Ordinary World by Elisa Lorello Read Free Book Online Page A

lack of activity and effort.”
     
                I gave her the same excuse I gave Maggie.
     
                “That’s what goal-setting is for,” she said. “It’s to get you over that hump and recharge your batteries. You have no energy because you’re working so hard to avoid the pain of grieving. You’re shutting yourself down as a form of damage control. The leftover is for survival—just enough to get through the day.”
     
                My insides tightened and felt heavy. “So what am I supposed to do—have another meltdown? I’ve already had at least one, thank you very much. And that one was in the classroom.”
     
                “And why did you have that meltdown?”
     
                “I already told you what that was about,” I said, agitated. “My students were talking about getting tanked like it was something glamorous. I couldn’t stand there and let them dis my husband like that.”
     
                “But they weren’t dissing your husband. They were being young adults getting a taste of freedom for the first time. They were looking for validation to justify their behavior. And they were behaving that way in response to the fear of all the change taking place in their lives.”
     
                “You sound like them .”
     
    “Who is ‘ them ’?” Melody asked. “The students?”
     
    “You’re rationalizing using the ‘kids will be kids’ logic. It doesn’t fly with me. I didn’t need to get tanked at their age. I didn’t need booze and pot to be validated.”
     
                “What did you need?”
     
                Her question cut off my fury. What did I need?
     
                I traveled back to my nineteen-year-old self: A girl with big hair and little confidence, yo-yoing with her weight. A virgin submerged in the shame of her sexual inexperience, gone into hiding.  Forlorn, hidden, hardly recognizable. God, she looks so desperate, so lonely, so…
     
                “I needed to be touched,” I answered, my head down, voice withdrawn and regressed, surprised the words came out at all. Melody didn’t respond right away. She seemed to be waiting for me to cry; and yet, even though I felt the urge to do so, my eyes didn’t water.
     
                Finally, she spoke in a soft, placid tone. “Andi, the response to loss is a response to whatever is unresolved in us , whatever losses are called up from our unconscious to be re-lived.”
     
                “What does that mean?”
     
                “It means you’re not just grieving the loss of Sam.”
     
                “Great,” I said. “As if that’s not enough.”
     
                “All the losses of your life—even the ones that seemed insignificant at the time, like losing a competition or a favorite toy—are going to resurface.”
     
                “Should I start making a list?”
     
    “This is an opportunity for you. It’s a wonderful opportunity, really. You can finally acknowledge those losses, and choose how to respond to them. And you can make choices other than not responding, or pretending like everything’s okay.”
     
    “You mean, faking it.”
     
    “Yes. I don’t think faking it works for you.”
     
    “Tell Miranda that,” I said.
     
                “So, what’s another choice you can make?” She sounded like a school counselor.
     
    I didn’t answer her. The responsibility of choosing was too big, too overwhelming.
     
                “Think about it,” she said. “Why did you react the way you did to those boys? It was completely out of character for you, yes? You told me that you’re the one who fights for students’ rights and respect, that you took pride in that. So why would you, in turn, choose a response of complete disrespect? What were you really reacting to in