled her in for a hug, and she cried onto his suit jacket. The moment reminded her of when those S.H.I.E.L.D. agents rescued her in Bogotá. Then, just like now, she felt relief and comfort in her father's arms as a weight lifted.
They stood there for a good minute, not saying anything. Then, he patted her on the back and said, "You're alright. You're alright. Now, I don't know about you, but I am starving."
Sniffling, Ellen wiped her eyes. "I could eat."
He nodded. "Also, that was my last meeting of the day, so my evening is wide open."
"Really?"
"You bet. I was thinking we could have a movie night. Eat some popcorn and candy, and since your mom is out of town, we can both stay up late and not get in trouble. Now that you're old enough, I think you're ready to watch these." Stepping into his office, he opened a drawer and took out a pair of VHS tapes. Alien and Aliens. Ellen's eyes lit up, as she'd been wanting to watch those movies forever. He chuckled.
Renata cooked brown butter scallops with parmesan risotto –one of her father's favourite dishes— then left for the night. After eating, they both sat down on the couch and watched Alien. Half the time she watched the movie through gaps in her fingers, and she screamed when the alien burst out of John Hurt's chest in a spray of blood. Despite the scariness, she felt more relaxed and excited than she'd been in months. After all, it was just a movie. She cheered when Sigourney Weaver jettisoned the alien out of her ship and killed it with the engines. Ejecting the tape and putting in Aliens, Ellen rushed to make a bowl of popcorn.
Hours later –after consuming all the popcorn, three cans of Orange Crush, and a bag of Twizzlers— she knew her favourite character ever was Ellen Ripley. Sharing the same name as the most badass woman ever made Ellen smile. As the movie progressed, she couldn't help but feel a strong connection to the character. Like her, Ellen Ripley suffered from terrible post-traumatic stress and horrifying nightmares. But she fought on despite all that, despite the fear, and by conquering her own demons was able to save the day and beat the titular Aliens.
She glanced at her father with mock suspicion. These movies had been at the top of her list for months, but maybe there had been an ulterior motive for him to suggest them now. He probably figured out the similarities between her and the character, and meant for her to connect with Aliens as another form of therapy. His wry grin confirmed her suspicions.
Once they finished the movie, Ellen got off the couch to clean up her dishes. As she did so, her father said, "It's always so simple in the movies, isn't it?"
"What do you mean?" she asked, loading the dishwasher.
"In these sorts of things, you've got good guys and bad guys. Right and wrong. And by the end, the bad guys are punished by the people willing to take a stand and do what needs to be done."
She thought about it, then said, "Yeah, that makes sense."
He scratched his chin. "I used to think that real life was more complicated, different. People make bad choices, but they're still people. I thought you could talk to someone, no matter what they've done, and get them to recognize what they were doing was wrong. I spent my entire life like that." He paused, looking over at her. "What happened to you that day was a terrible thing. It never should have happened."
Ellen flinched. She scratched her bandaged wrist under her long sleeve.
"That day taught me an important lesson: some people in this world are just bad, and they'll get away with doing bad things until someone puts a stop to it. I'm so sorry you had to face that fact the way you did. But now you know the world can be a broken place, and it'll stay that way until the bad people are all gone."
She flashed back to the embassy, and the bandana-wearing revolutionaries who turned her life upside down. "Yeah, I do know that."
September, 1997…
Ellen stared out the window as the car drove through D.C. Joan Jett and the Blackhearts played through headphones connected to the CD player Mr. Fury gave her for her birthday. She tapped her knees to the beat, mumbling the lyrics and imagining herself on stage performing for thousands of people.
"I hate myself for loving you, Can't break free from the things that you do. I wanna walk but I run back to you, That's why I hate myself for loving you."
A tap on her shoulder broke the daydream, and Ellen took off the headphones to look at her mother sitting beside her. "Sorry, was I too loud?" she asked, sheepish.
Her mother shook her head. "No, honey. You looked like you were enjoying yourself," she said with a smile.
"Yeah."
In the three weeks since she first met Dr. Carter, Ellen had had two more sessions. They didn't talk about anything new, per se, just more of the same. In the second session, she'd asked her when she would be 'all better'. Dr. Carter's response had been, "There really isn't an 'all better', Ellen. Therapy is a gradual process. People are complex, and it takes time to peel back the layers and get to the root of what's troubling them. You're not getting rid of me that easily."
"Well, it looks like we're almost there," her mother said after glancing out the windshield.
Ellen furrowed her brow. "Where are we going, exactly?"
"Nowhere special." She had a knowing smirk on her face, and her vague answer only made Ellen more interested. She'd said they were going on a 'special trip', but that could be anything from a play to visiting the vacation house in the Hamptons. They weren't driving to the airport, nor to any mall or movie theatre. A few minutes later, they arrived at the Smithsonian. Ellen had never been here before, and while it had a lot of neat stuff, she didn't know why this would be a 'special trip'.
Stepping out of the car, she followed her mother through the museum. Planes and space probes hung from the ceiling, suspended by cables. "Cool," Ellen said, craning her neck to look at them. Crowds flowed through like water in rivers, admiring the displays. Families on vacation, school field trips, and tourists aplenty.
After navigating their way through a group of excited tourists, they headed towards a set of escalators. On either side were large banners hanging from the ceiling, depicting a familiar man dressed in a blue uniform with a star on his chest. "Here we are," her mother said with a satisfied smile.
