I sat in among the dirt and weeds in Audrey’s flower bed as I watched Lilah sit contently in her chair separating the plucked weeds into two groups—yellow dandelions and the white ones with the feathery wisps that blew through the air leaving nothing but the stem of the weed. Lilah didn’t see the difference between a pesky weed and a fragrant wild flower. I envied her for her absence of knowledge at times.
As I dug through the rich soil, removing large flat malicious looking weeds with spiky green leaves, weeds with long greens shafts that curled over, and of course the ever-present dandelions that littered the precious pinks, reds, purples, and creams of the garden, I thought about Lilah sitting in her chair. She was so innocent and helpless, but she also possessed a quiet strength that made her impervious to the world around her. I wondered if she knew her circumstances, and I wondered what kinds of thoughts ran through her mind. Did she know who loved her, and who didn’t? Although I couldn’t imagine anyone not coming to love her. Had she been disappointed by people her whole life like I had, and if she had, was she even aware of it?
I’d had a long string of adults in my life that had disappointed me. My mother had failed in every way possible, Audrey, who was trying to somehow rectify her mistakes, still had not been there to save me when I was young, and the men, most of whom were my mother’s cracked-out loser boyfriends, had not only disappointed me, but had frightened me. Then there was Will, who had not let me down as of yet, but in my mind it was only a matter of time.
In the past, teachers, and social workers wanted to help, but how can you help a child with the one arm tied behind your back? All the system does is take a child away from one bad situation, and then place them in an equally terrifying circumstance. The foster families, for the most part, were all disappointing to say the least. Many of the families just wanted me for the monthly check I brought into the house.
Lilah was missing that element of self-preservation I’d come to rely upon for my survival. She had never and would never hurt me, I thought. It seemed beyond her capabilities to be malicious or selfish. With each cackle and wild movement she challenged me to take my feelings of hurt and anger and put them on a shelf when it came to her. I knew in my heart that she was a perfectly defective single wild flower that grew strong and colorful in an unwelcome sometimes even hostile environment, while I felt like one of the weeds.
She was just as lucky to have Lucy as I was unlucky to have my mother. It really is luck of the draw when it comes to parents, or anything else for that matter. Those of us who have endured bad luck protect ourselves with extreme diligence. To trust someone is like getting clocked in the jaw. You may see it coming, and you do what you can to avoid it, but inevitably you get hit, and what are you left with—humiliation and a sore jaw.
I watched Lilah, and knew without a doubt that she did not have the propensity to clock anybody in the jaw figuratively or literally. She didn’t have the propensity to hurt me or anyone for that matter. Only I could inflict pain upon her, and for my part I never would.
Lilah, I decided, would be the first person ever that I would trust. She was safe. She couldn’t bring down the avalanche of sorrow and pain upon me that so many had before her. I couldn’t allow myself to be in love with Will, but I could open my heart to Lilah.
Chapter Twelve
Dear Astrid,
Please don’t throw this letter away.
I know it’s been a long time, and you have every right to be pissed at me. I know I haven’t written to you in a long time. I guess I just wanted to wait until I had something worth writing about. I’m doing good, well as good as can be expected. Believe it or not...I think I’m actually getting it together in here. I’ve been going to these group sessions and meeting with a counselor. I’m clean...have been for about six months. Everything looks so different through sober eyes--clearer somehow. I’m being moved to the Brighton Recovery Center for Women in Florence this month. It’ll be hard work, but I’m sure I’ll like it, at least it’ll be better than here.
I’ve been thinking about you, actually I can’t stop thinking about you. I hope you’re all right. I heard you’re living with Audrey now. She’s a good person, much better than I ever was. I’m glad she got in touch with you. I’m very thankful for that.
I just wanted you to know cause god knows I never really said or showed it...but I love you. I’ve made a lot of mistakes and I’ve done too many things that I’m not proud of, but I do love you. I was just too screwed up to be the person you needed me to be.
