Faltering

by Jennifer Lyndon

  “Well, they suit you. Your legs are truly lovely,” she offered. “Now, try the shoes.” I stood up and tiptoed over to the pale blue slippers, and eased one foot, and then the other, into the soft shoes. They were light as air, but slightly loose. I couldn’t say anything, too overwhelmed to comment. I looked up at her for reassurance.

  “Now we’ll put your hair up. How would you like me to arrange it?” I stared at her, completely ignorant of what to suggest. My hair was up already, in the only style I ever wore it in, divided into three sections of my scalp, and each section braided with bright bands holding the ends.

  “I could do a single braid. Or, I think a French twist would be nice. Would you like that?” I nodded. She pointed over to her dressing table and I went to sit in her chair.

  She came up behind me and placed gentle hands on my shoulders. Her eyes seemed to twinkle. I liked the way her hands felt, so smooth and soft, but firm nonetheless. “You’re beginning to see it now. I can tell,” she whispered close to my ear, in a conspiratorial tone. I looked at the dress, not wanting to disappoint her, and nodded. The dress seemed to give some color to my eyes, making them appear more alive, not so empty.

  She gently eased the braids out of my hair, working through each one tenderly with her fingers, obviously trying not to pull my hair. She then picked up her hairbrush from her dressing table and started brushing. “You have such silky hair. It feels like heaven.” She ran her fingers through it, lifting a lock of it to tickle her cheek before twisting it back out of my face. “You should never cut your hair short. It’s too beautiful.” With one hand she held my hair, while with the other she reached to the side of her dressing table and retrieved bobby pins to fasten it in place. Once finished, she just stood there and gazed at my reflection in the mirror for a moment. “I was going to suggest some mascara, but your lashes are so thick, you don’t really need it. I think a little lipstick on those pretty lips would be nice, though.” She carefully applied her lipstick to my lips and then pressed her lips together, indicating I should do the same. I complied. She let her eyes move over me. “You’re my exotic princess. I wish I had the right jewelry for you. My mother’s pearls would do, but she would kill me if I touched them.” She smiled and pulled me to my feet, leading me over to her full-length mirror. “So, can you see how pretty you are now?”

  “But that isn’t me,” I whispered as I stared at the rich girl in the mirror.

  “Yes it is. I hardly even put any makeup on you. I told you. You’re beautiful, Sylvie.” Her eyes moved over me appreciatively. “You take my breath away.”

  “Why are you being so nice to me?” I asked nervously.

  “What do you think?” she replied, the corners of her lips lifting into the beginning of a smile. “So you’ll kiss me, of course.” She turned her cheek to me and pressed a delicate finger to a place she wanted me to kiss. I took a step forward and pressed my lips to the smooth skin above her fingertip. She turned and smiled, then quickly pressed her lips to my cheek before stepping back.

  “You’re the only one who’ll kiss me goodbye,” she whispered. “I’m leaving tomorrow, for school, all the way across the country from here. I’ll be gone a long, long, time. Will you miss me, Sylvie, at least a little?” I nodded slowly. She offered a wistful smile in return. “I want you to have these clothes, and anything else you want from my closet. I won’t need all these dresses where they’re sending me. Just promise me, Sylvie, that you’ll stay as you are now, in this moment. Don’t let those awful girls at school upset you. You’re beautiful. Remember that.” I nodded, my heart pounding in my chest as she took my chin in her hand and lifted my face to hers. She pressed her lips firmly to mine before drawing back and pecking a light kiss to the tip of my nose. “You really do have the sweetest lips,” she sighed before winking at me. I was unsure how to respond.

  May, 1974 -Sylvie is 23 years old

  I’d been working as a nurse for Lara for almost a week, but she hadn’t seemed to notice my presence, or anyone else’s for that matter. Even when her husband came in to check on her I discerned not a spark of recognition from her. Mrs. Elgin told me they shocked her, as if that was all the explanation necessary for the state she was in. I wondered how high the voltage was set, and even began to fear they may have lobotomized her. I was becoming worried and frustrated with my own impotence. On that morning in particular, when I brought her tray in, I was determined to finally get her to eat. She was too thin, and I knew if I didn’t get some food in her soon she would end up back in Pineville for more shock treatments. I placed the tray down on the tray table beside her bed and stood back, trying to make up my mind as to how to get through to her. It occurred to me that shaking her might get her attention, but she was too frail. I was afraid I might inadvertently hurt her.

