When We Were Worthy

by Marybeth Mayhew Whalen

People were trying to be respectful, to be comforting, but it all just felt so garish, like a carnival instead of a funeral.

“Better watch it, girl—you’re playing with fire.” But her mother’s words fell on deaf ears, then and now. In the hazy bubble of suburbia and domesticity, Ava had forgotten how much she liked playing with fire, how instead of burning it merely warmed her skin.

she hated that those words had ever come out of her mouth, despised her constant need to improve upon this child who was, in hindsight, already just fine.

She could not picture them anywhere other than heaven. It made her believe in it more, now that she needed somewhere for them to be.

varsity cheerleader while still a sophomore, she would later learn, was every bit as momentous as Diane Riggle being crowned Miss Georgia. Back then she’d felt lucky, singled out, blessed. She’d felt worthy.

How like a teenager to filter information through how it fit in his world, forgetting altogether that there were other ways people fit, other meanings they held in other lives.

something that resided somewhere deep inside her, in spite of circumstances to the contrary. Something she both hated and loved about herself, the eternal cheerleader. She felt it well up inside her chest, buoyant and irrepressible: hope.

She welcomed it. She welcomed every part of Mary Claire—even the parts she used to correct and complain about.