Sorry I've been inactive the past few days! I was working on this. This is a story I wrote about all the girls in TOTT together, in a trauma relief therapy session, where Journiie is the therapist. It's a little weird, and I had to twist the girl's stories a bit so they could all be alive at the same time. (They're not related anymore) It's called Talk Of The Town Trauma, or TOTTT. Talk Of The Town Trauma (TOTTT) The pink-painted sign on the library meeting room door read: Talk Of The Town Trauma – TOTTT Meeting in Progress. Please Knock Softly. Journiie straightened the plastic chairs in a half-circle, breathing in the dusty scent of books and old carpet. She wasn’t what most people pictured when they thought of a therapist. But she wasn’t most people. She had started this group not because she had all the answers, but because sometimes, people just needed someone to listen. To understand. The door opened, and in walked Minnie. Forty-three, tall, with streaks of silver in her otherwise jet-black hair. She wore long skirts and always brought a small, well-worn journal tucked under her arm. “You look tired, Journiie,” she said gently. “Don’t forget you’re one of us too.” Journiie smiled. “Thanks, Minnie. I won’t.” Soon the others trickled in: Rosie, with her bright-red lipstick and a sunflower pin in her hair, Daisy, wearing a NASA hoodie two sizes too big, and Heather, who clutched a small stuffed bunny in her purse like it was her child. Lavender came in looking like a walking poem, quiet but with an aura that said 'ask me what I’ve lost.' Sienna followed, eyes sharp, arms crossed, a storm in every step. Journiie always kept a special chair for her; a little closer, a little safer. Then came Imelda, 21 and tired. She always wore her twin’s bracelet, with blue beads that caught the light like tears. Georgia wore hiking boots and smelled like pine, even in the city. Ivy, ever in black, slipped in silently, her eyes never quite meeting anyone else's. Dorothy came last of the older girls, with a smile that flickered like a candle in wind. She looked like a woman with everything, but spoke like someone who’d lost something she couldn’t name. The youngest two, Jane and Cordelia, sat side by side. Jane, fifteen, looked down at her shoes like they held secrets. Cordelia looked up like she was trying to find meaning in the ceiling tiles. “Alright,” Journiie said, once everyone had settled, “Who wants to start today?” Silence at first. Then Minnie raised her hand. “I had a dream last night,” she said. “I was back in my parents’ house, but I wasn’t afraid. I just walked through it like it was a museum. All the yelling, all the cold dinners and slammed doors, they didn’t reach me anymore.” Journiie nodded. “That’s powerful, Minnie.” Minnie smiled, the smallest lift of her lips. “I think I’m getting better.” Rosie leaned forward. “I took my daughter to the playground. She asked why people used to look at me funny. I told her because I had her so young, but that I wouldn’t trade her for all the clean stares in the world.” Heather whispered, “I still feel empty sometimes. I see moms with strollers and I just want to cry. But then I come here, and I remember that I’m still allowed to hope.” Sienna shifted uncomfortably. “This is stupid,” she muttered. “No it’s not,” Daisy said softly. “You’re just still hurting.” “You don’t know what it’s like!” Sienna snapped. “I don’t,” Daisy replied gently, “But I know what it’s like to want someone to see you.” Journiie looked at Sienna. “You don’t have to talk. But we see you. We’re glad you’re here.” Sienna didn’t reply, but she didn’t leave either. Imelda’s voice was quiet. “I talked to Ellie yesterday. I know it’s just in my head, but I asked her if she forgives me for living. I think she does.” Georgia held out a pinecone. “My mom gave me this. Said she wanted to try again. I think… I think I might let her.” Ivy picked at her sleeves. “I still think about that night. I still think they were looking for me when they…” She stopped. Cordelia reached over and held her hand. Jane sighed. “I’m still boring.” “You’re not,” Cordelia said. “You're just quiet. That’s not the same.” Journiie smiled. “Cordelia, how’s your heart?” Cordelia looked down. “Better. I blocked his number. I realized I was waiting for someone who never showed up. But you did. All of you.” “Then,” Journiie said, “Let’s do our breathing. In for four… out for four…” Twelve girls. Twleve stories. They were scarred, yes, but they were healing. And together, they were the Talk Of The Town Trauma. I hope you guys like it! -luv, Jane
