Taming Georgia

Chapter 1

1

Seven Years Later

“I might not be able to change the world, but I can make one person’s day a little brighter. There’s a euphoria that comes with that. It’s unlike anything else.”—Georgia Wright

I wake with a start. A small yelp escapes my lungs as I sit up in bed. I hold my hand to my chest, my breathing ragged.

It’s dark as I look around, trying to get a handle on my bearings.

Where am I?

One might think that this sensation of not knowing where I was would be an uncommon one, but they’d be incorrect. I actually wake quite regularly, not knowing where I am. That’s one of the downfalls of moving around as much as I do.

It takes me a minute to realize that I’m in Paige’s guest bedroom. I can breathe again. I allow my head to fall back to my pillow, but I don’t dare close my eyes. I can’t risk falling back into the nightmare I just awoke from.

I can still see the fear in Ye-jun’s face as he sprinted across the border between China and North Korea, fleeing the country he served. The moss-green military uniform he wore as he ran for his life said nothing of his loyalty, only of his desperation.

Some think that the soldiers in North Korea are treated well, seeing that they are serving their country, but they’re not. Their service isn’t a choice, and their quality of life is an afterthought. They are starving, just like the rest of their people.

Ye-jun’s life was so miserable that he was willing to risk it as he dashed into China with the guns of his brothers firing at his back.

The organization that I worked with tried to save him, but his injuries were too great. I held his hand as he took his last breath. The part that haunts me is that I got the feeling he was happy to die. His life on earth was so bad that his looming death was a relief.

How sad is that?

I can remember all of their faces—the ones we were able to save and the ones we weren’t. And the overwhelming similarity between them is that they were all willing to die to escape North Korea. Mothers risked their baby girls’ lives to escape. I can’t begin to imagine how bad life must be in order to sacrifice everything.

Honestly, the world is a messed up place. I’ve fed starving children. I’ve held people while they died from AIDS. I’ve tied myself to a hundred-year-old tree in the rainforest of the sss in an attempt to stop it from being chopped down. I’ve aided in rebuilding schools that were demolished from a hurricane. I’ve delivered clean water to people who acted as if it was the most amazing gift they’ve ever received. I’ve spent every free moment of my adult life trying to make the world better because I feel I have to.

I was born into money. I was given a trust fund amounting to hundreds of thousands of dollars simply because I existed. I had done nothing to earn it. Truthfully, part of me doesn’t even want it. My guilt overwhelms me.

I’ve always had all that I needed. So, I choose to spend my money traveling to places where I can help people in need. Giving myself in this way alleviates some of my guilt but not all of it. There is so much more to be done.

I should say that I chose—past tense—to spend my money on important travesties taking place. At the present time, I no longer have access to my trust fund. My parents hate that I travel and put myself in dangerous situations. So, when I came back from China a couple of weeks ago to surprise my sister, London, for her birthday, they seized their opportunity to cut me off, so I couldn’t leave again.

My dad still deposits a monthly allowance into my bank account so that I can afford my living expenses—not quite enough to travel the world, but more than enough to live comfortably. The concept of being cut off doesn’t mean the same to me as it would to others—yet another privilege that brings me shame.

I suppose I don’t blame my parents for wanting me to stay in the same country as them. If I had a daughter, I’m sure I’d feel the same way. I’d want to know that she was safe.

My sister’s best friend, Paige, offered me her guest bedroom until I figure out where I’m going next. I accepted her offer immediately. I love my parents, but I love them more when I’m not living with them. I’m sure I could’ve stayed with London as well. Yet she and her husband, Loïc, are still newlyweds, and they’re trying to conceive a baby. I didn’t want to cramp their style.

I roll out of bed and put my running gear on, making sure to wear my fleece-lined leggings, as it snowed last night. When I step out onto Paige’s front porch, my face is assaulted with a bitter wind. The sun is just starting to peek up over the eastern sky, and it’s freezing.

I’m not a fan of the cold, but then again, I’m not a fan of watching my mom and her acroyoga coach bending their bodies into weird positions in the middle of the living room as I’m trying to watch reality TV. Nothing ruins a good episode of Property Brothers like seeing my mom’s a*s in the air.

Yes, Paige’s place in Michigan, cold and all, is better than living with my parents.

As I jog down the sidewalks of Ann Arbor, certain buildings and places bring back memories. London went to college in this town, and I visited her several times. Plus, once upon a time, I lived here with my family for a few months. There aren’t many places I haven’t lived.

Despite the cold, the fresh snowfall is stunning. A blanket of white covers everything, creating a clean canvas to start the day. With each crunch of snow beneath my feet, I pull the brisk air into my lungs. The icy burn feels oddly pleasant and invigorating.