  “If you’re not going to eat these waffles, Mrs. Lacoste, I am. I used my mamma’s recipe and they’re too good to let waste like your pancakes yesterday.” She didn’t stir, so I sat on the bed next to her and scooted the tray table up in front of me. “You don’t mind, Mrs. Lacoste, do you?” I picked up the knife and slathered butter over the waffles, then poured the blueberry syrup I’d made over them. Honestly, the thought of eating this starving girl’s food turned my stomach, but I was ready to try anything to get her attention. I cut into her waffles and took a bite. “Yum! These may be better than Mamma’s, but don’t you dare tell her I said that. You want a bite?” I grinned in Lara’s direction, noting her empty gaze directed at the wall. I offered her a bite, holding the fork in front of her mouth, pressing it to her lips until they were sticky with syrup. She didn’t budge, so I ate the bite. “You really don’t know what you’re missing, Mrs. Lacoste,” I said around my mouthful of waffles. While I was chewing, and focusing to swallow, she finally spoke in a soft whisper.

  “How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?” I stopped chewing and turned to face her. The ghost of a smile had shifted her features, making the hollow trenches under her eyes appear less extreme. Her eyes were focused. I had her full attention.

  “If you eat your breakfast I’ll call you Lara. If you don’t, it’s Mrs. Lacoste for the rest of your life.” She nodded solemnly and struggled, faltering slightly as she tried to sit upright. My heart started beating fast, encouraged by her response. I was next to her in an instant, my hands under her arms, carefully lifting her into a seated position.

  “Don’t rush me, Sylvie,” she snapped. “And stop fussing over me. I’ll manage for myself. Just see to the tray.” I eased the tray over in front of her and quickly snatched up the fork, realizing I’d used it.

  “I’ll just run downstairs and get you a new fork,” I offered. She shook her head.

  “It’s okay, honey. Just give me that one. It doesn’t bother me,” was her quiet reply. She eased her hand down my arm shakily, to take my fork, and used it to cut into the waffles ineffectually.

  “Let me cut them for you,” I offered. She glanced up at me, pressing the fork gently against her lips as I used the knife to cut her waffles into little squares. When I finished she shoveled almost half of the waffles into her mouth in one bite while I watched her, then slowly, methodically, and with no discernable enjoyment, she chewed.

  “You’re right,” she whispered after what appeared a super human effort to swallow.

  “About what, Lara?” She smiled faintly at my use of her name and started loading another forkful. She shoveled a slightly smaller bite into her mouth and started chewing.

  “Your waffles are better than Hattie’s,” she garbled. She struggled to swallow again, confirming for me she was getting no pleasure in eating. Once she worked her way through two thirds of the plate, I stopped her and pulled the tray back. I didn’t want her making herself sick.

  “Thank you, Sylvie,” she murmured as she started to collapse back down. “You’re an angel.”

  “Wait. Not yet. Don’t lie down yet. I need to get your sheets changed, and we need to get you bathed.” She
looked up at me with an expression of insolence.

  “Do we?” she asked coyly, a pale blond eyebrow arching in defiance.

  “Yes. You’re as weak as a kitten, Lara. I’m going to help get you up. You’ll sit on the loveseat while I run your bath.” She shook her head.

  “I’m just not up for all this,” she answered.

  “I know you don’t feel well, but we need to get you cleaned up,” I said firmly. Her gaze held me still as she considered. Finally, she nodded.

  “All right, Sylvie, if it means so much to you. I can only imagine how I must look to you. I’ll bet I’m truly frightening. I must appear an absolute madwoman.”

  I wanted to reassure her that I was untroubled by her appearance, but I was afraid it was only her wounded vanity that was making her consent to the bath. I moved quickly before she could change her mind, and made my way to her bathroom. While I ran the bath water I searched for her robe. When I couldn’t locate one I laid out the softest, plushiest, pink towel I could find. I gathered what she would need, washcloth, soap, shampoo, and arranged everything alongside the big claw-footed tub before heading back into her room to retrieve her. Lara was already buried under the covers again, curled up like a sleeping child. I pulled her covers back briskly, lifting her to a sitting position as she protested weakly, her eyes opening slowly. I ran my hands under armpits and lifted her to her feet.

