Chapter Thirty-Eight
Aveline
WALKING INTO THE classroom, I avoided the middle row where I normally sat with Ricky. Instead, I chose a seat toward the front, but on the opposite side of the room. Breaking routine and tradition would hopefully allow me a clear head and strong heart.
After our intense family talk, Mom and Dad agreed I could finish my semester in the classroom. One point that I reminded them of repeatedly was that my grandmother no longer held any power over me or them. I was an adult. My parents had accomplished their goal. They had kept me away from a threatening family member and raised me in their home. Sure, my life wasn’t perfect, but it also wasn’t hard. They were great parents and I was only sorry for the shadow of fear that had fallen over them for the past eighteen years.
Life without Ricky was indescribably hard. Everywhere I looked something reminded me of him. Heck, in my bed at home I couldn’t help but picture his hands and lips on my body. I ached for his touch, for his kiss, for his friendship, and for his heart. I loved him. I lost him. And that choice, as Dad so aptly put it, was mine.
Snapping me out of my miserable wallowing, Dr. Redmond crossed the stage and pulled out a chair, sitting down. I scanned the room, looking at the back row where we once sat and in the middle rows, too.
No Ricky.
Eyes flying over the front rows and then this section of the room, I accounted for each seat.
No Ricky.
A flutter of a frown pulled the ends of my lips downward. Why wasn’t he in class anymore? I hadn’t seen him since the night he came to my house. I hadn’t decided whether or not to accept his apology or to contact him, but I still worried that he was absent. Was he hurt? Sick? Did something happen to his Papa?
“Good afternoon, class.” Dr. Redmond remained seated, legs crossed, hands folded on top of a notebook. “Our semester is winding down. We will end our studies by examining personality disorders. This is a large unit of study and will take us right up to final exams.”
As she spoke, I pulled out my laptop, powering it on and pulling up my class notes.
“Today we discuss the psychology of forgiveness. I’m seated because I would like to introduce this topic to you in a friendly, therapist-like way. The reason for this is that I believe every one of us has one or more people in our lives that we need to forgive. Like our sex talk with our good buddy Freud, forgiveness is a common, relatable concept.”
Seriously? In more ways than I could count, Dr. Redmond’s course had changed my life. But how in the hell did she know I needed this lecture on exactly this day?
Synchronicity at it again?
Opening her notes, she looked down before speaking. “Loren Toussaint, PhD, has spent the last decade researching forgiveness. He believes a small number of us have to move toward ‘heroic forgiveness.’ This is where we have to absolve a devastating offense like death. Dr. Toussaint, while acknowledging how hard this forgiveness is to achieve, has found that overall psychological well-being and physical health improves with this pardon.
Bob Enright’s three-decade work on forgiveness helps us to understand what it is and what it is not. He writes that forgiveness is not justice or reconciliation. It occurs inside each of us and when we can achieve that, we have empathy and compassion for those that wronged us.”
Dr. Redmond tapped her finger on her lip. “What I have found to be most fascinating in my studies on forgiveness is the physical release that can come from it. Toxic built up anger inside a person who has been wronged can cause immense stress on the body. Dr. Enright’s research has shown when that destructive anger is released through absolution, those individuals have demonstrated less anxiety, muscle relaxation, and more energy. True physical benefits of clemency.”
She sat back, her eyes scanning the room. I inhaled sharply, realizing I had been holding my breath for several seconds, absorbing her words, but not typing a single note.
“Dr. Everett Worthington has found that some personality types are more forgiving than others. Forgivers tend to be more agreeable and less neurotic. Individuals who ruminate and hold onto grudges are, not shockingly, less forgiving.
Today I’d like to try out a version of Everett’s forgiveness model. Class, each of you close your eyes. Think of the first person who comes to mind when you consider forgiving someone. Write that name down.”
There was one name that never left my mind. The person whose apology I hadn’t accepted. My heart raced at the thought of him. Fingers hovered over the keyboard before I typed: Ricky Martinez.
Dr. Redmond waited a full minute before continuing. “Okay, now let’s try this model. Thinking of that person, write down some negative feelings you have about their offense to you.”
My cheeks flushed as I scanned my thoughts for the right words to describe what I was feeling. I swallowed, and I wrote.
Betrayal
Lies
Distrust
Dr. Redmond nodded, encouraging the classroom that was silent, save for the sound of pencils or keyboards clicking. “Now, consciously decide to forgive them. Write down ‘I forgive’ and their name.”
Even participating in this exercise hurt my tender heart. Inhaling deeply, air filling my chest, I typed.
I forgive Ricky Martinez.
Dr. Redmond leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees as she watched us. “This part is harder. You have to work to understand the person. Write down anything positive you know about the offender.”
For the first time, I disagreed with her. This part was not hard at all. The mental visualization of Ricky alone made typing positive attributes fly from my fingers.
Strong
Kind
Loving
Hardworking
Protective
Loyal
Family
I could have gone on, but Dr. Redmond interrupted. “Finally, discover some empathy for this person. Think about any reasons why they might have committed the offense that hurt you. Think of those reasons with your compassionate, empathetic glasses on. Write down those reasons.”
Closing my eyes, I placed myself in Ricky’s apartment with his beloved family. Again, the words flew out and onto the screen.
Papa
Poverty
Helplessness
Misunderstanding
Anger
Loyalty
Family
Dr. Redmond stood and paced back and forth on the stage. “Go back up to the original offenses this person committed. Now, look at your list of compassionate reasons for their mistake. Can you forgive them? Remembering that absolution isn’t about meeting with them, it doesn’t have to be said out loud. And it doesn’t mean the person has received any justice for what they did wrong. This is about you, class. This is a gift for you. I don’t know what all of you struggle with, but I do know that sometimes the person you need to forgive the most is you. Perhaps you’ve thought of that during this exercise today, too. Forgiveness is the surest sign of strength, of that I know most certainly. Today, we’ll end class early. The weather is beautiful. Walk around and allow yourself the grace of amnesty. Write me an email tonight and let me know how that mercy has affected your physical and or emotional health.”