I turn the corner onto Main Street and see a homeless man huddled with his dog against a building. The two of them are wrapped in a tattered fleece blanket, and my heart sinks.

“Come on, Georgia,” my mom says from the sidewalk.

I hop down from the car and shut the door, skipping over to meet her.

“Sorry, I couldn’t get my seat belt undone,” I tell her.

“It’s okay. We don’t want to be late for our appointment. Unfortunately, I couldn’t get a closer parking spot, so we’re going to have to walk for a few minutes,” she says.

I love spa days with my mom. She usually takes both London and me, but today, it’s just me. We started a new school last week, and London made a friend. She has a playdate with her today. I was a little jealous when she told me that they were going to Chuck E. Cheese’s. Mommy never lets us go to Chuck E. Cheese’s. She says that the food is garbage, the games are germy, and the prizes are crap.

I don’t know if that’s true since I’ve never been, but it sure looks awesome on the TV commercials. But I stopped feeling jealous when Mommy told me that we were going to have a spa day, just the two of us. Mommy said we were getting our hair done, a manicure, and a pedicure. She even said that I could get designs on my nails if I wanted.

Mommy gets some other stuff done, too. But she says I have to be grown up for that stuff.

Sometimes, the salons have this yummy lemon water that they give me, and sometimes, they have cucumber water. I really hope they have the lemon today. I think the cucumber water tastes like grass.

I walk fast next to Mom as she pulls my hand. Her heels click against the pavement, and it sounds like small drums.

Sitting up ahead on the sidewalk is a man. His beard is long, and his clothes are dirty. He has a bucket in front of him. When we pass him, I pull my hand from my mom’s grasp and turn to face him.

“Hi,” I tell him. “I’m Georgia.”

“Hi, Georgia. I’m Stan,” he says.

He sounds nice. He seems like he’s younger than my dad, but when I really look at his eyes, they look older, like my grandpa’s.

I feel my mom pull my arm.

“Let’s go, Georgia.”

I look down in his bucket and see that there’s some change. There are a couple of pennies and a quarter.

“Mommy, can I have some money?” I ask as she continues to pull me away from Stan. “Mom, stop,” I tell her.

Doesn’t she see that Stan needs money?

“Let’s go now,” she says in her mad-mommy voice.

As Mommy pulls me away, I look back at Stan, and he smiles and waves at me. I don’t know why, but I start to cry.

“Mommy, he doesn’t have any money,” I tell her through my sobs. Maybe she doesn’t know. “He might be hungry. We need to give him some money.”

“We don’t have time for this, Georgia. We’re going to be late. It’s not polite to make Gretchen wait,” she snaps at me.

“But it won’t take long,” I plead.

“I don’t have extra cash! I need it for Gretchen’s tip. You stop acting like this right now, or I’m not bringing you next time.”

Mommy never gets mad at me, so the anger in her voice makes me stop questioning her. When we get to the salon, the receptionist tells us that we’re a little early for our appointment and that we can have some cucumber water while we wait.

Our spa date isn’t as fun as it usually is. I don’t talk to Mommy, and she doesn’t talk to me. I keep thinking about Stan and wondering if his tummy is hurting. Sometimes, when I don’t eat, I get a tummy ache.

When all of Mommy’s procedures are finished, she pulls out her wallet to pay Gretchen. She has a big wad of bills in her hand, and she only gives Gretchen two of the bills. The rest go back in her purse.

I feel like I hate my mom. I know I really don’t and that I’m just mad. It’d be impossible for me to really hate her. Yet, right now, I do. She lied to me. I think Stan knew she was lying, too. I wonder how that made him feel. I hope he’s not sad.

Maybe now that she knows she has enough money, we can give him some on the way back.

“Mom,” I say as we walk back to the car, “can we stop by and give Stan—”

She cuts me off, “Stop. Not another word about the bum, Georgia.”

“But we have extra money.”

She stops walking and turns to face me. “Listen.” Her voice is softer now, and I’m happy she isn’t mad. “There are tons of homeless people in the world. I know you want to help them. I do, too. But we can’t. If we give all of our money to the homeless people, then we won’t be able to pay for our house, and we’ll be living on the street. Don’t you see that if you help everyone, you won’t have anything left for yourself?”

“I know, Mom. But I don’t want to help everyone. I just want to help Stan.”

“Did you listen to what I said? We can’t help everyone, Georgia. It’s just the way it is.”

“But—” I start to protest.

“No more. I’m serious,” she says sternly before smiling. “Now, where would you like to eat?”

I shake the memory from my head and stop running. Looking up and down the street, I see most places are still closed, but I notice a gas station open a block down.

I run to it.

