The Color of Home: A Novel (11 page)

“Do you think the Celtics will win the championship this year?” she asked.

“They’ll make a deep run.”

“Chloe would love to see a playoff game.”

“We can get tickets.”

Sassa owed her newfound love of basketball to both of them. They’d already been to several games with Chloe, and had even discussed in passing buying season tickets the following year. “I’ve been thinking.”

“About what?”

“Our conversation a few weeks ago.”

“Oh.” He picked up the remote and shut the television off. He reached over and put his arm around her. Placing one leg over her leg, he tickled the top of her foot with his toe. It almost worked.

“Do you think we should move on?” Sassa asked.

“We’re probably getting close.”

“I don’t want to hurt Chloe.”

“She’s strong, like you.”

“She’s going to be quite the amazing woman in a few years.”

He nodded. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy here. But when I go back over the theme of all of our conversations, and I do that a lot, I believe what you’re looking for is that elusive place where two people see each other completely.”

“Do you believe we could do that here?”

“For me, maybe. I have this feeling around you that calms me. I feel generous. Selfless. Hopeful. And when we’re together with Chloe, I can picture us as a family.”

“Sometimes I feel like we’re a family.” When the three of them were together, there was a photo-album easiness between them, like she’d taken a short break from the path of most resistance and had filled multiple albums with sepia pictures.

“To be honest, when we first started seeing each other, I didn’t believe we would stay together very long,” he said.

“I didn’t either.”

“And that was okay with me then.”

“Me too.”

“I’ve changed.”

“Me too.”

“I know. Which is why it’s probably time.”

“I don’t know.”

“You aren’t ready to commit here or anywhere yet.”

“I know.”

“Full of words today.”

“Old habit.” Flipping over, she straddled him, and kissed him on the forehead. A Picasso print above the sofa of two lovers caught her attention. She’d first seen the actual painting at an exhibit in New York, and had loved it ever since.

“You told me once that you needed to get out into the world to try more stuff, that you couldn’t possibly know what you truly wanted until you had more experience.”

“I did.”

“You said that you needed to cross a few lines, against your better judgment, so you could see your edges. You told me that’s the only way to see someone else as different from you.”

“I did say all of that.”

“Also, from what you’ve shared with me about Nick, I don’t believe you’re done with him. At some point you’ll know, but the answer isn’t clear yet.”

A lump rose in Sassa’s throat. Nick. Brayden was right; she wasn’t done with him yet. She hadn’t seen him or spoken with him in a long time, yet she carried him with her each day, a silent source of strength, of love. Like in “Hold You,' he was part of her and always would be. “Hard to hold?”

“Hard, but necessary. And to think where I started.' He smiled.

“You don’t need to joke now. Let’s stay here.”

“I just got a chill.”

“Good. See? You have changed.”

“What I needed to do here was see you. No more conquests or games. The irony, of course, is that by truly seeing you, I realized that I need to let you go.”

She did feel seen as a lover. A friend. A student. A daughter. A fellow traveler on the path of most resistance. And wasn’t it strange that Brayden giving her up, letting her go, resulted in one of the most seen moments of her life? “I want to make love to you now.”

“I need to say one more thing.”

“Okay. Hurry.”

“I’ll always be here for you. I am and will continue to be one of your biggest fans, and I’ll be rooting for you from a distance. I hope that you’ll always remember that.”

Her hands began to tremble. “Let’s go.' She took his hand and pulled him up off the floor. Wrapping her arm around his waist, she led him to the bed.

In bed, selflessness trumped sadness, at least for a little while. Afterwards, she whispered, “You’ll always have a piece of my heart.”

“I know . . . Do you want to tell Chloe or should I?”

“I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”

“Okay. What will you tell Nick about us when you see him next?”

“Everything.”

Sassa arranged to meet Chloe the next day at Christina’s Homemade Ice Cream. Once inside, she ordered a coffee frappe for herself and a large pistachio nut waffle cone for Chloe. Ice cream in hand, at a wooden table with dozens of names carved into it, they settled down to say good-bye.

“Wicked good ice cream,” Chloe said.

“Best stuff in Cambridge. I could eat this stuff every day.”

Chloe smiled. “Ah . . . as far as I can tell, you do.”

“Good point.”

“So, you got dumped.”

“It wasn’t like that, Chloe. Your father was an amazing help to me, and I care about him a great deal. There’s no anger on my part or his. Some sadness, for sure, but that seems right. We’ll stay close, maybe even as lifelong friends.”

“I’ve heard that line before.”

Brayden would be a lifelong friend. Though she had no more justification than the feeling, she was sure of it. “Time will tell, I guess. I hope you can stay open to the possibility. Anyway, I wanted to talk more today about you and me, if that’s okay?”

