Jordan—Seventeen
Seventeen and Jordan doesn’t care about warm time or cold time. Home is a place to land, sleep, and change clothes. It’s a burden and an embarrassment; her father in his chair watching TV or pacing the scruff of yard out back, her mother stretched and pulled taut. Sometimes she’s cooking when Jordan comes home, a mark of her sobriety. But it’s too late to play family. Jordan’s friends are waiting, boxing is waiting, life and light and the cute girl who just moved in down the block. All waiting. School drags, feeling like another burden. And she’s starting to get angry at the teachers who try to talk to her about her slipping marks, her absenteeism. They don’t know. Not one of them knows hunger and hurt like a stitch in your side.
“You’ll stay tonight, Jordan? Just an hour. Please.”
Jordan wished the warmth in her mom’s voice didn’t tug at her so much.
“I’m not really interested in celebrating,” Jordan mumbled. Her dad has been sober for six months. The first time since Steven died.
“An hour,” she pleads.
Jordan hates that tone. Hates the strength and vulnerability it takes her mom to ask. Jordan hates so much these days.
“Is Jake coming?” Jordan slouches into a kitchen chair. Her mom smiles, knowing Jordan is staying.
“No, Kim is really sick this pregnancy.”
Jordan is going to have another niece soon. She barely knows the first. Kim is protective of their young family.
Dinner is quiet and strained, and Jordan can’t remember the last time they were all at the table together. Her dad concentrates on his food, though he perks up when Jordan, at her mom’s prompting, starts talking about boxing.
“Shoulda been Steven,” her dad mumbles. “He would have been a great fighter.”
Rage is a cold thing in her chest. She can’t leave it alone. She should.
“Steven is dead.”
Her dad slams his open hand on the table.
“Alfred, stop it.” Jordan’s mom’s voice is mad but also trembles. “Jordan, enough. We’re meant to be celebrating.”
“Celebrating what?” Jordan said. “That Dad can only say Steven’s name in the few hours he’s sober?”
“He was the best of us,” her dad shouts.
Jordan wants to cry, but the cold rage strangles tears. He’s right and she’s so angry.
“And you couldn’t say that when he was alive.”
Three years of boxing should have prepared her for the backhand, but her dad had never hit her before. Jordan wasn’t looking for it. The blow caught her on the side of her face, the force knocking her out of her chair onto the floor. Her mom was shrieking and Jordan held on to her face, dazed and aching. Her father sat so still at the table, the shock of his expression the first real emotion she’d seen on his face in years. Then he slowly stood and left the table.
Only then did tears surface as Jordan’s cheek began to swell, heated blood rushing to the injury. She wiped angrily at her tears as her mom found an icepack and laid it gently against Jordan’s rapidly swelling eye. Heat and cold didn’t matter. Tears didn’t matter. Jordan wasn’t ever coming home again.
* * *
November was Greek for grey.
It wasn’t true, but one of the dock men her dad worked with used to say it, and it stuck with Jordan. She pulled her toque down over her ears and buried her chin into the zipped collar of her jacket as the cold, damp wind rushed across the Dalhousie University campus. She had always liked this campus with its austere old brick buildings. The ivy that clung to their sides was now browning and half frozen, which was exactly how Jordan felt. She had an hour between classes, and she ducked her head against another blast of icy wind, headed for the warmth of the more modern glass and concrete building that threw its light across the open quad.
Jordan shook back her hood as the moist heat of the student centre slammed against her cold cheeks, the smell of Subway buns and meatball sauce pervading every space. This wasn’t her favourite place to be on campus, but it was warm and she could almost always find a table near an outlet this time of night. It was never empty. Someone was always studying, sleeping, or hiding.
Jordan plugged in her laptop and got out her textbooks. She might be able to get ahead of next week’s reading if she focused. Jordan was finding her groove, highlighting passages in her text and taking notes for her upcoming assignment when Madi texted and broke her concentration. It was a check-in text, really all Jordan had been receiving since Madi had yelled at her in the community kitchen about being a superhero.
