Birmingham

My flight out was at noon but I woke up early with Anne and the girls so I could spend time with them before school.
I’d promised Chrissy I’d make a fruit smoothie with the blender we’d selected from Bed Bath & Beyond last night (we chose the “Ninja” blender because “I’m a Ninja” is 9-year-old Chrissy’s catch phrase.) We used fresh pineapple, orange, greek yogurt, avocado, blueberries, and flax seeds.
Midway through the process, Chrissy stopped, and looked stricken.

“You aren’t leaving until later,” she said. “But I don’t get to see you because I’m going to school.”

“I know,” I said. Her eyes filled with tears.

“You won’t be home when I get back.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” I said. I wrapped my arms around her shoulders and pulled her in.
Later, as Anne drove her off to school, Chrissy collapsed in tears so I stood outside the front door and danced like a crazy person in my Wonder-Woman Pajamas, waggling my bum at her until she laughed.

Yesterday, I cleaned Chrissy’s room while she was at school. I sorted books and papers and toys, picked up trash and folded clothes. The floor next to her bed was crammed with all of her favorite things: art supplies, favorite toys, and stuffed animals. My fingers found the hard edge of a picture frame. I sat on the bed when I saw the picture: a photo of Abbe’s parents fifteen years ago, when they were very young and still loved each other.

The divorce started a year ago Sunday. Anne called me and asked if I would pay for the lawyer. 

I’ve spent the weekend in Birmingham, Alabama, getting re-acquainted with children who are beginning to stretch and settle into what will be their adult forms. Their feet are already in adult sizes: like puppies who have to grow into their paws. They are so beautiful. So fragile.

It was Rachael’s fourteenth birthday on Sunday: the one-year anniversary of the fight that precipitated her parent’s divorce. That night, after a day of celebrations, she’d stayed awake to savor the feeling. So she was awake when she heard the fighting.

I wanted to be sure she had something else to focus on. We had a good time – good parties. I bought a strawberry cake with her name in pink frosting.  Anne and Jane and I took the girls to a Thai restaurant and Rachael had her favorite chicken fried rice. For presents, I gave her clothes and luggage and teenage makeup and personal products with benzoyl peroxide to fight the acne. We watched, “Pitch Perfect” and sang along. All in all, I think she liked it.

Throughout the day I couldn’t help but see how vulnerable she was. Cool kid, but uncertain in her own skin. Inexperienced in the cruelty and unfairness of small-minded people. Yesterday, I watched her cry when she learned that the evil, vindictive drunk who runs the theater department at her school had excluded her from the next Shakespeare production.

I have an extensive vocabulary in curse words. I usually refrain in front of the girls. But I unleashed.

I want to bulldoze them all before the bastards can hurt these tender souls. 

I spend so much time in hard places, becoming hard and fighting whatever bastards the world presents. Is it necessary that we become jaded? I don’t believe in the goodness of people. I believe in their selfishness and cruelty. I look at these beautiful, vulnerable creatures and I wish I could shield them.