Ellen gawked at the banners. "No way," she said. "No way!"
They rode up the escalator along with dozens of others. At the top, a sign with an arrow read 'Captain America Exhibit Entrance'. Ellen felt like jumping with joy, and her mother couldn't help but giggle at her reaction. The wall around the open doorway into the exhibit had been painted with a stylized image of the world's first superhero, marked with the words 'CAPTAIN AMERICA: The Living Legend and Symbol of Courage'.
"A symbol to the nation," a recorded voice said over the speakers. "A hero to the world."
"Does this meet with the seal of approval?" her mother asked.
"Yes, yes!" Ellen replied enthusiastically. She threw her arms around her and said, "Thank you, thank you, thank you! This is perfect!"
"See? Moms can be pretty cool, too."
They walked past a mural of Captain America saluting in front of the American flag. The recording continued. "The story of Captain America is one of honour, bravery, and sacrifice. Denied enlistment due to poor health, Steven Rogers was chosen for a program unique in the annals of American warfare. One that would transform him into the world's first super soldier."
A panel showed two pictures, one of Captain America before and after he'd received the infamous serum by a former Nazi scientist. It read 'PRE SERUM – Weight: 95 lbs. Height: 5'4". POST SERUM – Weight: 240 lbs. Height: 6'2".'
Ellen snorted. "He had the same height as me."
"See?" her mother said, gesturing to the image of a scrawny, sickly little kid. "It doesn't matter how big or how strong you are. What matters is that you commit yourself to something. As long as you have courage, you can do anything."
"Yeah, but no one's pumping me with an experimental serum that'll help me punch through steel," Ellen reminded her as they moved on.
After looking at pictures and testimonials from some of Captain America's more notable battles, they came to a large, open space. Dominating one wall was a mural depicting him as well as six other men. Below, on a display platform, were the actual uniforms each of the men had worn during World War II.
"Battle tested," the recording said, "Captain America and his Howling Commandos quickly earned their stripes. Their mission: taking down HYDRA, the Nazi rogue science division." Across from the display was a glass panel. Etched on it was the face of one of the commandos, and a short biography. "Best friends since childhood. Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield. Barnes is the only Howling Commando to give his life in service of his country."
They entered one of the film booths off to the side, finding front row seats. Projected on a screen was the mustachioed face of Dum Dum Dugan, one of the most recognizable members of the Howling Commandos. The date on the bottom corner read '1960', and Dugan's hair was greyer than in the usual pictures. After straightening one end of his impressive mustache, he said, "You could definitely say we had good times with each other. We'd all met for the first time in a HYDRA cell before Cap busted us outta there. This one time, August of '44, Barnes, Morita, and me sweet-talked an old French housewife into giving us a crate of wine. Hoo boy, let me tell you! We were hung over the next day. Of course, that was the day we got orders to move on a German position to the east."
An old man in the audience had fallen asleep, and Ellen glanced at him as he snored loud enough to be heard across the room. She ignored him and focused on the screen.
"That was…" Dugan said, his expression turning serious. "That was a rough one. Lost a lot of brothers in the service that day. But Rogers –sweet, baby Jesus– Rogers charges straight into the enemy line. Well, not so much into as through the enemy line. Gives us an opening that lets us take the position in half the time. That night, we all shared a drink around a bonfire of German army crates. At one point I turn to Rogers, and I ask him, 'Aren't you scared when you pull stunts like that?' And he says something to me I'll never forget."
Ellen leaned forward.
"He says to me, 'Of course I'm scared. I'm scared every time bullets start flying'. Then I ask him why in the name of Sam Hill he keeps going head-first into enemy fire. Keep in mind he's ten times faster than the rest of us, so he's always the first one through. He says, 'I do it because I'm scared. I've been scared my whole life. But if you let yourself give into your fears, you'll never stop running. You need to plant your feet in the ground and face your fear head-on. You'll get knocked down. You'll feel like you can't go on. That's when you know you have to keep going. Even if you lose, you'll know you gave it everything you had.' That was the kind of man he was, and I had the privilege of calling him my friend."
Ellen's mother bumped her on the shoulder, a knowing grin on her face. Ellen couldn't help but smile, and squeezed her hand.
Over the next hour and a half, Ellen and her mother explored every last piece of the exhibit. Archival footage from the war, interviews with such famous people as Howard Stark, Colonel Chester Phillips, and Peggy Carter. All of them were founders of S.H.I.E.L.D., and had personally known Captain America. Ellen was shocked to learn that her father had met and worked with Peggy Carter in his capacity as a member of the World Security Council. She and her mother looked at artist depictions of the attacks on HYDRA bases in Europe, surviving weapons and tools Captain America and the Howling Commandos used, and even some animated recreations of his nation-spanning war bonds tour shows before he fought in the European theatre.
Ellen could have spent days admiring everything, but eventually they walked through the exit and headed back to the car. Once outside the building, she gave her mother a hug and, smiling for the first time in a while, said, "Thanks, mom. I loved this."
"You're welcome, honey," she replied, stroking her hair.
As time went on, Ellen looked back fondly at the Smithsonian visit as one of the best days of her life.
In the spirit of the holidays, and because I just couldn't wait, I present the next chapter.
Enjoy!