Jordan texted back immediately, hoping today they’d finally get past this odd disconnection. The polite dance of communicating but not. Madi always checked in but she also dropped the conversation as quickly as possible. Jordan didn’t understand. She figured all she could do was keep being available for the next battle in their war of constancy.
Distracted from her reading, Jordan surveyed the wide open space of the student centre. A few people were waiting for subs, most people sitting by themselves with their earbuds in, staring at a device. It wasn’t what Jordan had imagined when she started university. Everything was so ordinary, even the fact that she was almost twice the age of some of the students here. Jordan had fought the feeling of being a fraud in this establishment of higher learning a long time ago.
A familiar face caught Jordan’s eye as she was about to turn back to her reading. Helena sat on the other side of the student centre, a book in one hand and a takeout coffee in the other. Jordan hesitated for a moment, wondering if Helena wanted time on her own. But selfishly, Jordan knew Helena was one of the people who could help her with the Madi conundrum. Maybe she could seek some reassurance her current wait and watch plan with Madi was the best way to go.
Jordan gathered her things and dumped them into her backpack before weaving her way through tables and chairs to the other side of the hall.
“Helena?”
Helena looked up, startled.
“Oh, Jordan. Hi.”
“I scared you, I’m sorry.”
“No, not at all. I…” Helena cleared her throat and gave a small smile. “I get easily absorbed when I’m reading.”
Jordan laughed quietly, trying to put Helena at ease. “I understand. Are you taking a class here?”
“Not exactly, no. I started auditing courses a few years ago. I guess it became something of a habit.”
Jordan had heard of people auditing courses, sitting in and participating but without getting any credit or working toward a degree. Jordan had to wonder where Helena found the time. She never seemed to stop working.
“A habit of learning,” Jordan said. “I wish the kids would pick that up.”
Helena smiled, as if the mention of the kids re-established why she and Jordan were speaking. Then she pushed the chair out beside her and gestured for Jordan to sit. “Please. Join me. I’m being rude.”
Jordan sat. “Thanks. What courses are you auditing?”
Helena looked down at the takeout cup clutched in her hands and began pulling at the cardboard sleeve that covered it.
“A psychology course. Neuroscience of Addictions.”
Jordan sat back and whistled. “Awesome. I’d love to take that, but I’m all out of electives. You thinking of getting the mental health and addictions certificate? I hear it’s a great post-grad program.”
Instead of sharing the connection Jordan felt like they were establishing, Helena seemed to be shrinking from Jordan’s enthusiasm. Her shoulders became more hunched, and she leaned back in her chair, eyes focused on her hands as they ripped and shredded the cardboard.
“Sorry,” Jordan said. “I’ve been a student too long, I guess. I start to get a little nerdy about course selection.”
Helena met her eyes briefly and gave her a thin smile. Jordan wished she’d just left Helena alone. She shifted to grab her backpack, ready to make her apologies and leave.
“Stay, please,” Helena said. She looked contrite, with a sheen of desperation. Jordan wondered how many friends she had. Helena Cavio seemed like the consummate loner. “There are a few reasons I audit courses instead of registering and pursuing a degree. It just never seems like the right time to go back to school.”
Jordan read between the lines. As hard as Helena would fight for Ministry funding to support programs and services and their clients, discussing personal finances was clearly another matter entirely. She considered asking if Helena knew about the payment scale options, bursaries, and provincial government grants, all of which helped Jordan pay for her master’s degree. But Jordan also wanted to allow Helena a way to exit this conversation with dignity.
“I actually wanted to ask you some advice,” Jordan said. “It’s why I came over when I saw you here.”
“Okay,” Helena said hesitantly.
“It’s Madi. She’s going through…” Jordan hesitated then shook her head. “No, we’re going through a rough patch. Ups and downs. I feel like she’s retreating from me, and I can’t figure out if this is just the natural progression of Madi transitioning from youth to adult and I should just let her go. I’m worried. What if I’m creating or nurturing this dependency? What if I’m making it more about me than I am about her?”