The selection is pretty good for a gas station. I’m assuming this one is frequented by drunk college kids coming home from parties at all hours of the night.

“Can I help you find anything?” the clerk asks me as he stocks the shelves with canned goods.

“Do you guys carry dog food?”

“Yeah, two aisles over.” He points in front of him.

“Great. Do you have an ATM?”

“Yep, back by the restrooms.” He sticks up his thumb and swings it behind him.

“Awesome. Thank you.”

I grab a small bag of dog food, some snacks, and some sausage and cheese sticks. The idea of unrefrigerated meat and cheese grosses me out, but there’s not much in the way of protein in this store. Plus, they won’t go bad if he doesn’t eat them right away. I throw some more nonperishable food items into the basket and grab a six-pack of water. I withdraw two hundred dollars from the ATM and pay.

Arms full of supplies, I walk back toward the homeless man. The memory with my mom and Stan is still vivid. I’ll never forget that day. I’ve thought about it a lot since it happened. It’s honestly one of the saddest days of my life. It’s the day that I realized that I didn’t want to grow up to be anything like my mom.

That’s a hard reality for a little girl to swallow. At that age, one’s mom is their everything. But after that day, my mom wasn’t mine. It was also the day I first started to feel guilty for who I was, for the family I had been born into.

I reach the man and softly say, “Good morning,” afraid to startle him.

He lifts his head up from his knees. “Good morning.”

His dog sniffs me a few times, and he must decide that I’m cool because his tail starts wagging.

“I hope it’s okay that I brought you some things.” I set the bag down beside him.

“Oh. Sure. Thank you.” He smiles up to me.

“Hi, I’m Georgia.” I extend my gloved hand to shake his.

He reaches his hand out toward mine. “I’m Mark.”

“Nice to meet you, Mark.”

I bend at my knees and pet Mark’s dog. He’s a gray pit bull. His mouth is big, smiling with a long tongue hanging out the side.

“He’s so cute,” I say as I hold his big head in my grasp.

“Yeah, I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

“I brought you a small bag of dog food, but I can bring you more if you need it.”

“No, that’s okay. I get free food and vet care for him at Cooper’s Place.”

I’m happy to hear this sweet boy is getting cared for by a veterinarian. “That’s awesome. What’s Cooper’s Place?”

“It’s a local pit bull rescue. The owner’s really great. He’s helped me and Stanley boy here out a lot.” Mark reaches out and pats his dog’s back.

My eyes widen. “Your dog’s name is Stanley?”

Mark nods, and his eyes narrow slightly before he answers, “Stan, Stanley, or sometimes Hey You will work, too. Why?”

I shake my head and chuckle. “I used to know a Stan. I was just thinking about him actually.”

He nods as if he understands. “It’s a good name.”

“Yeah, it is. Isn’t it?” I smile and pull the cash that I withdrew from my account from my pocket. “I have this for you, too. I thought you might need a warm coat, boots, or another blanket or something. The gas station didn’t have much in the way of those types of things, but hopefully, this will help you.”

Mark takes the money. “Wow. Thank you, Georgia. This is all too much.”

I shake my head. “No, it’s not. I wish I could do more. Is there anything else you need help with?”

“No, you’ve done plenty. Believe me. You’re an angel.”

“I don’t know about that.” I let out a laugh. “But I try to help out when I can.” I pull Stanley’s ears between my fingers. “Stan, huh?” I say more to myself than anyone. “Mark, do you ever get the feeling that you’re exactly where you’re meant to be?”

“I do. I was meant to be sitting here on this delightful, snowy day so that I could meet you, Miss Georgia.” He smiles wide, and I notice he’s missing quite a few teeth.

“You know, I normally don’t believe in things like that, fate and such. But I have to say, I feel like I was meant to meet you and Stan today.”

He nods. “I think you were.”

“Well, I hope we meet again, Mark and Stan.” I pet the dog once more before standing.

“I’m always here, so there’s a good chance that we will,” he replies.

“Have a great day.” I wave.

“You, too, Miss Georgia. Thanks again.”

I turn away from my new friends and begin my jog back to Paige’s house with a large grin plastered across my face.

My mom was so wrong.

Sure, maybe I can’t help everyone, but today, I helped Mark and Stanley, and that’s the best feeling there is. I might not be able to change the world, but I can make one person’s day a little brighter. There’s a euphoria that comes with that. It’s unlike anything else. More than anything, I’m sad my mom doesn’t get to experience it.

My dad might be able to keep me in the States for now by limiting my funds. But there’s plenty of good I can do here.

I think Stan—the dog or the person—might have been trying to tell me that. My life has a purpose again, and I don’t care who my parents are; they can’t take that away from me.