“Not much to say. I’ll probably never see you again.”

“That’s not what I want to happen. Do you?”

“No.”

“Then let’s figure out how to stay connected, okay?”

Chloe took a bite of her waffle cone, then another. Sometimes during past visits, she would go through a whole cone before saying a word, as if she was honoring a particularly good flavor, as if ice cream was all that mattered, as if words were overrated. “My mom doesn’t like you.”

“I’m okay with that, if you are.”

“I guess.”

“How about if we talk on the phone once a week, like real girlfriends? We can get ice cream or see a Celtics game whenever we both have time. And we can text any time.”

“You’ll get busy and forget about me.”

Sassa gathered Chloe’s hand and looked her straight in the eyes. How could she have ever been jealous of such a beautiful girl? Chloe too would be a lifelong friend. “I want to tell you a few things, Chloe. You’re a beautiful, intelligent, and strong young woman who I’ve come to love over this past year. I’d like to be in your life for as long as you want me around.”

Chloe fixed her gaze on the chalkboard of flavors, as if she was considering a second cone.

“You’re going to have a wonderful life, and people will offer you all kinds of things that seem pretty good at the time. If you ever need someone to talk with about any of those choices, I want you to know that I’ll be here for you. I’ll drop everything if you ever need me.”

“I’ll be right back.” Chloe went over to a corner table and filled two paper cups from a pitcher of water. Balancing both cups, she returned to the table and gently slid one cup in front of Sassa. “Why would you drop everything?”

“Because girls like us need to stick together.”

“When my father gets a new girlfriend, we won’t be able to stay friends. She’ll get jealous.”

“Your dad and I talked about that. Any new girlfriend will have to accept that my friendship with you guys is part of the deal. If she isn’t willing to do that for your dad, she won’t be part of his life too long. So, do we have a deal?”

“I love you, too, Sassa.” She pulled a small pocketknife out of her jeans and slowly carved “Sassa” into the table. When finished, she handed the knife to Sassa. “Your turn.”

In the Boynton Canyon vortex, Nick waited for his guide in the Enchanted Inn hotel lobby. Having spoken to her only briefly on the phone when he booked the trip, he had no idea what to expect, other than she’d come highly recommended.

A short time later, a young woman walked in. Underneath a worn Stetson that had long since lost its shape, she had long, braided brown hair extendeding down her back. She wore multiple leather bracelets on both wrists and matching leather necklaces around her slender neck, from which numerous carved wooden animal pendants hung. Her T-shirt, the same color as the Sedona red rock, depicted a carved spiral on the front. Pleasant enough in an earthy, rugged way, but Nick didn’t find her distinctly attractive. She couldn’t possibly be his guide; she was way too young.

The woman bee-lined to Nick as if she was an old lover. “Hi, I’m Halfa.” She gave him a warm hug.

“Nick. Uh . . . you’re so young.”

“Age has little to do with spirituality.”

“I was expecting someone older.”

“Maybe the first thing you need to do then is forgive me for being so young.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get off to a bad start.”

“I wouldn’t say bad. We’re off to a truthful start, and truth always has potential.”

He nodded.

Over a lengthy vegetarian dinner that Sassa would have loved—a quinoa dish and a kale, cucumber, spinach, and apple smoothie—Halfa filled in her background. She’d just turned twenty-one. Originally from Canada, she relocated to Sedona at nineteen after spending time in Peru with Shaman elders. At twenty, she declared herself a Shaman after practicing for a year and completing the next phase of her own spiritual work. Nick was impressed with her. Another strong woman had entered his life. At the end of the dinner, they agreed to meet first thing the next morning at the entrance to Boynton Canyon Trail. He went off to bed hopeful. He dreamed that Halfa had become the first female priest in the Catholic Church, and that she devoted herself to match-making and marrying lost souls.

At sunrise the next day, they met at the trail and hiked for an hour in silence. The trail was breathtaking. A red rock backdrop highlighted vibrant plants—crucifiction thorn, Mormon tea, desert Christmas cactus. He’d studied up. The air, still crisp in the morning, threatened to wilt with the heat and reminded him of reluctantly working in his father’s vegetable garden during planting season. Back then, the land, the dirt, didn’t move him like they did now. It was good to be out of the city.

When they stopped for a water break, Halfa introduced their work for the day, a cord-cutting ceremony. She raised Nick’s hands and held them face up; palm to palm, her fingers interlaced with his. “You are linked to every person who has ever been important to you. I want you to visualize each of those people in turn. Even if the person is no longer close, imagine the person standing with you in the same way you’re connected to me at this moment.”

