Chapter Nineteen
Christian let himself in the front door one afternoon a few weeks later as he came home from teaching class at the prison, to find Letty sitting on his comfortable couch perusing, he discovered, the course catalogue from the local community college. "So how did it go today?" he asked genially, as he set down his briefcase and settled into his favorite easy chair.
"Surprisingly well, actually," was the thoughtful reply.
Doctor John had surprised Letty by answering her email in only three days, giving her a comprehensive list of local contacts for all sorts of things, including a number of psychiatric counselors of all kinds – and a couple of well-recommended defense attorneys, too. Up at the top, however, was the name, address, and phone number of a county advocate's office, a one-stop-shop for applying for any and all available government assistance programs. She had made herself call them right away (before she could talk herself out of it) to make an appointment – which had been for that afternoon.
"We," her hand on her belly making plain the meaning, "definitely qualify for Medicaid – and SNAP and WIC, too." She was referring to "food stamps" and the Women, Infants and Children supplement to them. "Mandy - the advocate - gave me the debit cards for those before I even left the office. The applications still need to be processed and approved, but they're filed now. I don't need housing assistance, thanks to you, and I probably don't qualify for traditional welfare – but she put me in for it anyway, just in case."
Mandy had also helped Letty make a list of documents she needed to replace, including driver's license, and birth, marriage, and GED certificates - she'd earned her GED during her last stint in prison. Then she had gone online and found each needed website, and printed out forms and instructions for Letty to pursue them.
After hearing of Javier's death, Mandy had encouraged Letty to apply for Social Security Survivor's benefits, but Letty had balked at that. "I don't know if he was in the States long enough - or if he even paid into the system," she admitted. Nor did she know his Social Security Number.
"Well, after you get your marriage certificate - and his death certificate, if you choose to," (Letty had balked at that, as well) "we can use them to find out his SSN, and then how much you might qualify for, and then you can decide whether to pursue it." Now at home, Letty chose not to share that bit with Christian, instead moving on to the last piece of news.
"And she backed you up on something else: depending on what school and program I choose, I could qualify for any number of grants and other means to pay for it. And there's always student loans, if worse comes to worst."
"Well, if worse does come to worst, apply at the Woodhill Bank first." At her puzzled look, he hooked a thumb at his chest. "I still have a very tidy sum tucked away in savings. I think you deserve part of that half million, at least."
"Yeah, I do," she agreed, exaggeratedly earnest, then waved it off.
"So you're going through the catalogue? Anything strike your fancy yet?"
"No," she replied slowly. "I just..." Abruptly, she threw the paperback book across the room; the most Letty-like thing she'd done since her arrival. Christian was actually glad to see it – she'd been far too tame and subdued. "I honestly can't see myself doing any of those things."
"Why not?"
"They're for... normal people. People with brains."
"You have a brain – a damn good one!"
"No, I don't. I'm a piece of shit. Never amounted to anything, and I never will. I'm fooling myself that I could ever..." Shaking her head, she let it trail off.
Christian couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Letty... you're one of the smartest people I've ever met. I mean that sincerely. You could do anything you put your mind to. Yeah, I know, everybody always says crap like that, but I mean it. I've seen you do... amazing things."
She couldn't believe him, either. "That's just... pretending. I didn't know what I was doing. I was faking it."
"So? That's what people do, Letty. Listen, nobody knows what they're doing when they first walk into a new situation – whether it's a new job, or a new career, or a new social situation. Everybody just puts on an act, just like you do – did – and bluffs their way through, until after a while, it's familiar enough that they do know. And then they go on. I'm no different – you think I knew what I was doing when I started this job? Or any of my previous ones? No! Just bluffed my way through until I did."
" 'Fake it till you make it' ?" She laid the sarcasm on thick as she quoted the popular saying.
"Yeah. That's right. That's a saying because it's true – because everybody does it."
"Really."
"Yeah. Really. And I'll tell you something else, too. Everybody has a dozen different roles that they play, too. Every relationship, whether it's a romantic one, or friendship, or family, or work-related – you treat your boss different from your subordinates, from your coworkers. And each one is a different 'role', that requires different words, actions, mannerisms. You liked to put on wigs and play roles you assigned yourself, but you also played different roles with your mom and Jacob, for instance. But the thing is – none of those everyday roles are fake. They are all real, genuine, legitimate aspects of the individual person. So even your playacting with wigs wasn't really all that outrageous, out of the mainstream. Just a little exaggerated." He stopped, taking a deep breath. That had been quite a speech, but he'd been itching to dish it out to her for months.