Jordan laid out all her deepest fears. She wanted to do what was best for Madi, and she needed to know that was what drove her every decision.
“I have always believed if you are reflective enough to ask the question, you have very nearly answered it,” Helena said.
Jordan wanted to believe it, she really did.
“So, you think if I’m aware of needing to allow Madi to grow and move on, then likely my actions are already following that path?”
“I believe so, yes.”
Jordan sat back in her chair, considering Helena’s words. Wondering if it was enough. She sighed. “I guess I’ll just have to keep finding ways to remind her I’m here without tying her to me. Thanks, Helena.”
“Madi is very protective of you as well, you know.”
“Protective?”
“Yes. She worries about you. The break-in the other night? She was very angry about it when she came to group the next day.”
Jordan tried to catch up with the information. Madi had only texted once to ask if everything was okay before dropping it. “I didn’t know. I don’t want to worry her.”
Helena shrugged and picked up her coat, obviously ready to head out. “It’s part of being Madi’s foundation, I think. She needs that.”
Jordan stayed seated as Helena pulled on her pea coat and buttoned it up.
“I needed that as a kid,” Jordan said, wondering if it was okay to reveal this. “I was lucky to find it in a few people.”
Helena picked up her book and her coffee cup. “I needed it, too.”
But you didn’t have it. Jordan let the words stay unspoken. It confirmed what Jordan had always suspected.
A man approached the table, and Helena smiled and gestured that she’d just be a moment. He was middle-aged, and Jordan didn’t recognize him. He wore nondescript clothes and was a little rough around the edges. He seemed content to wait for Helena as she finished up her conversation.
“It was nice talking to you tonight, Helena.”
Before Helena could respond, Jordan’s phone chimed and a text alert popped up with a picture.
“Speak of the devil,” Jordan muttered, pulling up the picture. Helena wound her scarf around her neck, eyes darting to the man waiting for her but also looking mildly curious. Jordan laughed at the picture of Madi and Ali with whipped cream mustaches, sticking out their tongues. She turned to show it to Helena. “I think Madi’s doing okay. Maybe the lesson here is that I should worry less.”
Helena had gone still, staring at the picture. Jordan had thought it would reassure Helena the way it had reassured her. Madi was okay. Maybe going through some ups and downs, but she was okay. Helena looked angry, though.
“An eight-dollar Starbucks is not what Madi needs in any scenario.” Helena’s voice had gone almost cold. “She would do better with you as her mentor, in my opinion. Realistic, hardworking. You know Madi, Jordan. You were Madi. Never forget that.”
Helena turned and left, the man trailing behind her.
* * *
Jordan ducked, and the right hook whistled by her ear in a rush of air. Sean grunted as his glove landed squarely in the space Jordan had created between her head and shoulder. He’d overextended, just a little too confident in landing that punch. She made him pay, taking the opening to his ribs in a three-punch combination that would have won her the bout if they’d been fighting for real. But they weren’t, and Sean pushed Jordan off before she could do any more damage, swearing around his mouthguard.
Jordan grinned and stepped back before signaling the end to their match. She was covered in sweat, her muscles were loose, and her energy was high. She didn’t get to spar very often with someone who had fought at her level, but occasionally her schedule lined up with Sean’s.
Sean spst out his mouthguard in his corner and began undoing his gloves with his teeth.
“Good fight, boss,” Sean said, shaking his hands out of the sparring gloves. “I was sure I had you in that last clinch.”
“You were wrong, Murphy boy,” Jordan said.
Sean grunted and toweled off the sweat around his head and neck. It really had been a good fight.
“I’m working on a fight weekend in the spring,” he said. “Mind if I email you what I’ve got so far?”
Jordan took a long drink from her water bottle before she answered. “Sure, I’d love to see it. Make sure you put in the costs for what we’d need to buy or rent.”
“On it, boss,” Sean said.
Jordan shoved his shoulder good-naturedly. “Get out, next match is coming up.”
