I’ve never been inside The Unity Center before.
I’ve never actually seen the work.
It’s clean, well-lit. Tonight the place seems busy; I’d estimate about a hundred people in the dining area, enjoying dinner. The din is friendly-sounding, loud. Calligraphic script is painted across the wall at the far side of the room.
GIVE AND IT WILL BE GIVEN TO YOU.
—LUKE 6:38
My eyes travel over the faces here. As with the sermon, all walks of life seem represented in Project space. A girl who looks around my age with a small plate of food. She eats like a bird as her gaze flits nervously around the room. A raucous group of boys in their twenties take up a table. A pair of old women sit side by side, their free hands clasped tightly together. A man in a wheelchair. A woman holding her baby to her breast. What appears to be a family huddles together, talking happily.
“Hi,” a soft voice says beside me. “Is this your first time here?”
A young Asian woman gives me a kind smile. She’s wearing a bright pink shirt with The Unity Project’s logo subtly displayed over its pocket. Her hair is cut into a sleek bob, perfectly complemented by the delicate, kitten flick eyeliner at the corner of her eyes.
“Yeah, but I’m not—” I’m not quite sure how to finish the sentence. I clear my throat. “I’m here to meet Casey.”
“You’re Lo?” she asks. I nod and her smile widens. “Wow. Lo Denham.”
“That’s me.”
“I’m Mei. It’s so great to finally meet you,” she says, extending her hand. Finally? My surprise delays me enough to make it awkward. “Casey just touched base, she’ll be here shortly. She got a little held up, but please, sit down, grab a snack if you’re hungry, coffee, water.” I nod my thanks and she gives me a lingering smile as she returns to her duties, whatever they are.
I fade into the background, circling the room. Members move around the adjoining kitchen, preparing food. I notice counselors at every corner, eyeing the crowd. I watch as Mei takes notice of the nervous young girl. She makes her way over, her expression warm and inviting, and sits in the empty seat across from her.
I move a little closer.
“Are you safe?” Mei is asking by the time I’m near enough to hear and the girl frowns, asks her what she means. “Typically, when someone as young as yourself comes to The Unity Center, they’re in a crisis state. Maybe you extricated yourself from a potentially life-threatening circumstance … such as abuse or—”
“I’m not in that kind of trouble. I’m—fine.” The girl studies everyone around her and then looks down at the small plate of food she’s acquired. “I don’t think I need that kind of help.” She swallows. “Maybe I don’t have a good enough reason to be here…”
She moves to leave but Mei reaches across the table to stop her and the girl does stop.
From here, I can see her trembling.
“The Unity Project—that’s the group who’s behind The Unity Center, in case you didn’t know—believes one of the greatest problems we have societally is our collective misconception of what it is to be in need and what it is to need help,” Mei explains. “The world wants to see people hit rock bottom before they make use of our resources to get back on their feet. It’s very rare people come when they feel control over their life beginning to slip. They always come after, when so much of the damage has been done, if they come to us at all. You don’t have to be our worst case to be a worthy case.”
The girl’s eyes fill with tears, and she swallows, trying so hard to maintain control. I recognize everything about the way she’s holding herself, and it puts a knot in my throat.
Mei smiles at her.
“Would you like to talk to someone upstairs?”
The girl nods.
I exhale. I didn’t even realize I’d been holding my breath.
“Lo.”
I turn and Casey is here, looking even more harried than when I last saw her hours ago. She’s striving for some semblance of togetherness; her hair is in a tight ponytail at the back of her head. But it’s all in her eyes—I’m not seeing her at her best.
“We’ll go up to the staff room,” she says.
We have to walk through the second floor to get there. It’s made up of offices but has the respectfully quiet vibe of a library. Some doors are open, members working on computers or taking phone calls, others are closed, whiteboards on those doors declaring CONNECTION IN SESSION. If you need help beyond what The Project can immediately provide, they will find it for you. A name on one of the doors catches my eye.
“Is Dana here?”
“It’s not one of her days,” Casey says without turning around, as she leads me farther down the hall and up a short staircase. “She often works with vets, though, connecting them to peer support and financial programs, that sort of thing. When she came back from her tour, she just got thrown into the deep end. It traumatized her. She vowed to be there for others the way no one was for her.” She pauses. “I hope that’s the kind of thing you’ll put in your profile. There’s a lot more to us than meets the eye.”
“And even more to you than that,” I say, as we reach the third floor.
There’s a lounge here for Project members. A couch in front of a television, a small kitchenette, a few tables and chairs, and a room at the back with a row of beds for people working late. Casey nods in greeting to the few members here. They’re sipping coffee, taking a moment to themselves or talking to one another. She leads me to a small room around a corner, sectioned off from everything else.
“This is the quiet room,” Casey says, opening the door. “It’s hard, working here. To care for so many, to take on so many burdens … we wanted to make sure members had a place to steal away, to reconnect with themselves, pray—even if just for a moment.”
I step inside. It’s slightly claustrophobic, but could maybe be a refuge in the context Casey presents. There are no windows here. The walls have been painted a sky blue to compensate and there are plants at all corners of the room. A table sits neatly in its center. I don’t feel much like sitting, and neither does Casey. I lean against the wall while she smooths her hand over her head, taming flyaways that aren’t there.
“Why were you at Arthur’s?” she asks.
“Why was your brother?” I ask back. She clenches her jaw. “And I wasn’t at Arthur’s, I was keeping an eye out. When Lev offered me the profile, he said I could do it my way, on my terms. That’s what I was doing.” I study her. “What’s Daniel’s problem with The Unity Project? Between your dad and you, is he feeling left out?”
“My brother was there for my father—or at least that’s what he’d tell you.”
I stare at her.
“I thought your dad was a huge proponent of The Project’s work.”
I can see her thinking, her eyes moving back and forth, tracking nothing, lost. This is so far out of bounds of normal Project business, clearly so personal she doesn’t know how to speak about it. She finally sits in the chair at the table, and I can’t remember ever seeing her so small.