She was staring at him, open-mouthed. But he could tell she was thinking about it.
"So what you need to do," he went on, going across the room to pick up the book and bringing it back to hand to her, "is put on a new, 'student' role, and go learn the basics of a new job, so you can put on that role, too, when the time comes, and fake that till you make it – until it's natural."
She waited till he had sat down again, staring at the book in her hands. "I need to think about all that for a while," was all she said.
"Okay," he agreed pleasantly. "No rush." He looked at his watch. "But for right now, it's time to put on another role. I've got to head out to my AA meeting. Will you come with me this time?" He'd been asking her for weeks. "Listen, please... just come once. Just one time. You don't have to say anything. Nobody in this group does the stereotypical 'Hi, I'm Andy, and I'm an alcoholic' bullshit speech anyway. We don't do speeches at all. We just talk in a group. But you don't have to join. You can just sit there and , just try it one time, and I give you my solemn promise, I will never mention it again."
Letty's head had rolled back onto the couch, and she sighed with exasperation. "All right, all right, if it will get you off my back! Let's go!"
Well, Christian's Alcoholics Anonymous group did meet in a church social hall, but the chairs weren't set up auditorium-style in rows before a podium, but rather in a large circle. About a dozen and a half men and women attended, putting on big sticky labels with their first names in big letters, and quietly chatting with their neighbors until the circle was filled. A tall, lanky man with light brown hair and mustache then got the ball rolling, introducing himself (unnecessarily) as Stephen, the group leader, then going quickly around the circle, asking everyone to simply say their name. Christian introduced Letty as his friend, who was visiting that evening, but said no more.
As Stephen opened the floor for discussion of whatever the members had on their minds, Christian leaned over to whisper in Letty's ear that Stephen was also a licensed clinical psychiatrist, specializing in forward-looking cognitive behavioral therapy, rather than backward-looking psychoanalysis. Letty glared at him and looked away.
The talk was informal, as individuals brought up things that had happened the past week, or other things they wanted some feedback on, and other group members chimed in and answered. Stephen reminded them all at the start that he allowed no negativity in the circle, but it seemed rather pro forma and unnecessary; everyone wanted to be upbeat and supportive.
Letty found herself staring at the floor, as her thoughts drifted away. She had a lot to think about: everything that Christian had said at home, as well as her appointment earlier. The advocate had listened sympathetically to her story (although Letty had hardly told her everything), after promising that whatever she said would stay "strictly between my ears", even ostentatiously setting down her pen and folding her hands. The kindness had nearly overwhelmed Letty, unused as she was to receiving it from anyone. And more tonight, from this circle.
Letty had always divided the world up into not two, but three types of people: Us Sheep, Wolves, and The Lost. Us Sheep, the largest group, always did everything in crowds, followed trends and fads, went to popular places simply because they were popular, and most importantly, constantly drew the world as Us vs. Them. Letty had never once in her life felt like an Us, an accepted member of any group larger than two, so whenever she heard someone using such divisive rhetoric, she automatically and subconsciously associated herself with the Thems, whoever they were. She mistrusted Us Sheep as naturally as breathing.
Wolves were people like her grandmother, Alice: people who sailed through life doing whatever they wanted, giving zero fucks along the way. People who always knew what they were about, never lacked confidence, never found themselves outside a party secretly wishing they were part of it – no, they invariably were the party. They set the trends that Us Sheep followed blindly, but Wolves never looked back to see who followed. All her life Letty had desperately wanted to be a Wolf, but deep down, she knew she was just another one of The Lost. They were the outcasts, the loners, not part of any groups, but not strong enough to be Wolves. They stumbled through life getting tossed by storms and bruised by people, with neither the shielding of the masses nor the armor of fuckless living.
Letty had been Lost since the day she was born.
But sitting there, thinking about what Christian had told her, that everyone faked it, and everyone wore different masks, some new ideas occurred to her.
Maybe it was okay to be faking it, to be unsure, to not really know what she was doing.
Maybe her outward attitude was real in itself, real enough to count – a legitimate 'role', as Christian called it.
Maybe she could be a Wolf, after all.
Maybe she already was.
Maybe it was okay to be a Wolf with some issues, some insecurities, some gaps in knowledge, and occasionally a fuck to give.
Maybe it was even okay to have a group of other Wolves to hang around with, to have fun, and help each other. A Wolf Pack. You could even call them a group of friends, like Doctor John had been yammering about. Maybe they didn't all even have to be Wolves.
Even as she thought them, they seemed like such simple ideas, but they still rocked Letty to the core.
