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I have, at one time or another, doubted myself. Doubt is a common side effect of remembering. It is human nature to assess what we can do according to what we have done. When I didn’t do so well yesterday, I have been afraid of making the same mistake again. At this point in my life, however, I realize that if I don’t remember what I did, I cannot do anything differently. If I don’t pay attention to the details of my actions, I will do the same thing over and over out of habit. I don’t want to do that anymore. If that means that I must search every little corner of my life until I understand what I do that gets me into places I don’t want to be, then I am willing to stay in the tub and remember and cry and be wrinkled and cry some more. I also believe that if I get any more wrinkled right now, my brain will shrivel and I won’t remember anything.

I decided to take a walk. Walking helps you remember. I got out of the tub, put on my favorite high-water dusty pink sweats, and hit the nature trail. The woods are a beautiful place to go to find yourself. At the beginning of this trail, there are giant weeping willow trees that hang over the path. They sometimes look like people, so I am never alone. I have talked to the weeping willows. I admit it. Thank God, they have never answered me. The willows know all of my secrets, and all of Rhonda’s, too. I have told them about her, and they have helped me remember.

There are several paths that lead into the woods. The one I chose was not straight. It snaked through the sun-dappled willows and poplars, winding sometimes to the east, then curving off toward the west. Some portions of the path were smooth and flat, offering an easy, casual stroll. Other times the road was rocky, with steep inclines that made your heart race and your breathing deeper. There were places where tall branches seemed to reach for the sky, inviting the bright sunlight to splash through to the wildflowers that bordered the path. Some stretches were thick with foliage that dared the light to pass and made you walk just a little bit faster. Rhonda and I stepped onto the path, took a deep breath, and headed for the clear, blue pond at the end of the trail.

By the time Rhonda realized that she was pregnant with Gary’s baby, he was trying his best to make himself invisible. Especially to Rhonda. She was only sixteen but had squeezed forty-five years of living into her short life. Rhonda was fragile, needy, and the therapist who treated her after the suicide attempt told her she was also “emotionally damaged.” Sometimes we learn things about ourselves that we would never know unless somebody told us. Sometimes people tell us things about ourselves that we really need to know. Other times, people would serve us better by keeping their thoughts and opinions to themselves. The lesson is in determining which is which. Rhonda had not yet learned that lesson.

Gary was an attractive, hormone-driven, nineteen-year-old track star. He had a fierce reputation as a ladies’ man. But Rhonda was new to Jefferson High School, and she had no way of knowing that. She had never been on a date, not a real high school date with a real high school boyfriend. Gary was hot stuff. He was from a stable home and destined to go to college. And he was clear. Rhonda was still bouncing around from one relative’s home to another’s, wondering where she could receive her subscription to Teen Life magazine. She felt unwanted and unsettled. She was not clear at all.

After the suicide attempt, she had stayed with Nett for a while, but the threat of eviction meant that she and Ray had to go live with Beanie. When Beanie’s boyfriend expressed too much interest in Rhonda, she went back to live with Nett. It was at that point that Ray decided to get off the “family-go-round.” He stayed with Beanie and was high most of the time.

The high school that Rhonda attended was a two-hour commute from Nett’s house, so she transferred to nearby Jefferson High School. Rhonda started dancing again and soon became the captain of