Sean glanced at the two fighters waiting to enter the ring. They couldn’t, not until Jordan and Sean tapped out. House rules. “We’ve got enough refs tonight if you want to take off. Study or whatever.”
Jordan considered the offer as she and Sean jumped off the mat. She’d wanted to be here tonight, to stay connected to this part of her gym. But now that her fight was done, Jordan wanted to be somewhere else.
“Thanks, man. Text me if you need anything.”
“I always do, boss.”
Which meant he never did. Sean was capable. Jordan reminded herself to lean on others. It still wasn’t something she did well.
In the shower, Jordan acknowledged her agitation. Something was under her skin, a thought or worry that irritated her. She absent-mindedly ran a hand over the tattoo on her arm, the picture of her past. She wondered how past predicted future. Stories told and retold. As she pulled on jeans and an extra sweater for warmth, Jordan considered her thoughts like scars, like scabs. Memories that coursed through her veins and rose to the surface like blooms of a rash. The evidence of something deeper.
Outside, Jordan turned on her car and let the engine warm itself against the cold night air. She tucked her hands under her thighs for warmth and listened to the blasting air vent and the faint backdrop of heavy bass from the gym. She stared blankly up at her apartment. The window had been fixed, a three-hundred-dollar repair she had not been expecting. Jordan had made sure Ali wasn’t around for that. She wasn’t sure how she would have handled it if Ali had offered to pay.
The engine warm but her fingers nowhere close, Jordan put her car in gear and eased out of the parking lot. She knew where she was headed. Terminal Road was long, brightly lit, and nearly empty. The parking lots and industrial buildings were shut down for the day. A cruise ship, huge and white and overlit, gleamed against the dark backdrop of the harbour. It was a beacon Jordan felt no need to follow. It didn’t fit with the picture of the port in her head. A map of childhood, a horizon that remained fixed and unchanging.
Jordan realized that was what she was seeking. The unchanged. But was it a point in time she was wishing for? A person, maybe. Or a feeling? Rightness, contentment, safety. That was what she itched to find. Jordan shook her head as she parked illegally in the corner of an industrial parking lot, halfway between the public seaport and the working port. She slammed her door and tucked her hands inside her coat pockets, pulling her hood up against the wind coming off the water. The salt air was heavy. She tasted it, thick and cold against the back of her throat. She swallowed its familiarity and walked to the edge of the light, looking for the spots of darkness she could hide in and order her disordered thoughts.
After going around the concrete barriers meant to keep her out, Jordan sat with her back against a port piling, looking out at the container berths and the dark, invisible sea beyond. Cranes reached far up into the inky blackness of the sky, the clanging and banging of their cargo muffled and oddly dispersed by the water and distance. Jordan was soothed and agitated by the sight all at once.
This had once been her future. It was certainly her past. How to reconcile the two? Her head was firmly convinced it was past, but how could she convince her heart? She struggled constantly to stay one step ahead of the whispering in her head that she was only one wrong decision, one mistake to tripping back into the scared, angry child she had been. Even worse, someone would call her out as an imposter any second. One mistake. One slip. One person to see beneath the surface, and her façade would crack. All her gains would vanish.
Jordan blanked her thoughts. The tightness in her chest was a warning. She paid attention to it, breathing in and out until the muscles in her shoulders and chest eased. She didn’t need to spin this out. Jordan didn’t need to give the negativity any more space. It would never be anchored in fact, and Jordan needed to remember that.
Pressing her hands against her eyes, Jordan tripped her thoughts back. Her life was a constant flux of contentment and disappointment. Failure and success. Warmth and cold. But maybe she could create a patchwork, stitching and binding the pieces together until they held tight.
Jordan breathed. The concrete seeped cold through her jeans, the wind tugged at her jacket and her hood. The tip of her nose was cold, and her eyes watered. She looked up one more time, the lights of the port cranes blurring into blazing stars in the night sky. The agitation slowly left her body, replaced by a resolve that felt familiar. Only the faintest voice asked how many more times she would have to go through this before she believed herself.
