Do you have someone in your life who loves you fiercely but at times you wish they didn’t? Me too. Her name is Jenna.
That’s her real name. For this blogpost I was going to name her Capri because it means stubborn goat in italian but I just couldn’t do it. In your life you have never met a woman who looks less like a Capri than my friend Jenna. Then I thought, “I wonder what Jenna means. Maybe the definition suits her.” Well I’m glad I did because in Arabic, Jenna means Fair Phantom and isn’t that just fucking spot on. To the ancient Arab people a Jenna was a beautiful, ever-present spirit.
You know I’m supposed to be writing a book right? Well Jenna has been on me longer than anyone about it and I’ve been feeding her excuses for the better part of 2 years . I have a full time job, a house to clean, laundry to do, flowers to plant, meals to cook, friendships to maintain, and three children to raise. I’m kinda busy. Anyone else would have accepted these excuses and given up on me years ago, but not Jenna. There’s a reason I wanted to name her after a goat. Undeterred by my frequent refusals, Jenna put me in touch with a published author who is taking a break from fiction to compile a list of life stories from special needs parents: the good, the bad, and the ugly. “Ha!” said Jenna. “No more excuses! Now you don’t have to write a book, you just have to answer a question. Even you, Miss Sorry I’m Too Busy, have enough time to answer a question.”
Now let me be clear: I don’t want to do this. I have spent the better part of a week trying to come up with an excuse the Fair Phantom might find acceptable. I’ve actually been sort of fighting with her in my head. I’ve had whole imaginary conversations like this:
Jenna: Did you submit your answer yet?
Me: No
Jenna: Why?
Me: I’m busy
Jenna: You’re always busy. This will take you a day. If you make it a priority even you can carve out a day.
Me: Ok you know what? Fine. You’re right. I could carve out a day but I don’t want to. There it is, plain and simple, I don’t want to. This might come as a shock to you but just because I’m a good writer doesn’t mean I enjoy writing. It’s painful. I bear my soul and get buck naked vulnerable when I write and just lately I’ve been strongly considering taking down the blog and giving up writing altogether.
You are forever telling me what to do but you never ask me what I want. Well here it is: I want to forget. I am forgetting. Sometimes Chris will ask me something like, “Do you remember when Kevin used to _______?” and I don’t. The memories are fading and I’m letting it happen because I don’t want them. I don’t want to look back anymore. Gone is the terrified, emaciated woman collapsed from exhaustion wishing she didn’t have to live anymore. No more shit on my walls, bruises on my body, or lies about how I got them. I want to move forward with what is finally a happy life. Did you hear that? I have a happy life now.
I have a job I love at an excellent school for special needs children. It’s important work, I’m good at it, I’m surrounded by dedicated people and I feel appreciated. I have wonderful friends and family that fill my life with laughter. I love gardening. I have a big yard that I’m landscaping myself. I live in a safe, beautiful town with great schools where all three of my children are thriving. After 25 years my husband and I still love each other. I have it all. I have everything in life that really matters, and it’s time. It is time to let go of the past, stop thinking about it, and STOP writing about it. There is no reason to revisit all that pain when at last I am surrounded by so much joy.
Jenna: Ok, that’s fair and I get it. But Rach, that terrified, emaciated woman: she’s not gone, she just isn’t you anymore. I don’t know who she is but I know she’s out there, collapsed from exhaustion after cleaning the shit off her walls, wishing she didn’t have to live anymore. What she needs more than anything right now is to hear from someone who experienced that same agony, made it through, and now has a happy life. You needed to hear that once right?
Me: Yes
Jenna: Only there was no one?
Me: Correct
Jenna: Maybe, all those years ago, if someone had been willing to “carve out a day” even though they didn’t “want to” your life might have been a little easier?
Me: Maybe
Jenna: Answer the question Rachel.
Me: It’s a loaded question.
Jenna: Answer it anyway.
Goats are mean. Here’s how I met Jenna. One week after I turned 5 we moved to a new house on Nokomis Trail. It was the most thrilling day of my life. There was a moving van, my mother was having a panic attack, my brother Matthew kept stuffing himself in suitcases because he was convinced the whole “moving” thing was just a plot to abandon him, and there were boxes everywhere! I loved boxes. I was a world class fort builder and all I could think about was getting to the new house, unpacking all those boxes, and building the most luxurious fort ever constructed. Architectural Digest would be called, I was going to be famous, and Stephen Spielberg was going to make a movie about my fort.
So we get to the house and my mother, RUINER of all things fun, tells me I can’t unpack anything, I’m only five, something might break, you’ll get your boxes soon enough, go unpack your brother, blah blah blah blah. Thankfully one of the moving men overheard this hateful diatribe and pulled me aside when The Ruiner’s back was turned. He said, “I liked building forts when I was your age. A refrigerator just arrived and it’s in the biggest box you’ve ever seen. I’ll tell the guys we have to bring that in next.” There are no words to express the excitement I felt watching the men unload that box. It was obviously the largest box ever created, and it was mine. Once the refrigerator was unpacked the moving man lifted me up, placed me in the box with my notepad and crayons, and I got straight to work on my architectural blueprints. He even wrote “This is Rachel’s office. She is hard at work. Please Do Not Disturb!” on the side of the box in big red letters. Nothing was going to distract me from the task at hand, nothing.