About that time, she suddenly realized everyone in the circle had stopped talking, and glanced up, completely unaware of the tear that had traced her cheek. Half the people were looking at her. She glanced wildly around, then came to stare at Stephen, who was also looking at her, eyebrows raised as if in invitation. He saw the panic in her eyes, though, and raised a hand immediately.
"You don't have to say anything, Letty. That's fine." Making himself look around, he grabbed a thought he'd had earlier and turned to a man across the way. "Tom, why don't – "
But Tom had held up a hand to stop him, then silently pointed it back to Letty. Looking back to her, Stephen saw her mouth had opened as if about to speak. So he tipped his head again in invitation. "Letty?"
The trouble was, she felt prompted to say something, but didn't know what, or where it was coming from. Then Christian, on her left, reached over and picked up her hand and held it, smiling slightly and nodding in encouragement.
Her voice was barely more than a cracked whisper. "I... I lost my husband, about three months ago. Suddenly. He was shot and killed." It was still so hard to say those words. "And so I went on the mother of all benders, drugs and booze, to try to kill the pain." She grimaced, as a round of murmurs of recognition came from the circle. "Of course, it didn't work. I woke up in a hospital. And that's when I found out..." Deep breath. "...that I'm pregnant." She stopped for a moment, but nobody interrupted. "This baby... is the only thing I have left of him, or ever will. But I know... the only way they'll let me keep it – him – her... is if I never... touch another drop of alcohol, or another pill – or whatever... or steal anything," she made herself add, "ever again." Then she shrugged. "So here I am." She dropped her eyes to the floor again, waiting for the verdict.
"Well," Stephen started, incredibly kindly, drawing her eyes back up to him. "As reasons go, kids are right up there at the top. I'd be willing to bet that at least half of all people in AA are here because of their kids – including me." Several others around the circle nodded their heads, a couple half-raising their hands. "That's a good reason. And we will all do whatever we can to help you, any time."
"I'm not doing the twelve steps, though," Letty warned him, all prickles. "There is no atoning for some of the things I've done - and those bridges are burnt to ash."
"That's okay," Stephen laughed. "Strict adherence to the twelve steps isn't a requirement for this group - it is for some, but not us."
Again, several others nodded – but then, a middle-aged woman three chairs to Letty's right suddenly leaned forward, holding out an open hand to Letty. She had short blonde hair, trim figure, and kind, bright green eyes. Her name tag read "Sandy". "You're not alone," was all she said.
Letty hesitated a moment, but Sandy's hand never wavered, and finally Letty reached out and grasped it. "Thank you," she whispered. She was floored.
The formal part of the meeting broke up shortly after that, although only a couple of people had to leave immediately. The rest hung around, chatting with each other in a slowly roiling party mix of twos and threes. About half of them came up to Letty and Christian one by one, greeting Christian and welcoming Letty again, hoping she'd come back, volunteering to help any way they could. Some of them asked if they could give her a hug – the first time, she turned puzzled eyes on Christian, who hurried to explain: Stephen had at last conditioned all of them to ask before hugging – and 'No' was always acceptable. After that, she agreed to each hug, a bit nervous, but oddly comforted.
The last one to approach was Sandy, who handed Letty a business card containing just her name and cell phone number and a stylized smiling Sun. "Letty, I'd like to offer myself as a contact, even a second sponsor – or first, if this lunk won't do," she added, smiling at Christian. "I don't work, so you can call me literally any time. I know the two of you are good friends, but I've found that for women, especially, it really helps sometimes to have another woman to talk to."
"Thank you," Letty said, for what felt like the hundredth time, but she really meant it.
Sandy tapped the card. "I wrote something on the back, too." Letty turned it over, to find an address and a weekly day and time. "I also run a widow's group, that has nothing to do with AA, but I'd like to invite you to try it out, too." She grimaced, waving off objections. "I know, a bunch of women sitting around crying over their dead husbands doesn't sound like a lot of fun, but I promise, we do a lot of other things, too, and even manage to have some fun, while we're supporting each other." She turned sincere, then, reaching out to touch Letty on the shoulder. "But I think you might be surprised how much it helps to have people around who really get you, who truly understand what you're going through."
Letty promised she would come at least once and give the group a try, and Sandy gave each of them a hug (after asking) and turned to leave.
"Stop. Grinning." Letty ground out between clenched teeth, not even looking at Christian.
"Who's grinning?" Christian grinned broadly at her. "Am I grinning? No one's grinning."
She swung her head around then to glare at him, then punched him on the arm. "No one's hitting, either."
"Owwww," he laughed, rubbing his arm.