“If you take that diamond and you rub mud all over it, does that change the fundamental value of the diamond itself? No. If you abuse it, call it names, make it seem worthless. Why, it’s still a diamond, isn’t it? Despite your attacks. And if you project a career of low expectations onto that diamond, telling it to aim lower than what it is worth, what the diamond does in this world is only limited if the diamond believes you, right? You believed me. You believe it all. That’s the problem. Your belief.”

Mind reflects.

For the first time, I try to see beneath all the shit. I didn’t know there could be a me separate from the negative things I’d been taught to believe about myself. I believed them, even as I acted against them. All the voices and opinions. All the reflections of my worthlessness. I picked them up like bags on the side of the road and carried them with me through the days of my life. How come no one told me I could set them down? How come no one told me a diamond might be inside all the muck?

“Yes,” he says, stretching out the s at the end of the word. “You’re starting to understand now. Yes, someone should have told you. I should have told you. You have a very special purpose.”

He slowly starts to walk around his desk.

Body reacts in terror.

Eyebrows furrow.

Hands grip chair.

Mind stops.

A momentum brewing, off in the distance, like the train. A rumbling.

His sits on the desk in front of me. He looks like a mad scientist. He reminds me of Hypnotist Jerry. He speaks in a grandiose growl. He leans his head right in front of mine. He is so close I can smell his breath. His eyes lock mine, more than lock—pull some life force energy from me.

“Your purpose,” he states, “is to heal what is broken.”

A flash. Forward.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Letith us bow our heads in prayer for this, the Last Supper,” my mother says with an intense, furrowed brow. “As he spoke, so we speak. As he walked, we walk. May we be forever graced by his eternal presence.”

We are all sitting at the kitchen table, food steaming in front of us, despite the fact that we never all sit and eat together like this. The lights are low and candles are lit around the room. It feels more like a lair than a kitchen right now.

“Letith it be made new,” my mother continues.

“Why are you talking like that?” I ask. “Like you’re Jesus or something.”

“As he spoke, we speak, dear.”

“Letith us always be grateful,” she continues, “for the bounty you have bestowed. Most importantly, letith us find the courage to live in truth and walk in faith. In your name we pray, amen.”