Act 1, Scene II: Jesse

There is a lot of pain in my story.

Yet I wouldn't say I've lived a sad life.

There were moments that accompanied every dark confliction that made me smile bigger and more genuinely than some people experience in their lifetime.

You know whats even better? When those moments that make you smile are actually people.

That was Jesse.

Jesse walked into my first residential treatment center with such a rage that the little 12 year old me hid in the pillows of the couch.

She had black hair and amongst many piercings- dimple piercings were the first I noticed. Her tattoos reached from head to toe, engraved with the stories she wished to remember.

Jesse was not afraid to drop every cuss word in both the English and Spanish language to prove her point.

She grew up on the streets and had a tendency to fight to get what she wanted. She understood what it meant to have your own back. Her tough exterior would have fooled anyone who had heard that she was one of the brightest lights in my life.

Jesse was 6 years older than I, but in many ways, years more than that. The first therapy group we were in together, she told of stories that I could have never imagined.

The details of tragedies she endured. They were so foreign to me at the time. The only context I had were the memories of scary criminal movies my parents would never let me watch.

Those ones I would overhear as I sat on the top of the staircase, way past my bedtime.

I was too afraid to talk when she was there.

So I sunk as far down into the chair as I could.

Somewhere along the way, small talk transformed into a connection.

Many people misunderstand gangs or people on the streets- but one of the most beautiful qualities within them is the love and loyalty they exhibit to those they consider family. Jesse saw the child I was and took me under her wing.

I became her little sister and was then always safe because she had my back .

The closer Jesse and I got, the better both of us became.

Our friendship brought out the joy we used to know within ourselves.

Jesse taught me how to draw, to tag, to use whatever creative outlet I could to try to portray the message or feelings I needed to release.

She taught me that every drawing didn't deserve to be thrown away if I messed up- to keep going and see what beautiful masterpiece is then created.

In a way, I think she was referring to herself.

She felt people would write her off as a mistake to society instead of people putting in the work- the love, the patience, the time- to see the beauty she truly had.

The more you got to know Jesse, the more you saw the love she had to offer to the world. You didn't see the piercings or tattoos, you saw those big bright eyes.

There was one memory that sticks out more than any.

One afternoon, we decided to make up a dance in the backyard of our treatment home. We stood in front of the glass doors and used the reflection as our mirror. We danced to Disturbia and for the first time in a long while- I didn't look at my reflection with disgust.

I saw a body- a heart that was now able to be out of a wheelchair and move, I had legs that let me hop without shaking, I heard a laugh that didn't make me dizzy, but instead happy,

I felt what being alive was like again.

We were both discharged around the same time.

There was a tradition at the treatment center we were at- to pick a rock and paint it so you can leave your mark on that house.

So we could give hope to the new patients.

Jesse and I chose 2 big rocks that fit perfectly together.

We made our rocks' designs complete one anothers. She kept me going. She kept me safe.

Years later, I received a call that Jesse didn't make it. That her heart failed from a mix of her eating disorder, diabetes and addiction.

Jesse gave me a big sister- a protector.

She gave me life.

I think that spunky, spontaneous spirit that took little moments and made them worth a lifetime caught a hold of my heart- and I will forever spread that to the world for you Jess.

Rest easy

Love,

Your Little Sis