Bared Souls - Ellie Wade Page 0,102
a life as an addict. This”—he looks around the gym—“is the real deal. Good shit. I’m so proud of you and stoked to help here whenever I can.”
“Thanks,” I say.
I hope he’s right. I hope we can make a real difference in many lives.
“You don’t think working with abused kids is going to trigger anything in me? Lately, my anxiety has been high.”
“Having a hard time sleeping again?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I nod.
“That’s the thing, isn’t it? We never know what’s going to help or hurt our journey, what’s going to trigger or save us. I would think that making a difference would be helpful, and I know you think that, too, which is why you’re doing this. Living a life of service is noble and good, you know? On the hard days, you have to go back through your steps, call me, take one day at a time. Fight for it, for the life you want. Remember why you’re clean and what you have to lose. Be stronger than your demons.”
“Yeah,” I answer.
“You’re doing good, man. So good,” Ollie says.
“Thank you. I’m trying.”
“I can’t find my daisy earrings,” Alma calls from the bedroom, her voice a little panicked. “Have you seen them?”
“You mean, the ones right here on the coffee table?” I yell back, humor in my voice.
She comes rushing out to the living room, and her hand splays across her chest. “Oh, thank goodness.” She reaches down, picks up the silver flowers, and sticks them into her earlobes.
“I don’t think people are going to care what earrings you’re wearing.” I chuckle.
“I know, but daisies are happy and welcoming. I want today to be perfect. I want all the kids to feel welcome and their parents to sign all the waivers, so the kids can keep coming.”
“They’re going to feel welcome, babe, I promise. And it won’t be because of your earrings; it’ll be because of you.” I take her cheeks between my hands and gently kiss her lips. “We’ve planned for this day as much as humanly possible. Now, we just need to go and enjoy ourselves. Okay?”
“Okay.” She nods, pulling in a deep breath. “You’re right.”
Alma and I have worked our asses off the past two months, getting the Lair ready for the grand opening today. The entire place was remodeled in calm and soothing colors. We set up the different rooms. We hired counselors and instructors. We solicited donations and sponsors and got volunteers. We spoke to all of the local school counselors to help us reach out to the families and kids who needed our center the most. This place was built with all of the love, determination, and hope for the future that Alma and I possess. It’s going to be great.
“We’d better go,” I say, extending my hand toward hers.
“Right.” She blows out a breath and takes my hand. “I’m just so nervous.”
“Baby, they’re all going to love it.”
She bobs her head in tentative agreement and takes my hand, following me out to the car.
Minutes later, we’re standing in front of the center, a large blue ribbon in front of us, as a crowd of families waits on the other side. The crowd counts down, and Alma and I cut the ribbon, welcoming everyone inside.
The Lair is set up as a carnival today—a party to celebrate the opening. Volunteers are getting parent signatures, so their kids can come back on their own another day. We have fair games on the playground, an ice cream truck handing out free frozen treats, and a cotton candy machine. Volunteers are taking families on tours of the facility. Teens are playing basketball, and the little ones are making slime. Each family is leaving with a goody bag containing some swag and treats and information about our mission.
Alma and I circle the party all day, introducing ourselves and thanking everyone for coming. The day couldn’t be any better, and I’m pleasantly surprised at the turnout.
As I introduce myself to each child, I look him or her in the eye and express how happy I am that they’re here. Alma is the social one between the two of us. Loving others comes as naturally as breathing to her, but I try my best to make each child feel important. I compliment art projects, smiles, and basketball form. My goal is to find something unique and special about each kid and tell them, let them know that I see them and that I care.
After the last volunteer and family have left,