Free What Matters Most by Melody Carlson Page A

better if she walked and that her brain would work better if she talked and did the other activities that her therapist had given to her.
    “Video game?” she asked hopefully.
    I nodded. “Yes. But we have to walk first, okay?”
    “Walk first. Video game after?”
    I smiled and reached for her hand. “It’s a deal.”
    And so we walked and eventually, with the help of a nurse, made it to her room. We sat down and played a goofy video game that was designed for young children but is helping Marissa’s brain to heal itself.
    Finally it was nearly two o’clock. “I have to go now,” I told her. As usual, this made her sad. Sometimes she cries when I leave. Sometimes I get lucky, and someone else comes along to distract her. But today she got mad.
    “You bad!” she shouted. “Bad girl!”
    “I love you, Marissa.” I patted her shoulder. “And I’ll be back to see you soon.”
    She continued to yell at me as I slipped out the door, trying not to feel guilty. I know that it’s part of her brain recovering. The doctor told us that she’s at Level 6, which means she has all kinds of emotions, gets mixed up, has a short attention span, and can act childish. I know this…and yet it hurts to experience it. I so want her to get well and be her old self again. And although I keep praying, I have to admit that my faith isn’t as strong as I wish it was. I hope God understands.
    Maya’s Green Tip for the Day
    Okay, based on some things I’ve observed lately, both at school and elsewhere, I think it’s time to recycle some old conservation ideas. Now, I’m not naming names here, but you know who you are. (1) Turn off the lights when you leave a room. (2) If you’re cold, don’t automatically turn up the heat. Put on a sweater instead. (3) Don’t turn on the tap and let it run and run and run. (4) Get a reusable water bottle. I may sound like Ralph Nader or some obsessive environmentalist, but it’s worthwhile to remember the basics of conservation before you go out and waste a lot of time on expensive advanced techniques.

Eight
October 15
    I wasn’t consciously thinking that it had been more than two weeks since Shannon’s release or that I hadn’t heard from her since that first phone call, but when she called me this afternoon, I prepared myself for the worst. Enough time had passed for her to get into trouble. Was she using again? Had she linked up with some new questionable friends? Had she been rearrested?
    All the negative scenarios raced through my mind, but I wasn’t ready to hear her say that she’d gotten a job.
    “A job?” I said warily. “What kind of job?” I know what Shannon’s résumé looks like—a blank sheet. A short list of pathetic jobs flashed through my mind: flipping burgers, selling her blood…or maybe her body?
    “Well, it’s not very glamorous,” she said slowly.
    “Hey, a job is a job, Shannon. I think it’s cool that you’re working.”
    “My counselor helped me get it.”
    “Counselor?”
    “Yeah, part of the judge’s sentence included a treatment program.”
    “That’s cool.”
    She groaned. “You should see the losers in my therapy group, Maya. It’s definitely not cool. Not even close.”
    “I think it’s cool that you’re
doing
rehab, Shannon.”
    “Whatever.”
    We talked awhile longer—mostly she talked and I listened. She complained about her job, which turned out to be in fast food. She complained about her living conditions, which was group housing. She complained about my dad, which was ridiculous. And finally she complained about the L.A. area in general.
    “I hate it here, Maya. It’s such a rat race. And it gets worse every day.” Then she actually complained about the fact that whites were a minority now and how that was so terrible.
    I cleared my throat loudly. “Excuse me, Shannon,” I said in a firm voice, “but if you’re going to start insulting the nonwhite population, I might have to hang up.”
    “Oh, I didn’t mean
you
,