Love Rewards The Brave
Page 3
I want to believe in him.
But I know the way he’s knocked over the tables
in the social worker’s office.
I know how school won't let him come back because
he’s a learning disturbance.
I know that at twelve years old
the only time he was told
NO
and accepted it
was from me.
Scratch that.
NO is not a part of our history.
We were always taught to say
YES.
20.
He’s scratching his face now.
Fighting hard to breathe now.
Screaming about the way it used to be now.
And the lady at the park
the one who watches our moves
and makes us talk in whispers
so she will approve
is making her way to the bench on which we sit.
Making her way through the sand
to tell him it’s time to go.
I just wish she’d see
that he’d do so much better if
you just let him have his fit.
Let him get all those feelings out
instead of making him push them back down.
Way down.
We get in the car.
Benji screaming at everything.
Because he can't handle anything the truth
that he’s alone
And that everyone left him
to stand on his own.
Own two feet.
He doesn't believe he can
bear the weight of his body.
So instead
he
crumbles.
21.
Ms. Francine is in the kitchen when I get home.
"How was your time with Benji?"
She asks in the sort of way
that makes you feel
like she already knows the whole deal.
The whole story from someone else's mouth.
Like someone is in more control
of you
than you are.
It makes me feel like I’m living
behind prison bars.
"Benji was Benji. But, um, I was wondering if maybe he could come stay for a few days. Like, over a weekend?"
"I don't know, Louisa. I know his caseworker has been pushing for him to return to a foster home, but I just don't know if here is the best place for him."
"Whatever. I know you don't like him anyways."
"That isn't what I mean at all. I work and he can't be left alone unsupervised."
"Fine."
I finish eating my buttered peas
and listen to her talk about the library’s
new book fees
and how her Tai-Chi
class was cancelled.
All I want is this night to be cancelled.
I go out on a limb for him.
Try and make it good for him
right for him
and somehow
that mostly means getting shot down
and it makes me wonder
if he’s right.
Maybe we should just
leave
retreat
otherwise we
will always live in
defeat.
And I want more than that.
For him
and me
and my family.
22.
It’s always the same.
I show up at the office where Mom is supposed to be.
Right time, right place,
trying hard to get a steady look upon my face.
It never works out well.
And there’s one thing I’m feeling sick of:
showing up
right time, right place
and leaving the office
sixty minutes later with a sad look
on my trying-hard-to-be ready
steady
face.
But today it’s different.
She’s there before I arrive.
She has makeup on
her hair clearly
curled.
She looks like the mother I remember
when I was a very little
girl.
The mother I remember before everything
decided to
unfurl.
“Louisa,” Mom says.
I can tell the inflection
is forced.
I look at the social worker sitting in the corner
waiting.
For me?
“Honey, your dad couldn’t be here today, but I’m here. For you.”
As she says it I want to scream.
Scream so loud
so someone
will hear.
But all I do is look at her
in the hollow empty way I hate about myself
and say
nothing.
I stand there
for what seems
like never ending moments of eternity
and I wonder where are her feelings of
maternity?
23.
My father isn’t
“Busy.”
He’s incarcerated.
Terry told me about the petition
and the filing
and termination
of his rights.
He couldn’t show up here if he wanted to.
Not that he does.
Not that my mother would remember
the twelve months straight he never went to a meeting.
An appointment.
He’s what I call a
disappointment.
Never once did he
make a phone call
to the people who could
Help
Him
Help
Us.
Not like I want
anyone’s help
to see him.
Him: the man who made my life a living hell.
Him: the man who spent his life making me promise not to tell.
Tell the truth about what happened
in the bedrooms of our house.
Tell the truth that it was the very definition
of abuse.
He made me promise to keep his secrets.
I knew what he’d do if I told.
He’d hold my throat
hold my neck
until I was gasping for breath
then let me fall to the floor
where I’d lay
until morning.
That is, unless he decided that that night
he wanted to
play hide and seek
with my most private parts.
And no, I’m not talking about my heart.
Terry always asks me
to tell her what it was like.
She wants me to open up and say the things
I
was
told
for
a
decade
not
to
mention.
Not to whisper.
Not to tell a soul.
Even if I wanted to
tell Terry or Ms. Francine the truth
about the things
that happened in the dark
that happened when the lights went out
and the moon was out
I couldn’t.
The paralyzing fear of what would
or could
happen if I utter
the sounds
that turn into words.
I would
always be scared
to turn around
because
he
might
be
waiting for me.
24.
But I don’t say that to my mom,
she sits here expectantly.
Waiting for me.
<
br /> She makes the first move.
“Louisa, I’m getting things sorted out. I’m getting a place of my own and the judge, he says I’m doing well, you know, better.”
Better?
Does she know how low the bar was to start with?
Does she remember the
ways she repeatedly broke my heart?
Does she remember
the days in the foster home I waited?
Benji waited.
For her to come for us?
What am I supposed to do
or say to that?
Just because a court didn’t find her guilty for the abuse
just because a court chose to point the finger at someone else
I’m supposed to believe she’s innocent?
“Say something, Lou-Lou,” she says to me. “Don’t you want us to be a family again?”
Again?
My heart knows
what my voice can’t say:
We. Never. Were.
Still, my voice says, “Okay.”
25.
“Louisa, can I come in?”
She knocks gently
peeks her head in my door.
