The Almost Murder and Other Stories by Theresa Saldaña Page B

or shine. Feeling embarrassed, but knowing I couldn’t lie, I admitted to Alexia that, except for my parents, cousins and Burn Unit friends, I had become isolated.
    My “little sister” counseled me, insisting that I needed to go outside and see the world again, just as she planned on doing after her own discharge.
    Alexia said, “I’m not letting these scars ruin my life, but I wish you’d go first. Then you can tell me how it feels out there and warn me about what to expect.”
    I couldn’t say no to my dear sister-friend and agreed to do just as she asked. I hadn’t been strong enough before but I decided that I could and should be braver for her.
    I knew that I couldn’t help Alexia adjust to life after she left the hospital if I didn’t get myself out there first. I needed to jump back in and reenter society outside my home and the Burn Unit. I had to let strangers see and react to me, brave the inevitable stares and learn to share with people who had no connection to scars.
    I couldn’t help Alexia or anyone else without taking a leap of faith. And so I did.
    My cousin’s house was my first destination. The Three Ts had come over to visit me so often, often by bus. It was well past my turn to go to see them. I chose a Saturday afternoon for this first post-injury return to Van Nuys, my home away from home. And I went. My cousins opened their house, hearts and lives to me. It felt great to be back.
    Two weekends in a row I went to see my cousins, but we stayed inside. I prayed for courage to do much more.
    That Monday, I told Alexia what I was about to do, and asked my cousins to go with me on my first “outside trip.” We discussed various options, then decided on lunch at CPK and a movie at the Galleria Mall.
    Dad dropped us off, and we went to the main level. It was busy, crowded. Noisy. Right from the start, I sensed some shoppers’ shock or discomfort when they saw my face. Others turned away. I’d expected this and stayed strong.
    We went to a Barnes & Noble bookstore. There, a small boy, about five years old, asked me, “What’s that on your face?” I told him I had scars from a car accident. He said, “Oh,” and went back to his picture book.
    More people handled the sight of me better than poorly. I sensed that, although many didn’t know exactly how to react, most had good intentions.
    We had a great meal without incident, saw a cool movie, and all in all I felt pretty good about being out. I told my dad so in the car. He and my cousins declared they were proud of me. Dad took us to have ice cream sundaes to celebrate my “coming out.”
    The next day, I told Alexia all about my trip to the mall, and she congratulated me as if I’d run a marathon. In a sense, I had.
    The mall visit whetted my appetite for more. I grew excited about life and socializing. I started going out every day. With each journey, long or short, I grew accustomed to people’s reactions, and my own to theirs. I shopped with Mom and even walked to Starbucks on my own. Yes, people stared, and I heard some rude remarks, but being outside, back in the pulse and swing of life, was worth it all.
    I began writing a journal about my adventures and read many of my entries to Alexia. At first, I emphasized my positive experiences and skipped the negatives. Shewas too smart for this and asked me to tell her everything. I did.
    Marta invited me to speak in a Burn Unit lecture about my experiences and how it felt to go from the hospital to the outside world. I spent three weeks writing an outline for a speech I called “Transitions.” That Friday evening, I was more excited than nervous before giving my speech.
    Marta introduced me to patients and family members gathered in the meeting room. I was proud to share my story and feelings with this crowd of special people, just as the author I’d admired months ago had done.
    Alexia and Jeremy