Trusting, A Compliment

Trusting, A Compliment

I love and trust you. When have you received that impression from someone? How often? Did that message come through their words or their actions? Most important, what did you do with a perception expressing such a high regard?  Accept it would be the logical answer, but what if you couldn’t accept it, couldn’t accept it because you think people don’t know your true nature. What could a person have possibly done that would lead them to deny expressions of trust? How bad could they really be?

In my novel, Baggage burdens. Jill’s dark side over rules the confidence that Jill’s friends have in her. Jill can’t believe that she warrants their trust. While the examples below illustrate the depth of her friend’s trust and perceived love, it is insufficient to lead Jill into believing that at heart she is a good person. It is insufficient to enable Jill to reveal her dark past to them or to herself.

Mary pauses, takes a deep breath, and wipes the tears that unexpectedly well up in her eyes. Jill waits patiently not knowing from where this is coming or how to respond.  Mary takes another deep breath before she continues with her story.

“Before Ed and I started going out together, I became pregnant. The father-to-be dumped me. He wanted nothing to do with me anymore. I was afraid to let my parents know. They’d have been devastated. I had no one to turn to. No one to talk to. Then Ed, who I hadn’t really paid much attention to, guessed I was in some kind of trouble. At the time I felt I just had to talk to somebody. He was there for me. He was so understanding; so accepting. He agreed to secretly help me get an abortion.” 

Jill takes a deep breath.

“I lost what would have been my daughter, but––” she pauses to wipe more tears away. “But I also lost the opportunity to ever have a child again.” 

Jill slides her chair next to Mary. She wraps her arms around Mary. For a while they sit quietly absorbing the pain of Mary’s secret.

Joseph steps back. “I’d like to tell you something.” He pauses. “It’s very, very personal, and I’m afraid it may turn you off.  If it bothers you, promise you’ll pretend I never said anything?”

Jill provides a cautious response. “I’ll try. What is it?”

Joseph holds both her hands in his. “I’m afraid I might end up like Uncle Mike. I’ll die alone, unmarried, without children.”

Jill shakes her head. “No, you’re too nice a person.”

“So was Uncle Mike.

“I told Donna about the church announcement of the Family conference. I guess I sounded too excited about it.” Bill shakes his head.

After several deep breaths he begins. Words spill out in short phrases punctuated by an inhaling.

“Every now and then––Donna gathers all her strength––like she has something important to say. A week before the registration deadline no one from our church volunteered. Donna said, ‘Go.’ I couldn’t believe it. She repeated––‘Go.’ I tried–– I tried to tell her my place was with her. She closed her eyes.––I think she was pretending to sleep––she didn’t want to hear any more.” He shakes his head and looks down.

“I felt so guilty.” Tears interrupt Bill’s explanation. “Some how I must have indicated I’d really like to be at the conference.” He still stares at the floor. His hand wipes his tears. “Could she have thought I preferred the conference to being with her? I couldn’t get rid of that suspicion.”

As Jill had done when Mary shared her abortion experience, she moves to the chair beside Bill and puts her arm around him.

“When I left Donna, I went straight to my pastor’s house. I told him what I had done, what Donna said. You know what he said? He said I should listen to Donna.”

Bill faces Jill. Looking into Jill’s eyes he searches for a sign of objection, of how he could have followed the pastor’s advice.

“Reverend Williams said there was nothing I could do to improve her situation. In fact, my very presence at Donna’s bedside everyday was more than likely a testimony of how her illness was crippling my life. He said, how do you think she feels about cutting into the joy of your volunteer work, your yard work?” 

Bill shakes his head slowly. “I still wasn’t going to go. Then he promised he’d visit Donna everyday and phone and let me know if there was any kind of serious change in her condition.”

The deeply painful revelations shared by Jill’s friends show how much they trusted her not to turn against them later. They saw her as a loving person, an insight that should have brought joy not bewilderment to Jill.

      haiku capsule:                 

dare to share a shame

entrusts raw revelations

hugs confirm friendship.

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