I was hoping that you could come for a visit, there’s so much to say, but I want it to be face to face. I want to see you, please. I know I’ve let you down, but I want you to see that I’m making a change, and I want to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything, and while maybe you’ll never see me as your mother maybe someday you’ll be able to forgive me, and think of me as a friend. I know it’s a lot to hope for, but I want to make things right, if that’s possible.
I hope you will write me back.
All my love,
A----
P.S. I put in the directions to Florence, if you’re interested.
The letter laid there like an open wound bleeding all over me, spurting lies and broken promises. The entire day before had disappeared like smoke funneling upward into the air until it’s no longer visible. I was angry. I’d let myself almost forget this woman. I’d made such a noble effort keeping everyone at arm’s length, and then there she was, like a ninja who sneaks in under the cover of darkness. She’d found an opening when I wasn’t expecting it, and she’d delivered her lethal blow.
I sat down at the table and ran my fingers through my hair, wanting to yank it all out. I took the letter and threw it in the trash, and then almost as quickly I retrieved it from the heap of garbage.
Why didn’t I leave it? I heavily criticized my actions. This was garbage, this is exactly where this complication belonged.
I took the letter and squeezed it between my fingers, letting the paper fold and tear. I felt a thin piece penetrate my skin, leaving me with a stinging throbbing gash. I walked through the house trying to figure out what to do with it. If I threw it in the garbage, Audrey might find it and demand that I deal with it. I stuffed the wrinkled complication into several different drawers, all seemed too apparent, where it could easily be found.
I took the mangled mass of paper and lies and finally decided to stuff it into the bottom of my drawer. I didn’t want to think about it now, or at all. I would just pretend it never existed, and on garbage day I would put it where it belonged, in the trash.
Chapter Thirteen
The next few weeks glided by. I was now in the final month of my junior year. Final exams were in full progress, and I put just enough effort forward to keep my respectable C average. Out of six classes, I was going into finals with three Cs, two Bs and one A-minus. This averaged out to a solid C. Nothing to be ashamed of, I thought, knowing I could have gotten all As if I’d felt like putting the effort into it. But frankly, I liked doing whatever I felt like. I read and studied, but I didn’t do the assignments that the teachers wanted me to do. In a way I set my own curriculum, and didn’t really give a hang about what the teachers wanted me to do. It was really quite simple. If I didn’t see the value in it, I just didn’t do it.
With the excitement and anticipation of the ending to another school year, I had completely forgotten about the lie transcribed to paper that I’d stuffed into my dresser drawer. Because I’d forgotten about it, I’d never taken it out with the trash. It still existed, ready to put another bend in the road.
It was a cloudy, rainy and bone-chilling day in the final week of May. There were about two weeks left in school. I wasn’t accustomed to going to school so late in the year. I guessed it was due to the amount of snow days, none of which I’d had the opportunity to enjoy. During classes, the seconds seemed to take minutes, and the minutes seemed to drag by slowly into hours. The school days had turned into never-ending test
aments that it was indeed possible to stop time.
Will had made arrangements earlier in the day to come over for more math help. As always, he presented his invitation as a matter of fact, rather than asking permission. My acquiescence to his demands was grounded in my inability to say no to him, especially if I hadn’t prepared myself mentally to withstand the deepness in his eyes, and the glass over gravel that was his voice.
I moved briskly into the house trying to avoid the frozen pellets that assaulted the earth and my hair, until it was no more than a fuzzy brown halo fraying like bits of old thread above my head. I was about to throw my books on the table and prepare to engage in my usual rush into the bathroom to splash my face before Lilah’s bus pulled up next door. As I blew through the back door and up the steps, ready to launch my books onto the table, there sat Audrey. There at the table was a mangled piece of paper forcibly straightened out in front of her. Her eyes met mine with a wide-eyed gaze of compassion and confusion.
