I always thought of myself as a roll-with-the-punches kind of guy. I could adapt to any situation, much like a chameleon. Being calm and never buckling under pressure was an attribute I held dearly. An attribute that seemed to be slipping further away with each passing day. Leaving me feeling a little rougher for wear.
Wayne and I stayed up late, discussing work.
I resigned from Yevo. Now I had to wrap things up. I always imagined that if I ever left, I'd finish out the year. That would allow lots of time to find a replacement and transition them in. That wasn't the case. Basically, I resigned on Sunday and would announce it on Monday. Then I was done.
It was the hardest Monday of my life.
I held an emergency meeting with all the volunteers. They couldn't hear this from anyone else, it had to be from me.
They were shocked. There were lots of questions, a few tears, and more questions. I wanted to find a solution, find someone to take over, but Wayne said it was taking care of that and I had to trust him.
Everyone rallied and we came up with a plan. It would be a normal club, we'd do everything just the way we always did except I wouldn't run the show, the volunteers would do everything. That was good, I wasn't sure I had the emotional capacity to do much. At the end, I'd use my time up front to announce I was leaving.
I picked up the kids, like usual. We ate dinner, like usual we played games, like usual.
Except it was nothing like usual. I was barely holding myself together. I loved these kids and now I had to tell them that I was bailing on them. I didn't have a full speech prepared but I did have an outline. I wanted them to know that I would still be around and I'd still support them, but I wouldn't be at club. I wanted to promise I'd be back in one year but I couldn't. It wasn't fair to them or to me to make that commitment.
As the last game wrapped up and upcoming announcements were made, the leaders nodded for me to go up front. It was one of the bigger turn outs. It felt like the room was packed as every eye in the room watched me walk to the front of the room. My heart was racing as I stood there, trying to pretend like I wasn't breaking in two.
"Did you guys know that Youth Evolution Outreach was around when I was in highschool? In fact, I was one of the first student leaders. I loved it, it changed my life. I graduated highschool, studied two years at college before getting hired on staff full time while finishing my degree. The rest is history, so they say. I've always seen myself doing something with Yevo. I can't imagine doing anything else with my life, which is why this is the hardest club talk I've ever had to do."
The kids glanced around the room. They weren't dummies, they knew something big was coming. They might have even known exactly what was coming except it was the last thing they expected.
I could feel the lump building in my throat. "This is my last club," I choked out. The room filled with murmurs. "Every single one of you has impacted my life more than you'll ever know. If I had a fraction of that impact on you, then we're changing the world, one person at a time. If you leave tonight knowing one thing, it's that very little changes. I may not be here on Mondays, but you'll see me around. Most of you have my number and I hope you'll use it—"
The kids started shifting around. They started taking off their sweatshirts and tossing them aside. It took me a minute to realize what was going on. They all had matching shirts. I looked at the volunteers, they were standing in a row, wearing the same shirt that every other person in the room was wearing. It was black with white lettering and said Nash Vision.
Terri and Mark came and stood on either side of me.
"Nash has been a cornerstone for so many of us," Terri said. "Every week he brings us together, encourages us with his words, leads us with his actions, and makes us laugh with his videos. Visa might be everywhere you want to be, but Nash is everywhere you are, without fail. Nash has a vision and that vision includes every single one of you in this room. My question is, what's his vision mean to you?"
David stood up, he grabbed a cardboard sign he'd been sitting on and held it up. It read my broken home.
"When I first met Nash I was in the foster system. Nash's vision for me was that I was worthy of being loved. That was a foriegn concept to me, growing up in a home where I was hit everyday just because I was born. But he was there, at games, at school, giving me rides, encouraging me. He was the only person in my life who cared enough to show up. I don't always believe I'm worthy of being loved but I'm getting there, because Nash showed me."
I wiped my eyes.
David sat down and Jay, Len and Tia's son, stood up with his own sign. My own way.
"I know a lot of people look at me and think that I want for nothing. I was given a nice car, wear brand name clothes, and I'm a decent athlete, but I've always struggled with my family's expectations. They've always been vocal about what they think I should do but it hasn't always lined up with what I think I want to do. Nash's vision for me has always been my own. Time and time again he reminds me that I'm the one that has to live my life, not my parents, not my family. He's even offered to help have hard conversations when the time comes," he looked at me and smiled. "And I'll probably take you up on that when I'm senior."
I couldn't find the words so I gave him a thumbs up.
Kid after kid stood up, holding a sign and telling a story of how I impacted them and what my vision meant to them. So many testimonies.
I cried. I didn't even try not to. It was too authentic to try and downplay the significance of their words. When they finished their presentation we hung out. The mood was somber and sad.
Turned out the leaders had worked tirelessly prepping for club. They found someone to print shirts last minute and then met the kids at lunch and explained that they wanted to do something special for me.
It was late when I got home and I was a total mess. I went to bed crying; sure I'd made a terrible mistake, mad at Lee for stacking the deck against me, and questioning what I'd done in life to deserve everything I was going through. Then there was the guilt for leaving them behind.
Tuesday was a continuation of Monday's guilt plus the dread of all the Mondays to come. Wednesday brought momentary relief. I met with the lady lawyer Chambers had recommended. It wasn't an easy meeting but it gave me some much-needed direction. I left encouraged that I might finally move away from a marriage I was slowly detaching from.
To add a splash of irony, the meeting was Wednesday morning and then I had lunch with Lee. Surprise ending: it didn't go well.
I listened as he quietly ranted about outing our problems to the entire committee, causing problems for Paul and Shayla, and blah blah blah. He said a bunch of crap but I was too busy reading between the lines to pay attention.
"You fucking son-of-a-bitch," I growled. "You're still fucking with Paul."
Lee's eyes went wide. "No, no," he held his hand up. "No."
Articulate for a lawyer.
"Then how the hell do you know all these details?"
"Just because Paul told me doesn't mean anything," he defended.
"The fuck it doesn't," I seethed. "The fact you make me come to counseling while you're still talking to Paul in any capacity is insane. I can't—" I grabbed my jacket and started out of the booth. "I can't even deal with this. Who the fuck are you?"
We didn't do counseling that day and I was in a piss poor mood when I got back to the cottage.
The only thing for me to do was to try and find something in my life that wasn't affected by Lee's infidelity. No job: Lee. No money: Lee. Meeting with a lawyer: Lee. Counseling: Lee. Alone in a home that wasn't my own: Lee. Soon to be divorced, jobless, lying face down on the couch with my arm dangling over the edge as I stared into the grains of the hardwood floor: Lee.
I was a far cry from Nash Cushman of two months ago. The quintessential image of success was no longer my tagline.
My blanket of pitiful silence was broken by the deep rumble of Penn's truck. The engine cut out followed by gravel crunching. The front door squeaked softly as he opened, then closed it behind him. Ten steps across the wood floor was all it took before he saw my pathetic existence splayed over the couch like an unwanted throw.
Penn gently lifted up my head, slipped in, then set my head down on his lap.