Jordan walked back to her car, feeling calmer as she got in and turned her back on the cranes. The phone she’d wedged into the console rang as Jordan was just about to leave the parking lot. She shifted back into park and checked the display. Ali.
“Hey. Thought you were working tonight,” Jordan said.
“I am. I was.” Ali’s voice sounded clipped and flustered.
“What’s going on?”
“It’s Madi,” Ali said. Jordan’s heart dropped. “I think she needs help, and I don’t know what to do.”
Fear spiked. “Where is she?”
“I don’t know exactly. I don’t think she’s in danger.”
Ali sounded unsure. It didn’t make Jordan feel any better.
“I’m on my way over.”
Jordan hung up the phone and put her car back into gear, careening around the curves of the empty Terminal Road faster than she should. She hated not knowing where Madi was. Physically, yes. But more mentally. She’d been so used to having a read on Madi’s emotional state, knowing when she needed space, presence, a lift up to higher ground. This absence was making Jordan crazy. And knowing Ali had some of that information but hadn’t acted in the way Madi needed made Jordan angry.
She pulled up to the front of the hotel, ignoring the tension in her body, the signal that she needed to gain perspective. Right now Jordan didn’t want perspective. She wanted answers.
The passenger door opened before Jordan had time to send a text to say she’d arrived. Ali dropped into the seat and Jordan immediately began peppering her with questions.
“Where are we heading? Any more info?”
“Hang on, JP. Let me just talk this out. I don’t know that we need to go racing off just yet.”
The old nickname rankled, but Jordan tried to quash it.
“Maybe you should start at the beginning.”
“I don’t really know where the start is. Madi and I have been texting, getting together for coffee every now and then.”
“Yes, I know that.”
Ali blinked at Jordan’s short response but kept going. “Madi’s been off the last week or so. It’s like she wants to talk but doesn’t. She wants me around but doesn’t want to answer any questions.”
Jordan was familiar with this version of Madi. Except right now, Madi didn’t seem to want Jordan around. Hurt stoked the flame just a little higher.
“So, why do you think she’s in trouble tonight? Right now.”
Ali pulled out her phone and scrolled through the messages. “I guess just a weird sequence of messages. Saying she’s heading down. Can feel her brain getting hijacked and she hates it. But then saying she’s fine and handling it.” Ali was silent as she scrolled through her messages. Jordan wanted to snatch the phone out of Ali’s hand.
“May I see?” Jordan could not tell if her question was calm or threatening.
Ali closed the message app on her phone. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, JP.”
“Stop calling me that.”
Ali’s eyes widened. “Okay.”
Jordan took a breath in and let it out. “I’d like to use the message to evaluate Madi’s mental state for myself. I can tell a lot about how she’s feeling from the words she’s choosing. I’ve got a longer track record than you.”
Now she sounded petulant, not the position of strength she was aiming for.
Ali’s features had hardened. “I know that. It’s why I called you. But I’m imagining what Madi would think if I showed you our messages. She’d see it as a betrayal of trust. For both of us. And I don’t want her to shut down or cut us off.”
Ali was right. She had read Madi with complete accuracy. It calmed some of Jordan’s agitation, taking off just a fraction of the unease.
“Am I wrong? I’m working blind here with Madi.” Ali was showing her uncertainty, easing Jordan’s anxiety even more. And it made her feel like a complete shit for being so hard on her.
“No, you’re not wrong.” Jordan rubbed a hand across her eyes and blew out a short breath. “Okay, from what you told me, there’s cause for concern. But I know from experience that it’s way worse when Madi stops communicating altogether.”
“So what should we do?”
“I say we tell her the truth.” Jordan tried a small smile. “With a little bit of lie.”
“Okay, tell me what you mean.”
“Tell her we were hanging out, and you mentioned she seemed to be struggling. And tell her I flipped out, and I’m being unreasonable. The only way I’ll calm down is if I see her.”
“She’ll believe that?” Ali was obviously skeptical of this plan. So was Jordan, but she was grasping.