I truly was mystified for a brief instant until I realized that the mangled scrap of paper was a piece of evidence. A vestige of something so utterly meaningless to me that I’d meant to destroy it but had forgotten.
“Where did you get that?” My accusing voice blasted at Audrey as I snatched the paper off of the table. “What are you going through my stuff—”
“I bought a new dresser for your clothes. A bigger—I was just transferring your—”
“You need to stay out of my business. I don’t give a shit what your reasons are!” My voice continued to blast her from across the room, full of embarrassment that manifested itself as anger. “I—I have to go, the van is pulling up. I don’t want to talk about this, ever!”
I shot like a rocket out the front door to meet Lilah’s van with anxious beads of sweat taking shape and trickling down the nape of my neck as I suppressed the welling tears and stuffed the paper into my jacket pocket.
The milk-white van backed into the drive, and even though I felt discombobulated, I was glad for the change of scenery and subjects. Once I’d gotten over my guilt and embarrassment for having to deal with A—, I would let Audrey know that there was nothing to talk about, and that I was totally fine. She couldn’t really argue for my mother. There was no basis for winning me over with that approach.
I kept busy at Lilah’s going above and beyond my prescribed duties. I picked up the family room and kitchen, and gave everything a thorough dusting with an old-fashioned looking feather duster I’d found under the kitchen sink.
After I’d finished picking up, I played a game with Lilah, Simon Says on DVD. It helped with her motor skills; however, she never quite got the rules of the game. She’d always mimicked the leader regardless of whether or not the proper Simon Says phrase was attached.
Lilah seemed especially exhausted after the physical exertion that was required for her to keep up with the DVD game. After several wide-mouthed yawns, her head started to bob downward as her eyelids became heavy and closed over her strained eyes. Before she could fall asleep completely, I stood in front of her, and with my back to hers I hooked her hands to the sides of my waist, all the while keeping my hands over top of hers to keep them in place. She was able to walk around the house without the chair using this technique. With each step I took she followed behind with a shuffle. The braces she wore on her legs that kept them from drawing inward clanked as the metal rubbed against itself with each movement we took together.
I set Lilah down on her bed and removed her leg braces and shoes. I moved her legs on top of the bed, and with her eyelids heavy she laid her head on top of her downy pillow. Almost immediately she fell into a deep sleep.
It was nearly four-thirty. I laid my body across the worn couch and scooped up the remote. I flipped aimlessly through the channels, and enjoyed not thinking about much of anything, while I gnawed on a red cherry-flavored Twizzler. Just as I was entering a mind-numbing, TV-watching, Twizzler-chewing trance, the front doorbell rang, and like when a hypnotist snaps their fingers, I was brought out of my lazy Twizzler state. I popped my head up and craned my neck around without changing my position on the couch. There stood Will at the front door, his face pressed up against the storm door so that his nose was smashed against the glass, creating a fog. He drew his face back, and proceeded to draw a smiley face in the condensation created by his hot moist breath.
“Come in,” I called from the couch as I turned my head back toward the television, moving my relaxed body as little as possible. I heard the storm door swing open and listened for Will’s black boots to hit the floor.
“Take your shoes off please, I just picked up and vacuumed,” I ordered.
“Well aren’t you just the domestic goddess,” he said, with his emphasis on the word domestic. “Where’s Lilah?”
“She was tired, so I put her in her bed to take a nap. I’m just veggin’ watchin’ some TV. My homework is in my jacket pocket,” I said pointing to the yellow jacket that hung from the kitchen chair. Just as soon as the words left my mouth, I’d realized that the letter that begged for my compassion was hiding in my jacket pocket. I popped up off the couch, and moved like lightning across the room. It was too late. Will stood there opening up the paper. Maybe he’d picked the homework paper and I wouldn’t have to explain anything. I quickly rooted through the jacket pocket, and opened up the other piece of paper. Damn. Homework. Will looked at me, perplexed.
“I don’t think this is your homework,” he said as we exchanged the pieces of paper.
