Read Online The Almost Murder and Other Stories by Theresa Saldaña - Free Book Online

were in the front row, with their parents and my own behind them. I opened up and told them how I felt, and all I’d learned.
    The patients and families raved about my “Transitions” talk, so Marta asked me to give a shortened version and lead a support group every first Friday of the month. I was thrilled to accept.
    From then on, my parents treated the group, “Transitions,” to pizza after each discussion. We moved the gathering from the big meeting room to the more intimate Burn Café. Of course, I led it as a youth peer and volunteer, not as a professional.
    We focused on transitions and making steps toward specific goals. Kids and adults told me how much I was helping them to prepare for life outside. They helped me as much, or more, than I helped them. I was glad to feel useful and trusted.
    Little Alexia told me so much about her therapist and how much the sessions helped her, that I decided it was time for me to get some professional help. My parents were thrilled, and Delgado found a woman who specialized in counseling young women. Some had eating disorders; others had phobias or issues similar to mine.
    I was nervous before my first meeting with Eva Barzel, but we connected right away and I relaxed, kicking myself for not starting therapy sooner. She helped me put my pieces together and gave me encouragement beyond anything I’d expected. I went twice a week.
    Three weeks into our sessions, Alexia was discharged and went home to San Diego. I missed her like crazy, but we talked by phone and e-mailed. We still do.
    Within a month, I asked Eva what she thought of my new idea: to apply for admission at UCLA as a psych major. I wanted to help others, just like her. Eva knew this move was perfect for me, and I heeded her guidance. She wrote my recommendation letter, and I was accepted.
    Now, I’m in my second year of the program. I love UCLA, but the place where I’m getting my real education is St. Joseph’s Burn Unit, my home away from home, a place to help and heal.
    No day on the unit is the same. Patients come; patients go. Patients struggle; patients fight. Most of the time, they win. They battle through their inside and outside pain. And then they move on, scarred but strong.
    I connect with the souls of even the most disfigured of my friends at St. Joe’s. I see the light shining, the weeping hearts, the triumph of recovery.
    Scars, skin grafts, patches of purple, flesh raw and peeling, are just part of the shells of the people I know, including myself. While once I hid in anger and self-pity, I now hold my head up high. Today, I see the scars as badges of survival.
    The patients at St. Joe’s come in every shape, size and color. Race plays no role at all on the unit. In fact, burns literally peel away the layers of color which can pull people apart. Those who suffer, and others who help them, are bound together by grit, determination and love.
    Grandpa González was a World War II veteran. Often, he would say, “There’s no atheist in a fox-hole.” And, in my experience, there’s no racist on a burn unit.
    Scars—my own and those of others—play a major role in my life. They teach me to forgive unkindness, endure pain and handle sorrow by helping others. Each night, I bless every one of my scars and know they were granted to me as a special gift. Without them, I wouldn’t be the person I am today.
    Never in my life, before becoming a part of the Burn Unit, would I have thought that scars—big or small, fat or wide, gnarled or flat—could be wildly, spiritually beautiful. But today, I do.

The Almost Murder
    I’m a child of violence, but I refuse to let it take me down. I was thirteen when my father tried to kill my mom. It happened two years ago, but every second of that night is implanted in my brain.
    It was a Thursday and almost time for supper. Mom was at the stove, and I was helping Abuela make the
pastelillos
, meat