“No, not really. Maybe tell her I have no food in my fridge, and I’m refusing to go out for pizza until she’s found?”
Ali finally smiled. “Yes, that she’ll believe.”
Jordan sat with forced patience while Ali typed. Ali finally dropped her phone in her lap and looked up.
“Now what?”
Jordan felt like she was coming out of her skin. “Let’s drive. I can’t just sit here anymore.”
Jordan headed in the general direction of the apartment Madi shared with her aunt. It was the other side of downtown, which was the next likely place Madi could be.
“I’m sorry,” Ali said.
“This isn’t your fault,” Jordan said. “I’m annoyed because I’m feeling completely ineffective. Literally driving in circles. Sometimes that’s all it feels like with these kids, my entire damn job. I’m sorry if I’m taking it out on you. I shouldn’t.”
“I really hope I haven’t screwed up here. I’ve only known Madi for a month, but she’s already important to me.”
“Madi can have that effect on people. And, if it helps, I think she feels the same way.”
Ali sighed and slumped her shoulders. Jordan reached across and squeezed Ali’s hand.
“Thanks, JP.” Jordan felt Ali tense. She tried to think of something to say, but Ali’s phone chimed and she picked it up. “Madi. She says she’s at a meeting downtown and she’s fine.”
Jordan sped up and took the next left, angling toward downtown. They didn’t speak until Jordan parked outside the community centre with her four-way flashers on in a tow-away zone. She pulled out her phone.
“It’s been a weird few days,” Jordan said out loud as she typed. “And a weird night. Ali and I outside the community centre. Would be great to see your face and know everything okay.”
Jordan hit Send. The slow click-a-click-a of the hazard lights wore the very ends of Jordan’s patience. Ali was silent, her eyes fixed on the glass doors.
Madi came out about two minutes later. As Jordan and Ali both climbed out of the car to meet her on the sidewalk, Jordan took stock. Madi was tense, agitated. And maybe a little scared.
“Might be easier to implant me with a GPS tracker, Jordan,” Madi said, shoving her hands into her pockets. It was a weak volley, none of Madi’s usual snap.
“Maybe for your next birthday,” Jordan said.
Ali just looked between them, as if sensing the struggle they were having to engage in a real conversation, not this stilted awkwardness with too many things left unsaid.
“Well, I’m here,” Madi said, throwing up her hands. “And I’m fine. See?” Madi turned a slow circle. “Why don’t you two try a movie for your date night? This is pathetic.”
Madi seemed okay. But she was hiding something.
“Maybe you’re right. Thanks for putting up with us.”
Madi blinked, like she was expecting an argument. “It’s fine,” she said. “Whatever.”
Jordan caught Ali’s eye and gestured to the car. “We can head out. Maybe grab a coffee somewhere.”
“Sure,” Ali said, obviously unsure but willing to follow Jordan’s lead. If Madi needed them, she’d call. If she didn’t, Jordan had to respect her boundaries.
“Great,” Madi said.
“Great,” Jordan echoed as she took a few steps back on the sidewalk.
Helen Cavio came out of the glass door of the community centre. She smiled at Jordan and focused on Madi, completely ignoring Ali.
“Madi, I was wondering where you’d disappeared to.”
Madi looked uncomfortable, but she covered it quickly with forced nonchalance.
“Jordan was just checking up on me,” Madi said, keeping her eyes on Jordan. “But she and Ali have decided they have better things to do with their night.”
Helena looked between Madi and Jordan, still smiling. “I think you should invite them in. Share what we’ve been working on this evening.”
Madi turned and stared openly at Helena as if she’d just said something ridiculous. Jordan wasn’t sure what was happening. Madi looked nervous and Helena was nearly beaming. It was discordant.
“Madi?” Jordan said.
“Sure,” Madi said, looking back at Jordan. “Come on in.”
Jordan, Madi, and Ali followed Helena into the mostly empty community centre. She led them to a back conference room which had most of the tables and chairs pushed to one side. Fifteen or twenty men and women were in the room, which smelled of coffee, cookies, soap, and stale cigarette smoke.
