Chapter 26 #2
Bruno scooted closer and gave Axil’s back a manly clap.
“I’m really glad that gun didn’t work, my friend.
” He scanned the small group. “Most of you don’t know, but it was Axil who made me get clean.
We worked together on a few Habitat for Humanity projects and he caught me drunk on the worksite.
Said he’d kick my butt if I didn’t get help. ”
Kierra rose to her feet. “I’m so glad you’re still here too, Axil.” She eyed the hole, then the group. “Maybe we should call it a night.”
“No.” Axil stood next, looking more steady. “I need to bury some things. Go ahead.”
“Are you sure?” Kierra asked.
“Yes.”
Once we returned to our small graves, Kierra began passing out pieces of paper, along with pencils. “I’d like for you to take a few moments to write down some broken dreams. Dreams that you need to let go.”
I focused on the blank paper and frowned, thinking about how I was always told not to give up on your dreams. What an odd thing for a counselor to instruct us to do. Let go of your dreams. It went against what I had heard on steady repeat while growing up. Never give up on your dreams, Junie Bug.
Out the corner of my eye, I noticed others were writing things down, so I quit overthinking it and started writing too.
My broken dreams: famous artist in NYC. Healthy marriage with Arlo. Healthy relationship with my bro—
My pencil stopped, then I flipped it and erased the last one. I couldn’t give up on fixing my relationship with Cy just yet.
“Now,” Kierra spoke above the gurgling of the fountain, “I want you to read those dreams one last time, then tear the paper into as many pieces as possible and scatter it into the grave. Because today we bury those dreams.”
The first tear broke through NYC, then through Arlo’s name. Arlo could have made it in the art world, though. He had true talent. I was always more of a crafter. The only reason I could draw flowers so well was I painstakingly practiced drawing plants and flowers so I could impress my parents.
I took my pencil out and wrote on the bottom of the paper, making myself into what I thought my parents wanted.
I ripped through it and tossed the fruitless idea into the hole.
I finished tearing the rest of the paper and opened my fist, allowing each jagged piece of my dreams to rain down into the small grave.
“Now I realize that was difficult, to give up on a dream. But what I want you to really focus on is the fact that those were not the right dreams for you. Think about that and then go select a flower from the cart.” Kierra motioned toward a rolling cart off to the side with a colorful variety of flowers.
“Pink petunias, purple gladiolus, white daisies, and blue cornflowers. Each flower’s meaning is associated with hope. ”
I shuffled over, waiting my turn, then picked the first flower my hand landed on. Cornflowers. Leaning in, I smelled the flower and it reminded me of a grassy yard.
With Kierra’s instruction, we planted our flowers.
My cornflowers looked beautiful next to Chris Evans’s white daisies and Jackée’s pink petunias.
“This new plant you’ve covered your grave with represents your new dreams. Although you didn’t write them down, I want you to do that on your own tonight.
Each time you come to this garden, I want you to water your flower and reflect a few moments on your new dreams. Make a plan for them and just as you water and tend to this flower, do the same for your new dreams.”
“This reminds me of our state motto.” Patsy spoke up, brushing her gloved hands together. When did the woman put those on? “While I breathe, I hope.”
“Yes.” Kierra beamed. “We are all still breathing, right?”
Murmurs of agreement trickled from the small group.
Kierra nodded. “Then we can still hope.”
I fluffed and smoothed the soil around my flower, thinking about how not too long ago I sat in traffic and read our state’s motto on a random license plate.
That day I sure didn’t feel like I had any hope, but surrounded by this group of people seeking their own hope, I had a renewed desire to keep trying anyway.
I drove home with all these thoughts drifting about in my mind. I decided I would add my list of dreams to Fern’s journal. I found it on the table by the door. I scooped it up and went inside.
Kicking off my sandals, I flipped through the pages while trying to decide what I would put on the dreams list. A neat handwriting caught my attention on the movie list below my loopy scribbles. All Marvel movies.
Grinning, I wandered to the living room and sat on the couch. I searched for more additions, finding “Human” by Cody Johnson on the list of great songs. I placed the journal on my lap and pulled up the song on my phone and listened. I’m still learnin’ to be human. “Same, sir, same.”
I flipped until stopping on the future adult reading list, expecting to find the addition of an H. M. Rossi book. Instead, I found The Storied Life of A. J. Fikry by Gabrielle Zevin.
I reached the last list in the journal so far, the fun facts about Cy. Nothing was added to his, not surprising. Henry didn’t know any of the people listed. I flipped the page, intending to add the dreams list, only to find an entire new list had been added.
Fun Facts about your mommy, Junie:
She baby talks to dogs. It’s the funniest voice ever.
She gets paint in her hair all the time, but it doesn’t seem to bother her.
She cares about others more than she cares about herself.
She has a dry sense of humor.
She has a beautiful smile, even though she’s stingy with sharing it.
I had no idea he’d paid that close attention to me and it seemed he genuinely liked me.
His words were almost too kind. I knew why I liked him.
An endless list scrolled through my head.
Funny, talented, thoughtful, kind, downright handsome .
. . maybe Henry would someday have a page in this book too.