I took thebe draggled piece of paper and nonchalantly placed it back into my jacket. I changed the subject to the homework. “Do you want me to explain it, or do you just want to copy the answers?”
Will looked at me with the corner of one side of his mouth turned up. “I’d ask you to explain it, but I’m pretty sure that I’d need someone to explain to me what you just said.”
“Hmmm. The answers it is, with no explanation. You know when you go to college you won’t have me to copy off of.”
“Who says I’m going to college?” he quickly retorted.
I gave him a sideways glance and cracked a defiant smile. “Fine. You don’t seem like the college type anyway.” I couldn’t help but let out a slight laugh as I spoke.
“All right. Settle—so can I ask you a question?” Will asked as he took the homework paper and walked into the living room.
“What?” I stayed in the kitchen waiting for the inevitable.
“I thought your mom was traveling. You said she was in distribution?”
How much had he seen, I wondered. Had he had time to read the entire contents of the lie? “What do you mean?” I feigned ignorance as my last resort.
“Well. It’s just that, um, I happened to just see the part where she said she’s moving to a halfway house?”
I felt paralyzed from the neck up. My words struggled to form as I let out a long sigh. I muttered, “Huh. It’s a long story, and really not that interesting.”
“Well if you want to tell me, I’m here to listen. It’s up to you, but sometimes it’s better to confide in someone. When my dad died I wished that I’d had someone to talk to.”
I couldn’t figure this guy out. He seemed to be so unprotected and unafraid, while on the opposite end of the spectrum I seemed so tough on the outside, and was afraid of everything. I didn’t admit this to myself often, and the thought was fleeting, and was soon replaced with the mental toughness I’d come to rely upon. “I’m fine,” I insisted, trying to steer the conversation in another direction. “Do you want to watch TV?”
“Was your mom in j—jail?” he stammered while copying my homework down on his paper.
“You can only copy my homework if you stop asking me questions, okay?” I said in matter of fact tone, trying not to show my mounting irritation.
“Fine,” he said curtly, and then began to mutter under his breath. “I’m just trying to be a friend.”
I heard him and couldn’t help but become reactionary. �
��Listen. I know you’re trying to be a friend, but a friend wouldn’t make me talk about something that I just don’t want to deal with. Don’t you get it? My mother, if you can call her that, is a loser. Loser doesn’t even seem to adequately describe the hole she crawled out of. She’s a druggie and a slut. Now she feels bad and wants to make herself feel better by showing me how sorry she is, and that she’s starting to get her life somewhat together. It’s total bullshit.” The words streamed out of me angrily. My mouth was like a pressure cooker that had no choice but to emit the scalding steam, spewing it recklessly into the air. Will sat there stunned, while I continued to erupt. “Do you wanna know something? I’ve lived in like six foster homes. I know things that you don’t want to know, ever! I can’t see her. I won’t visit the person I’m going to turn into. I can’t see that future face to face. I won’t!” I felt my eyes dampen and became overwhelmed with embarrassment. My pride was severely wounded, and I’d become this sniveling little girl whining about my misfortune. This would be too much for him. He would get up and walk out, and I would never speak to him again. I was sure of that.
“I think you should see her,” Will softly stated. I glared at him dumbfounded as he continued. “I wish I’d had the chance to see my dad before he died, even if it was to tell him what a piece of shit I thought he was. You know what I mean. Now all I’ve got is that stupid boat to bitch at, like my dad’s somehow part of the boat. So every time I’m on that floating piece of crap, I talk to it like it’s my father. How pathetic is that?”
My dampened eyes looked over to him. At that moment he ceased being this perfect physical creature that had had me so captivated for the past several months. He was somehow different to me at this moment. His beauty was still there, but it didn’t have the one-dimensional power it had had on me before. I looked into his sapphire eyes and what I saw was a friend.
The Idyllic Chaos of My So-Called Life Page 14