Jordan recognized a number of people in the group, most of whom smiled and called out a welcome. A few looked like they didn’t care, and a few seemed somewhere between disgruntled and suspicious.
Helena went to the front of the room and Madi squeezed herself into a space in the corner. Jordan was used to seeing Madi at the gym where she was often front and centre, commanding and cajoling. She was always a presence.
“We have a few guests with us. Some of you know Jordan McAddie, my counterpart in youth services. And her friend…is it Alison?”
Madi jumped in before Ali had a chance to reply. “Alison Clarke. We work out together at the gym.”
Jordan thought it seemed like an odd way to characterize their relationship, but Ali just smiled. “That’s right. Madi usually kicks my ass.” A few people laughed, and one person elbowed Madi, who smiled shyly.
“Yes. Well, welcome,” Helena said. She looked briefly discomfited by Ali’s easygoing response, but she gestured at the wall where three large maps were clipped. “We’re discussing what it means to have a home, to be home. We have a world map, a map of North America, and a map of Halifax. The white pins are places we’ve lived. The red pins are places we have considered home.”
Jordan looked at the pins on all maps, most of them congregated on the map of Halifax but a few spread across Canada and some into the US. Only three white pins had made it to the wider world.
“There aren’t as many red,” Jordan said, taking in the maps all at once. “Is that what you’ve been talking about?”
Helena’s eyes lit up again and she nodded approvingly. “Yes, exactly.” She picked up a tray of pins. “Would you like to add to our map?”
“Sure,” Jordan said, stepping forward. She took white pins and put one in Halifax, one in Montreal, and one in upper New York State, both places she’d trained. Then she took a red and put it next to the white pin in Halifax.
“Very good. You’re welcome to speak to your choices, but you don’t need to.”
“I was born in Halifax, but it didn’t feel like home until I left and came back. That’s why a white and red pin.”
Jordan looked at Madi, who was now tucked up into the chair with her arms wrapped around her legs.
“Thank you,” Helena said. She too, glanced at Madi. “Madigan, did you want to make a connection?”
Madi looked like she wasn’t going to speak at first. “I did the same,” she said quietly. Then she spoke a little louder. “I put a white and red pin in Halifax because I’ve lived in so many foster homes here, but none of them felt like home.”
“But you searched for it and never gave up,” Helena said. “You never settled. You never let someone else tell you what it meant to have a home. Well done, Madigan.”
Madi looked like she wanted to be pleased by the attention, but she wouldn’t let herself. Madi looked around at the men and women, some of whom clapped her on the back and smiled encouragingly. Madi’s answering smile seemed pained. Jordan wondered why Madi was so conflicted in receiving this acknowledgement.
“Alison?” Helena said, drawing Jordan’s attention back. “You are welcome to add to our map.”
Ali stepped forward without hesitation and took a few white pins. She put one somewhere in Connecticut, one in Chicago, one in New York. Then she took a red pin and put it in Halifax.
Ali retreated to her spot beside Jordan, but she kept her eyes on the maps, as if searching for an answer she’d just given.
“Did you want to tell your story?” Helena asked.
“No, but thank you,” Ali said. Her voice was quiet and reflective.
Helena nodded and addressed the group. “I think the next time we are all together, we should talk about wants and needs of home. What all homes should have in common, regardless of income, background, history.” Helena closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “As always, I thank every one of you for sharing your strength. This connection makes your voice stronger. Never forget that.”
The meeting broke up, and Madi was swallowed up by the bustle of the large group. Jordan steered Ali to the exit, and they walked silently through the empty community centre, both obviously reflecting on what they’d just witnessed. Jordan held two thoughts in her head as they got in the car and drove through the quiet, dark streets. The first was that she felt relieved, to know she wasn’t the only one struggling with the understanding of home. And two, Madi was struggling with the attention from her peers and Helena. Something made her uncomfortable. Maybe this meant they were all wrestling with the effort of belonging.