“I don’t know about this.”
Jordan watched Madi fidget with the sleeve of her black sweater. Madi was looking nervously around the ballroom of the posh downtown Chicago hotel hosting Centera Corp’s annual general meeting. Men and women in suits and ties, expensive shoes and pressed shirts filled the space along with the near-deafening din of chatter and the smell of coffee.
“Hey, I have to present, too,” Ali said, looking utterly relaxed in her summer-weight grey suit and light blue shirt. “Every one of the executives is nervous about their homework assignment.”
Madi didn’t look convinced.
Jordan exchanged a look with Ali, seated on Madi’s other side. They’d talked endlessly about whether or not this was a good idea. It had been six months since the incident on the bridge. They’d all healed from the cuts and bruises, but Madi’s confidence had taken a huge hit and was still in recovery. Her and the rest of the kids being cleared by the police of any wrongdoing had helped. Spending time with Jordan and Rachel outlining her involvement with the Unharm group had helped as well, releasing some pent-up secrets.
It had helped Jordan, learning that Madi had only joined when she’d heard some of the kids were involved. She’d used Helena’s twisted attachment to her to try and keep the others safe. And keep Jordan out of it. Knowing Madi was expected to testify at Helena’s trial in eight months was still a worry. Madi see-sawed up and down, steady and not. She was working so hard, and Jordan wished she could start feeling the payoff for all her effort.
“You two all ready? We’ll be getting started in a moment.”
Tom Lawrence leaned on the back of a vacant chair, looking eager about the day’s event.
Madi nodded. “I’m ready,” she said quietly.
Tom looked at her sympathetically. “It’s okay to be nervous, Ms. Battiste. I recognize I’ve put a lot of pressure on you as our first speaker. But I think your message will set the tone for the day. I can’t thank you enough for being here. For being a mentor to Alison.”
Madi cocked her head to the side, and a small smirk emerged. “You’re thanking me even though you’re losing one of your top executives? Your project turned into corporate headhunting. Bet you never expected that.”
Tom laughed, and Madi’s eyes sparkled with some of her old spirit. “No, you are very right. But I’ve known for a long time Alison was ready to move on. I wish her nothing but the best.” Tom and Ali exchanged an understanding smile.
Ali would be starting at a small start-up firm in Halifax in August. She’d sold her condo in Chicago and was making her move home permanent in just a few weeks. Jordan’s heart thudded a happy-scared rhythm. They were looking for a place together. It was finally time.
Tom straightened and clapped his hands together once. “We need to get this show on the road. I’ll say a few words and then you’re up, Ms. Battiste. Break a leg.”
Madi nodded, this time with a set to her shoulders that reminded Jordan of her old confidence.
Jordan shifted in her seat and took a sip of her nearly cold coffee in the small china cup. She straightened the lapel of her new blazer. Madi caught her fidgeting and rolled her eyes.
“Cut it out. You don’t have to present and you look hot in that outfit.” She turned to Ali. “Doesn’t she?”
Ali smiled and raised her eyebrows. “Yes, she does.”
“Shut up, both of you,” Jordan muttered, making them both laugh. She wished Ali was sitting beside her right now. She tried to remember these were still Ali’s colleagues and this was still her place of work.
Up at the podium, Tom called for everyone’s attention and cracked a joke about the similarities between executives and preschoolers. The room quieted, and the lights dimmed as Tom launched into a short speech about why they were all here. He pulled no punches and Jordan respected him for that. He spoke of their previous failures without judgement or excuse. He outlined the purpose of the mentorship project and the itinerary for the day.
“First on the agenda is a young woman from Halifax who I have had the honour of getting to know over most of the last year. She is a poet and a leader, and when she speaks, we should all listen. Madigan Battiste, the stage is yours.”
Madi stood and approached the stage as Ali and Jordan clapped and whistled. Jordan thought her heart would burst with pride as Madi climbed the steps of the stage and shook Tom’s hand. Jordan felt Ali slip into the seat beside her and was grateful for her closeness. Madi looked at the height of the podium, then pulled the mic free of its stand and walked a few steps away. The spotlight followed her and the clapping died down. It was just Madi on the stage, and Jordan could see as she closed her eyes, took a breath, and started to speak.
“I wake each morning. I evaluate my body, consciously connecting my cerebrum to my limbs and lungs and lips. I try to calculate which synapses are firing today, which receptors are taking in not enough or just enough or too much. I ask myself, will I balance today? Or will I tilt, rushing headlong into a high that feels so right and so terrifying at the same time? Will I fall, will I lay myself out under the weight of a thousand feet, trampled and invisible. Hurting. Will I balance today?
“You ask if I will accept your help. I will not. Not again. You have weighed me down for too long. Each letter of each diagnosis another weight you hand me when I have just cracked open my ribcage along its fault line and revealed to you that I am already drowning. You weigh me down and then you shake your head when I refuse your help, refuse to express my gratitude. But I cannot speak. I am already filled with water.
“Never forget I only smile because you demand proof of life. I stretch my lips and reveal all my teeth, leaving you self-satisfied and me empty. That is not love, or help, or understanding. I will no longer bare my teeth to make you feel better.
“I wake each morning. I remind myself I have learned to tread water. I remember there are days I reach high ground. I ache for the day the water will hold me close and hold me up. Until then I find gratitude in my chest for the people in my life who understand that there are moments I hate them for loving me. I am nearly convinced their love is a perpetual motion machine. Soon I will let those words pass my lips. But not yet. I wake each morning.”
The crowd was stunned, a silence so pervasive it was as if Madi’s words had beat them down like a concussive force. Then the room seemed to take a collective breath, and they clapped. Jordan, recognizing only now that she was clenching Ali’s hand so tightly she could feel the delicate bones, released her and clapped along with the crowd who rose to applaud Madi’s words and her bravery.
Madi bowed her head briefly in acknowledgement, then searched the crowd, finally finding Jordan and Ali standing and clapping along with everyone else. She grinned at them and raised her fist in a silent salute. Jordan swallowed the tears and the pain and let herself feel the joy of Madi’s moment. And as she took her seat and took Ali’s hand, Jordan’s heart thumped in contentment with the security of knowing home.