Minutes later, when he had finished his first round of visualizations, she let go of his hands and placed them down at his sides. “I want you to think about all of your cords as we hike. Identify where each cord connects to your body.”

“Sorry?”

“Represent a sexual bond by a cord connected to your groin.”

“I have a few of those.”

She smiled. “If the relationship brings up stressful memories, the cord might connect to your upper back. If the relationship is loving, the cord might connect at your heart or your head.”

“Okay. Got it.”

“Continue with your meditation and I’ll provide additional instructions at our next water break.”

They hiked for a long time in silence. Where were they headed? Did she have any destination in mind? Or would they continue hiking endlessly? He’d indentified dozens and dozens of cords. People he hadn’t thought about for years flashed before him. Lovers, friends, distant relatives. Musicians connected to his heart. Old lovers to his groin, except for Raine, who connected to his heart as well. Friends, acquaintances to his head. A disproportionate amount of them. No wonder he spent so much time there. His father connected in multiple places. Sassa too.

Sitting to rest on a large, red rock, he wiped the sweat off his forehead, and took a swig of bottled water. There was something about the elevated height that made him extraordinarily thirsty. And lonely.

Halfa handed him a long branch, gray, stone-like, that appeared to be thousands of years old. It belonged in a movie with warlords and magic, with heroes and villains. “Imagine the branch as an emotional sword. Sever all of your cords, even those you want to keep.”

“This might turn out to be fun.”

“Cut the cords where they feel most attached to your body.”

He wielded the sword and swooshed the cords from his shoulders, his head, his heart, his hands, his ankles, his shoulders, and his groin. Weightless when he finished, he was sure he was about to lift off, to float away to a place few ever witnessed. Stepping away from Halfa, he balanced the upright sword in the palm of his hand, then juggled it from hand to hand until it fell to the ground and created a small cloud of red dust.

“How do you feel?”

“Lighter.”

“Anything else?”

“Shakier.”

“That’s good. Trust me for the next part.”

“Okay.”

“Hold my hand and walk with me on the trail with your eyes closed. Think more about the cords you severed. I want you to place them into three categories.”

“Three?”

“Yes. For the relationships you don’t want to continue, let them go with this prayer: ‘May you find everything that you’re looking for in your life. May your truths set you free as mine will me.’”

He repeated the prayer for each person he let go—old girlfriends, former high school and college buddies, a few distant relatives. Some had loved him. Or hurt him. Or had been hurt by him. But at that moment, they were like the other six billion people on the planet. He wished them well, like he would have wished any passing stranger well. He stood in silence for a few minutes before moving on.

“For those you want to re-imagine and cord differently, chant this prayer: ‘If in the past I have hurt you, I’m sorry. I hope you can forgive me. It wasn’t my intention to cause you harm. I forgive you for the pain that you’ve caused me. I know that it wasn’t your intention to do so. I forge a new connection with you now, this time based on trust, mutual respect, and compassion. May it guide us during our remaining time together.’”

“That’s a little long.”

“I’ll help you.”

He repeated the chant, with her help, for all of the relationships he wanted to re-imagine. Some had loved him. Or hurt him. Or he’d hurt them. But this time it was different. This time he had slotted enough chips in the bank for recovery, for forgiveness, for working things through to the next round. Once again, when he finished, he was quiet a moment out of respect, out of thanks for a gift given.

Finally, for healthy relationships, those where he wanted to reconnect the cord in the same way, she asked him to give thanks by saying, “Thank you for being in my life and filling it with love, compassion, trust, and respect. May we stay connected in ever-changing ways as we grow and serve.”

When he finished the ritual, she asked him to open his eyes. “What do you see now?”

“Sassa.”

“That’s someone you should pay attention to.”

“I know.”

“How do you feel right now?”

“Like I want to kiss you.”

“That happens a lot.”

The next morning, Halfa welcomed Nick at the entrance to the same trail. The canyon walls surrounded them, a hundred feet high in all directions. It was like he was in a giant hole and the only way out was in, with help from the vortex. Did he just say that? As they did the day before, they hiked for the first hour in silence. As he moved up the trail, the clutter in his mind cleared out faster than the day before, and he distanced himself from New York, from loss, from Sassa.

During their water break, Halfa detailed their work for the day: soul retrieval. “This work focuses on reintegrating fragmented pieces of the soul that were lost due to some form of emotional upheaval.”

“It might take awhile to find all of my pieces.”

She nodded, like she knew they were getting to the good stuff. “Turn over times in your life when you experienced severe trauma or emotional upheaval. Stay with the associated images, thoughts, and feelings as we advance up the trail in silence.”

For the first part of the trek, he resisted his father and simply meditated. Then, he noticed a strange silver rock in the shape of a bar, and an old memory flared.