Moments later the Ruiner stuck her head in the top of my office. “Rachel I know you’re busy but there’s a little girl at the door and she’d like to meet you.” I jumped out of that box like I’d been shot from a cannon. “A little girl!!!!!!!!!!!!” I thought. “A friend! I’ll have a friend to play with in my fort this is the best day of my life!!!!!!!!!” Then I got to the door. There stood a mom with a big, too bright smile on her face (the kind of smile moms slap on when they want to strangle their children but are trying to appear happy) and the girl, looking like she’d rather be ANYWHERE else. “This little girl doesn’t want to meet me,” I thought. “Her mother dragged her here.” It was the first time in my life I can remember feeling awkward. The Ruiner nudged me forward and the closer I got the more terrified I became. Not only did this girl want nothing to do with me, she was clearly a tomboy. I’d heard of those but didn’t think they actually existed. Tomboys were girls. They had vaginas but kept their hair short, refused to wear dresses or sparkles, and instead of playing with dolls and makeup like all “proper” girls, tomboys played sports and got dirty on purpose! This was a disaster and I wanted back in the box. Somehow my mother got me to the door, and sensing how nervous I was, Jenna’s mom knelt down and said, “Rachel I’m Mrs. Luttrell and this is Jenna.” Then she glared at Jenna like, “This is your cue to say how happy you are to meet Rachel.” And Jenna looked right back at her as if to say, “I’m not lying for you.” This was followed by what seemed like an ETERNITY of awkward silence until my mother broke it by saying, “Lynn let me show you the house and the girls can get to know each other.” Terrified but hopeful they weren’t really going to abandon me with this girl I watched the moms walk away. It was when I turned around that I really saw Jenna for the first time. Although she was trying her best to look like a boy, this was a beautiful girl. She was tall and slender, had eyes the color of fresh grass, and her hair was the same color as Cinderella’s. She was strong. Her arms had muscles on them. I didn’t know little girls could have muscles. I was transfixed. Finally, she spoke.
Jenna: I’m five are you five?
Me: Yes I turned five last week.
Jenna: I turned five in March so I’m older than you.
I swear to God that’s how the conversation started. The rest I’m a little fuzzy on but it went something like this:
Jenna: Can you ride a bike?
Me: No
Jenna: Do you play sports?
Me: No
Jenna: What can you do?
Now by this point I’m panicking because I know I’m bombing this interview and what on Earth can I do that would impress a tomboy and make her want to be my friend there’s nothing I can’t do anything except oh my god of course!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Me: I make forts!
Jenna: Really?
Me: We just moved and everything we own is in boxes and when they’re empty my mom says I can have all of them and I’m going to build the biggest fort you’ve ever seen. It’s going to take up this whole room because we don’t have any furniture for it yet.
Jenna looked over my shoulder to ascertain whether or not she was impressed with the size of my living room.
Me: You could help me build it?
That was the moment seared in my memory like a brand. Jenna said nothing. She just looked at me, and I could tell she was deciding whether or not to take me on. It was the first time in my life I can remember being brave. I looked her right at her and thought, as loudly as a person can think, “Look I know I’m not much. I can’t ride a bike or play any sports. Everything I own is pink and I hate getting dirty. I will probably annoy the shit out of you most of the time. However, I think you’re spectacular, and maybe that’s worth giving me a chance? Maybe it would be nice to have someone around who thinks you’re spectacular and not just a tomboy.”
I believe Jenna heard every word of what I was thinking because the second I finished the thought she said, “I am going to the red house to play and you can come.” Then she turned around and walked away. That was it. No, “Ok you can be my friend,” just “I’m walking this way, follow me or don’t.” So I did. I followed her to the red house, and I’ve been following her around ever since. The name Rachel means “one who follows.”
And if you’re wondering about the red house, it was a red house behind my house filled to bursting with crazy, red-headed people. When we got to the house Jenna threw a rock at it and screamed, “Who wants to play?!!!!!” and 3 red headed girls just our age came spilling out the front door followed by several other much younger red headed people. What a show. Jenna and I are still friends with one of them. Hi Vicki!!
I never built the fort. I forgot all about it. I was too busy having fun with Jenna at the red house.
42 years later I’ve given up pink sparkly things and I’m much better at sports. Around 11 or 12 Jenna came to accept that she was female and attractive. She grew out her hair and has been dressing like a girl ever since. She’d rot in hell before she wore anything pink or sparkly, but on special occasions you can get her in a dress. We’ve changed a lot, but at heart we’re the same two girls who met on a porch in the summer of 1979.
Do you have someone in your life who loves you fiercely but at times you wish they didn’t? Yeah me too. Her name is Jenna. She is a beautiful, ever-present spirit in my life. I annoy the shit out of her sometimes but she’s never let me down, has always believed in me, and in 42 years she has never asked me for anything. So even though I really don’t want to, I’m getting to work first thing tomorrow answering the following question:
Write a letter to yourself on the day you started on the special needs journey.
What do you wish you could tell yourself on that day? What do you wish you would have known?