Gathering her papers, she left the room.
I blew out a long breath. My head throbbed from my pent-up emotions. Time outside was a very good idea.
Slipping my laptop into my bag, I tugged on my light jacket and made my way out the classroom door.
* * *
TWO HOURS LATER, I was still outside. The sun began to set, and a chill had taken over the air, but my mind was clear. Clearer than it had been in so long.
My mother was right. Dr. Redmond was right. The choices were all mine. A strength like I had only ever dreamed of, filled me.
Pulling out my laptop, I wrote in bold letters under my notes:
I FORGIVE RICKY MARTINEZ.
NO MORE FEAR!
I CHOOSE LOVE.
Closing my laptop with a smile, I jogged to my car.
* * *
A FEW MINUTES later, I pulled up to Ed’s bike shop. Scanning the time on my dashboard, I saw that it was close to five o’clock. Ricky was always at work at this time. But the shop was dark and looked empty. A sign reading For Sale still hung in the window, but the building looked abandoned.
Frowning, I reversed out of the parking lot and headed to Ricky’s apartment. A few minutes later, I parked and locked my car. Ignoring the sketchy teens still huddled outside, I opened the door and took the elevator to his floor. I retraced my footsteps from the night I visited his family. Knocking on his door, I waited, my pulse speeding up, anticipating the sight of his face.
Once my heart and brain aligned with the decision to accept his apology and to move on, I was impatient, giddy with anticipation of being with him again.
But when the door opened, Marcela stood in front of me, a thoughtful crease in between her eyebrows, her smile growing as she recognized me.
“Aveline!” She took my hands in hers, pulling me into the house. “How are you? We saw pictures of you and Ricardo at Dean’s wedding. You looked beautiful.”
As Marcela talked, she never let go of my hands, raising them up and down as she gestured without breaking our connection.
“Aveline!” Teresa came out of the kitchen, grinning widely.
Marcela released my hands and I hugged Teresa.
“I’m cooking dinner. Will you join us?” she asked me.
This family, one who had little, wanted to share what they did have with me, without a second thought. Simply amazing.
I shook my head. “No thank you, Teresa. I have dinner plans with my parents later. Is Ricky here?” I looked over at Marcela again. “I really need to talk to him.”
Marcela and Teresa turned to each other, a look of concern on each of their beautiful faces.
“He’s at work at the machine factory. Second shift, from two o’clock until ten-thirty, so he’s gone now. Didn’t he tell you?” Marcela asked.
“The factory?” The question fell from my lips. “What about the bike shop?”
Teresa frowned. “Ed closed the bike shop. Ricky lost that job.”
“What about college? He missed class today. He can’t finish class if he works at the factory.” My stomach knotted up and my hands were clammy. I wiped them on the front of my jeans. I was missing something. Another piece of information was still out there.
Marcela’s eyes shined with tears. “I know. I begged him to let me get a job. But when Papa went back into the hospital, we knew Mama wouldn’t be able to work. And now we know he needs some special rehabilitation center. Ricky’s desperate to take care of all of us. He quit school. He said the money and benefits in the factory are what we need.”
“What happened to your dad?” My body began to shake, the effort not to cry was Herculean.
Teresa and Marcela held hands, the younger sister taking a turn to tell me the bad news. “His heart stopped. Pulmonary embolism. But he’s better. Blood thinners are working and he’s looking better every day.”
My hands flew to my mouth. “I’m sorry.” My voice caught as tears filled my eyes. “What you all are going through. I’m very sorry.”
Marcela hugged me. “It’s not your fault. But thank you.”
I pulled back. This time it was my turn to ask for forgiveness. “Actually, it is. I found out a few days ago… that I’m the girl who almost drowned. I’m the one your Papa saved.” Holding my breath, I watched their eyes grow round, mouths falling open. They looked at each other, breathing harder as they let my words sink in.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, girls. I was at the lake with my parents that day. I was dancing, and I fell in. My parents are deaf. They never heard me cry for help. Your dad saved me and paid an ultimate price. I’m so sorry.” I wept now, hands covering my face. This was the apology I wanted to give to Ricky before I found out about his betrayal. My first thought had been to beg him for forgiveness.
Both girls came to me and we hugged, crying, and sobbing, and accepting.
Marcela pulled away, dark mascara streaks on her face. “I prayed each night to meet the child Papa saved. I’m glad it’s you. Papa is your hero. And you can see him soon and thank him.”
I nodded, wiping away her mascara streaks and my wet marks. “Yes, I will. Soon. You both forgive me?”
Teresa sighed. “This was an accident, but you lived. So did Papa. There’s nothing to forgive.”
Marcela nodded. “Don’t give up on Ricky. Please. He’s lost and distraught right now.”
“That’s why I came here. I’m not giving up. Can you ask him to call me when he gets home? No matter how late.” I stood up, straightening my glasses and hair.
“Of course,” Teresa answered.
“Talk soon. Things will get better, girls. I know it.”
We said goodbye and as soon as I got into my car I texted two numbers.
“Ricky, I need to talk to you. I heard about your Papa and the factory job. Please call or text after work.”
“Dad, I need your help. I’m fine, but Ricky is not. Can you and Mom meet me at home ASAP? PS: I’m choosing love.”
Dad responded right away. “Anything for you. We are on our way.”
But from Ricky, there was no reply. For the first time, I thought there was a chance I might be too late. The damage could be done. Ricky might not be mine to choose.