Ms. Francine is smiling
moving into the room a little more.
I start to say something
about the mess
the music that’s too loud
the dishes left on the bed
the schoolbooks scattered on the ground.
She shakes her head slightly
as if to say it’s no big thing
and instead she tells me news that makes
My day.
My week.
My year.
Benji can come over Thanksgiving break to stay.
The social worker gave the A-OK.
I smile big and wide.
The sort Ms. Francine never gets from me.
I pull out my phone to call Benji.
I go to sleep thinking that in two weeks time
brother and sister
will have another shot
at being together.
Another shot at
living out our forever.
Another shot at
being a salvaged family.
That’s good enough for me
because it is better than the one
I’ve currently got.
Which is none.
Ms. Francine, bless her heart,
I know I rarely say it and
I know I rarely act like I give a shit,
but tonight I do.
As I fall asleep
I silently say
Thank You.
26.
I sit on Jess’s bed
while she puts on lipstick
staining her lips bright red.
I laugh as she pushes her boobs up
pushes up everything she’s got.
Accentuating the haves
and the have not’s
in the high school game
of who’s got what.
I laugh at her as she
whines about Markus
and how he wants her to cut the dance.
I know Jess
and I know how it means something to her
to show up at school with
a boy by her side.
It makes her feel special
and her parents full of pride.
So I don’t give her a hard time
you know
for being a sell out.
Because I think I might sell out too
if given the chance.
I’m not talking about
some guy dancing real close
letting his hand fall down low
as he gets a dose
of his wishes
fleshed out
with a hard-on
under the lights of a disco ball
(probably a blue one)
in the school gym.
No, I’m talking about
Markus coming over
and shaking her parents’ hands.
And then the moment after that
where Mom and Dad look at one another
and say, “Look, our girl is all grown up.”
27.
That’s the moment I walked
down to Jess’s house for.
Not for the makeup
or the girl talk.
I’m waiting for the moment
after the knock
on the door.
The moment I’m never going to get.
And yeah, I ain’t tryin’
to throw myself a pity party
woe is me.
I don’t need none of that.
I just want to
see that kinda
love
in real life.
It makes it seem like
most anything is possible.
I am looking for an:
Anything
is
possible
kinda
chance
when
Benji
comes
next
week.
28.
The house smells
like pumpkin pie
and every time I walk down to the kitchen
to see what’s going on
Ms. F says, “Come here, Louisa, you just have to taste this!”
She sticks a spoon in my mouth
full of mashed potatoes and gravy.
I try hard not to admit
that Ms. F is
the best cook
in the world.
I remember years worth of
Shake ’N Bake
Stove Top stuffing
it’s all I really know.
So when she talks about hazelnuts
dried cranberries
homemade rolls
rising with little brown tops
a turkey brined with sea salt
it feels
like me admitting
the truth about
how good it smells
and how good it feels
to be eating like kings
would be me saying
everything
I ever knew
was trailer trash
(and this stuff here on the stove
is straight out of a magazine).
Ms. F just says, “Mmhmm,”
and smiles real slow
and goes back to stirring her pan
of homemade caramel sauce
for our apple pie.
29.
I go back upstairs
for a little while more
knowing there are a few hours before
the other people
Benji
arrives.
I sit on my bed
wishing I were brave enough
to go downstairs and ask Ms. F
if I could help.
Wishing that
me asking
wouldn’t be like me saying
Thanksgiving with you
is the best
I’ve ever had.
30.
The knock on the front door
happens just as I’m closing my eyes.
I nearly jump out of bed
knowing Benji’s
finally
here.
But the person I see when I open the door
with a smile plastered
on my dark purple lips
is as far from Benji as possible.
And Ms. F is right behind me
opening her arms wide for a hug.
Ms. F starts telling me about how
her sister coming
is a great big surprise
and that she doesn’t believe her eyes
that her little sister Margot made it.
“Margot, meet Louisa.”
Ms. Francine smiles at me
as she says it
me feeling even more di
stance
with this new presence.
She is no Benji.
Margot was supposed to be at the
house of her boyfriend’s family,
but the plans changed
they split up unexpectedly
and now she’s here, Margot and Ms. Francine
laughing and hugging and
Ms. F suddenly looks
a lot younger
than usual.
31.
Next thing I know
the friends from Ms. F’s book club arrive
and some husbands and partners.
I sit in the corner
admittedly
a bit surprised.
Surprised that Benji isn’t here yet.
Ms. F hands me a tray of
olives to set on the table
forcing me to get up
say hello
to the adults in the room.
Forcing me to get up
not sulk at the fact
that I feel all alone.
And Margot, she comes over
stands right next to where I am
and she gives me a look.
You know, the kind of look that says
she thinks most of the people here
are pretty lame too.
I see that
her arms reveal too many a few tattoos
that would make Jess squeal in jealousy
and she’s
slouching close
in some sort of camaraderie
with a ring through her nose
just like me.
I look over at Ms. F
who is back in the kitchen taking out the turkey.
Realizing her little sister Margot
is the reason she never looks at me like
the teachers at school do.
A Goth girl gone bad.
And that makes me pop an olive in my mouth
even though I have sworn they are gross
since I was a little kid
because
that’s what Margot does.
32.
Finally the knock on the door
isn’t another one of the fourteen friends
Ms. F invited here today.
The knock at the door
is for me.