Trials Of Thelma: Unbroken

First Love (Part 1)

Thelma's POV

I remember the first time I saw Goodwin. It was one of those blazing Sunday afternoons, the kind where the heat seems to press down on you from all sides. I had just finished Bible class and was looking forward to spending some time with Justin when Cajetan, the leader of our church’s afternoon activities, called for everyone's attention.

“We have a new member joining us today,” Cajetan announced, his voice booming. “Everyone, this is Goodwin.”

Goodwin stepped forward, tall and confident. He had a certain air about him that I immediately disliked. He seemed too proud, too self-assured. As he scanned the room, his eyes met mine briefly, and I quickly looked away. I don't need to give him the chance to think I want to be on friendly terms with him.

He was tall and lean, with sharp features and a smirk that seemed permanently etched on his face. That definitely spells trouble maker. Guess what? I was right.

He always seemed to be around, doing little things that irked me. He would challenge my answers in Bible class, interrupt my conversations with Justin, take the seat next to mine during Bible class or make snide comments about my football skills. He always made his presence known in a way that felt almost deliberate.

One afternoon, I had had enough. After he made a particularly snarky remark about my new hairdo, I confronted him.

“Nice hairdo,” he said with a smirk, not sounding sincere at all. “Trying to impress someone?”

I glared at him, my patience snapping. “Why do you always have to be such a jerk?” I retorted, crossing my arms tightly across my chest.

Goodwin’s smirk faltered for a moment, replaced by a look of genuine surprise. “I didn’t realize you cared so much,” he said, his tone softening slightly.

I could feel my anger bubbling up.“Of course, I care! You’re always around, always making snide comments. What’s your problem?”

He looked away, kicking at the dirt with his shoe. “I didn’t mean to upset you, Thelma. I just... I don’t know how else to get your attention.” That caught me off guard. I blinked, processing his words. “Get my attention? By being a nuisance?”

Goodwin’s eyes met mine, and I saw a vulnerability there that I hadn’t noticed before. “I guess I’m just not good at this,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Not good at what?” I demanded, still fuming but now also curious.

“Talking to you. Being around you” he said, his eyes flickering with uncertainty. “You make me nervous, Thelma.”

I was about to respond when Cajetan, the leader of our afternoon activities, called out for us to help set up the football field. Goodwin and I exchanged a look before he reluctantly walked away to join Cajetan.

As I watched him go, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Goodwin than I had given him credit for. Maybe he wasn’t just the arrogant boy I thought he was. Maybe he was just as unsure and nervous as I was.

Later that evening, after the activities had ended and everyone had started going home, I walked faster to catch up with Goodwin.“Can I talk to you for a minute?” I asked Goodwin, my voice steady but my heart racing.

He nodded, his eyes searching mine for any sign of the anger I had displayed earlier. “I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier,” I began, not quite sure where to start. “It’s just... you always seem to know exactly how to get under my skin.”

Goodwin smiled sheepishly. “I guess I have a talent for that.” I couldn’t help but smile back, despite myself. “Why do you do it?”

He hesitated, then shrugged. “I like you, Thelma. I have since the moment I saw you. I just didn’t know how to show it.”

My heart skipped a beat at his confession. “ Wow... You could have tried being nice,” I suggested, my tone lighter.

He chuckled, a sound that was surprisingly pleasant. “I’ll keep that in mind.” We continued walking silently, the tension between us easing into something more comfortable.

“Truce?” he asked, holding out his hand. I took it, shaking firmly. “Truce.”

As I headed towards the direction of my house, I couldn’t help but wonder. Maybe Goodwin wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for us to be friends.

But for now, we had a truce, and that was enough.

********* Months Later********

After our truce, I started to see a different side of Goodwin. We were paired up for a church project, and during our time together, he began to open up. It started slowly, with casual comments about his day, but gradually, he revealed more about himself.

One evening, as we cut the grass on one side of the church, Goodwin looked up and said, “You know, my dad used to be a painter.”

I glanced over at him, surprised. “Really? Do you paint?”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe. He taught me a lot before he passed away.”

I put down my cutlass and moved closer to him. “I’m sorry, Goodwin. I didn’t know.”

He shrugged, trying to play it off. “It was a long time ago. But it’s hard sometimes, you know? Especially for my mom.”

I could see the sadness in his eyes, a depth of pain that I hadn’t noticed before. “Tell me about her,” I said softly.

“She’s amazing,” he said, a hint of pride in his voice. “She’s been raising me and my sisters all on her own since my dad died. She works so hard, and she’s always tired, but she never gives up. She’s the strongest person I know.”

I nodded, feeling a deep respect for his mother. “It must be really tough for her.”

“It is,” he admitted. “But she’s determined to give us a good life. Cajetan has been a huge help, too. He’s like a father to me.”

“Cajetan is a good man,” I agreed. “He cares about you a lot.”

“Yeah, he does,” Goodwin said, a genuine smile breaking through. “He’s always pushing me to be better, to work hard and take care of my family. He’s been a blessing.”

I couldn’t help but feel a growing admiration for Goodwin. He wasn’t just the arrogant boy who had annoyed me for weeks; he was someone who carried a lot on his shoulders and still managed to find a way to smile.

He turned to me and said, “You’re different, Thelma. You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met.” You’re kind, and you listen. You make me want to be a better person,” he said, his voice sincere.

I didn’t know what to say. No one had ever said anything like that to me before. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

He smiled, and for the first time, I saw him without the walls he had built around himself. He was vulnerable, real, and it made me care for him even more.

One evening, as we finished our work and prepared to leave, he handed me another letter. “I wrote this for you,” he said, looking a bit nervous.

I took the letter, my heart pounding. “Okay... I’ll read it as soon as I get home.”

As I walked back home, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of anticipation. “What could he have possibly written?” When I finally opened the letter, my heart skipped a beat at his words: