Shaking it off, I go in search of the check-in list. Every time a child comes in they must sign their names in and out and state something personal about themselves. It doesn’t have to be deep. It can be their favorite color, shoe size, what they ate for breakfast or if they ate breakfast. Something that makes them feel like they have control. It wasn’t much, but what they tell us is all their choice.
For the most part, it works. Just that tiny tidbit of information has allowed me to connect with three teens. I’ve been able to extract more from them by those questions, and in return, I tell them as much about me as I feel they can handle.
There’s one girl, Sage, she just turned seventeen. Her parents seem odd given the way she’s explained them to me. Her father is a bishop in one of the Mormon communities in the state, her mother has never worked outside the home, and she has four older brothers and sisters.
Nothing is overtly wrong at home that she’s told me. She just feels suffocated. Torn between her religious upbringing and wanting to be free to explore who she really is. I can relate to that. I keep telling her that she’s young and has plenty of time to discover what her life will become. Her main priority should be finishing school, being herself, and never letting peer pressure persuade her decisions.
She knows who, or rather, what I am. When we first met, she’d somehow drug it out of me. She’s a good listener for sure. One of the sweetest people I’ve ever known. When I told her what I had done, she said a prayer of forgiveness for me right on the spot. I was stunned. Never have I felt so humble in my life.
“Ashley!” I hear a happy squeal from behind me as I walk towards the rec room.
“Hi, Sage.” I smile at her. My jaw drops, she’s wearing pants. I’m rendered speechless. I didn’t think she was allowed to wear anything but a dress, and holy shit, she’s topped it with a peplum blouse!
“Look at you!” I enthusiastically exclaim. Last week, she told me she wanted to change her wardrobe, so I encouraged her to go to Goodwill and see if there were something there she would be permitted to wear.
“It feels wonderful,” she shares, conspiratorially.
“How do your parents feel about it? They like your choice?” I’m so excited for her. Maybe her parents aren’t as strict as I’d first thought.
An emotion akin to disgrace flashes across her lovely face. “They don’t know.”
“Sage, you have to tell them.” I’m trying to scold her, really I am. The pure joy that’s radiating off of her makes it hard, though.
“I know,” her eyes flash with anxiety. “I asked. Father got very angry.”
Pulling her into my arms, her sorrow is palpable. “Hush, baby. One day, you’ll get to be the person you’re meant to be.”
“There’s a boy,” she whispers.
My attention perks up, and I finally understand her need to no longer be so sheltered. “Tell me about him,” I encourage her as we sit in one of the ginormous beanbag chairs.
“He’s older.”
“How much?” I ask, worried someone would take advantage of her naïveté.
“He’s twenty-two,” Sage averts her eyes.
If only she were a year older, it wouldn’t even be a problem. “What do you know about him?”
Her hopeful gaze slowly meets mine again. “He’s nice and sweet, and he owns a mechanics shop with his two older brothers.”
“What else?” I want her to open up to me. If there’s a problem with this guy in the future, I want as much information as I can get.
“He doesn’t know I exist.” Her smile is wistful.
“Why do you think that?”
“When Mother took her car in twice this month, he wouldn’t even look at me.”
Ah, I get it now. “Do you think, maybe, he knows you’re too young?”
“Mother was fifteen and Father was thirty when they had Anastasia.” She’s genuinely confused.
I’m fucking shocked. Shit. She has no clue.
“Sage,” I begin, unsure of how best to explain. “Legally, a man over eighteen can’t be with a woman under that same age. If he is interested in you, he may think or even know that you’re not old enough yet. For him, that would be ten years in prison.”
“But…” She pondered my response. Her eyes flickered a thousand thoughts in the span of a few seconds. “Oh, so Mother and Father? They shouldn’t have?”