Nick had been nine. His father came home from work with metal pieces that required straightening, the result of an errant production run in the factory that day. For ten dollars, Nick devoted his entire day to running thousands of metal pieces through a manually powered straightening machine his father set up on the front porch. With the repetition, his sense of accomplishment steadily increased, and he experienced pure joy from doing the work.

At the end of the day, his father came to the porch to assess Nick’s progress. After checking a few pieces, his dad paid him twenty dollars instead of the ten he had originally promised, though it wasn’t the money that Nick appreciated the most. It was the look on his father’s face. His father placed his hand on Nick’s shoulder and smiled, clearly proud of him for working hard, for sticking it out. Nick knew in that moment that his father loved him, that he had somehow taken a giant step toward him.

He’d been trying to duplicate that moment his entire adult life.

With the memory fresh in his mind, he stepped into the soul retrieval ritual. He went back to Halfa’s instruction and replayed his father’s death down to the last detail, cataloging every sound, every smell, every image from that night. Basketball. Gurgling blue. The ambulance. Praying. The snowdrift. The sadness stacked slowly, taking its time on the way toward the big topple. As was his habit, he didn’t fully break down until well after the fall. When that happened, he let Halfa edge ahead of him out of view.

“Who did you think about?” Halfa asked when Nick caught up to her.

“My father. He died violently when I was young. I flashed on an old memory that I forgot. It reminded me of how much I love him.”

“Good. Soul fragments are separated to protect the whole, but together contain the full emotional impact of the traumatic event. Meditate on the pieces that you lost when your father died. Let’s hike. We’ll talk more at the next break.”

He had a hard time following her instruction. His father’s death had helped him. He was stronger. Capable of seeing the big picture. Resilient. A musician. A businessman. He’d gained much. How could he ever trust that it wouldn’t be taken away if he reintegrated what he’d lost? His posture slumped, and a sharp, symmetrical pain entered his shoulder blades. Where was all of the pain coming from? His body never lied. At the end of his walk, he hadn’t thought about a single lost fragment.

“How is this working for you?”

“I’m drawing a blank. I keep thinking about what I’ve gained instead of what I lost.”

“That’s fine. Sometimes there isn’t anything there or there’s a delayed reaction. Why don’t we stop for the day and start up again tomorrow? Before we go, I want to leave you with one more bit of instruction. Tonight, can you think about the times in your life when you’ve felt numb?”

“Sure. Why not?”

Numb? His father’s death. For sure. For protection. College girls. Check. Sex was his drug, not Vicodin. Work. Not so much, like it was a compartment, a safe haven. How often had he tricked himself with partial answers? Answers that didn’t address the real problem? Songwriting. Sometimes, like on “Hold You,” he connected to something bigger, more alive. But other times, not so much. What about Sassa?

“What are we doing today?” Nick asked.

“A medicine wheel ceremony. The medicine wheel symbolizes the circle of life. I built one in the vortex as a way to capture all of the energy of the people who came to the canyon in the past.”

The medicine wheel ceremony had been around for thousands of years. The ceremony centered on relationships, encouraging participants to acknowledge their connectedness to each other, to everyone who had exercised the wheel before them, to nature, and to the divine. Quantum physics before humans had a scientific name for it.

Would this one help?

After a two-hour hike, Nick and Halfa arrived at her medicine wheel, which she’d built when she first landed in Sedona. Based on the South American wheel she’d trained on, this one was constructed using gathered stones laid flat on a small plateau in a nine-yard diameter circle, highlighted with four anchor rocks at compass points, and smaller rocks that delineated an inner circle at the center of the wheel. The anchor rocks were painted in different colors. East anchored in yellow, north in white, west in black, and south in red.

Halfa guided Nick to meditate in the smaller circle. She ascribed parts of his make-up to each direction. Standing on the easterly rock, she said, “East represents your spirituality and the values most important to you.' Purposefully, she continued around the circle toward the north rock. “North represents your mental capacity and your decision-making capability, especially your ability to deal with hard choices.' She walked over to the west rock. “West represents your physical attributes and your bias toward action.”

“Ah, yes.”

Walking slowly to the south rock, as if she were trying to emphasize it, she said, “Finally, south represents your emotions. Your health depends on all of these attributes remaining in balance. Most people have at least one attribute out of balance.”

“For sure.”

He listened to Halfa continue with more details on how they would work the wheel. As much as he valued her expertise on the subject, he found himself drifting away, imagining sitting in the circle with Sassa by his side. She was balance. “Okay, I’m ready. Let’s get started.”

Sitting on the ground across from him, Halfa had the most penetrating eyes, like they could knife away bone and muscle until only his heart remained, like she could extract his thoughts at will. She really was older than her years.