  “Stop. Dammit. I told you I can do it myself,” she finally snapped. I smiled at the spark of combativeness I saw in her eyes.

  “You’re bath is getting cold, Lara.”

  Once we reached the bathroom she suddenly seemed to delight in emphasizing her helplessness, forcing me to undress her. The contrast to her initial resistance with me was obvious, and slightly unsettling. As I helped her strip away her nightclothes, I noticed a tight red scar, an asymmetrical tear across her pelvis. From the striking color, I determined it was recent, but I knew better than to ask her about it that morning. When she was undressed, she padded slowly over to the tub as I noted how emaciated she’d become. She dipped fingers into the water, testing the temperature, before stepping in and slowly immersing herself. She sat back in the tub and then turned to consider me, a coy expression lightening her features. I hastily moved to leave, deciding she could do with some privacy.

  “Aren’t you getting in, Sylvie?” she asked in a teasing tone. He voice had startled me from my thoughts. “I thought we were bathing me. There’s plenty of room for you in here. It’s a large tub.” I didn’t know how to answer her. Lara seemed to pick up on my discomfort. “Don’t you want to make sure I get clean everywhere?” she asked derisively. “You can’t do anything from way over there. All morning you’ve been overly solicitous, suffocating even, but now when I might actually want you, you back away,” she said in a dangerous tone.

  Lara lifted her body and leaned back against the tubs sloped edge, her hair fanning out around her and moving about in waves with the water. She collected the washcloth I’d laid out for her on the lip of the porcelain tub, and wrung it under the warm water, saturating it. She arranged the washcloth at the base of her neck and shifted until she was comfortable, her knees bending in toward her, sharp angles pointing at the ceiling. Her entire body was made up of angles, I realized, accept for the soft curve of her breasts breaking the rippling surface of the water.

  “I apologize, Mrs. Lacoste if I have in any way…” she sighed heavily, interrupting me.

  “We’re not back to that again, are we?” she snapped. I nodded. “I thought we’d settled the name issue when I ate your damn waffles.” I took a deep breath. “Listen, honey, if you feel the need to call me Miss anything I’ll respond to Ms. Elgin, or Miss Lara, all right? That should be enough punishment for whatever irritation I inadvertently inflict upon you.” I nodded.

  “Lara,” I said, offering her name in a request for peace. She smiled, turning her head to watch me expectantly, a calculating expression about her pale face. My gut tightened as she appraised me. “I’ve no desire to invade your privacy. So, if there’s nothing else I can do for you,” I said, deciding I could use a glass of water and a moment to relax. She nodded.

  “There is. Actually, though I hate to ask this of you. It’s my hair. Can you help me with it? They used this dreadful pine tar soap on me in that place.” I stepped forward, appraising her hair, noticing how brittle it appeared. I quickly knelt at the back of the tub and tried to run my fingers through it. “It feels like matted straw. Is there anything you can do? Should I just cut it off?” I shook my head.

  “It’s not that bad, really, just matted, and a little dry. A minor trim could cut off all of the serious damage,” I assured her. “And I can probably work out the tangles if you want.”

  “Please, Sylvie. If you don’t mind,” she replied quietly.

  I stretched my fingers across the back of her head, supporting her neck as I guided her down in the water to wet the top of her head. I lathered shampoo in my hands and worked it through the brittle mess, making every effort to not pull her hair. She sighed softly as I scrubbed her head. I prolonged my efforts, because she seemed to enjoy what I was doing, and then I carefully rinsed her hair and applied conditioner. I slowly worked the conditioner through her hair for a few minutes, loosening the mats. Next, I carefully sifted a comb through the tangles, starting at the ends and easing toward her scalp. As I worked she broke the silence gently.

  “You can’t imagine how this differs from the way they bathed me at Pineville,” she whispered. She smiled and tilted her head to glance back at me. “Why are you so good to me, Sylvie?”

  “I’d do just about anything to get you out of that bed,” I admitted. She nodded once, and turned back to face forward. I guided her head back and rinsed the conditioner out of her hair, a sense of satisfaction registering as my fingers slipped easily through her light blond hair. “Will you be okay alone while I change your sheets?” I asked once I had her sitting up again.

  “I’ll be fine,” was her reply. Her voice seemed to falter before she added. “You know there’s nothing really wrong with me, right? I’m not really crazy. They made me appear crazy, I think, but it was the treatment, not me.”

  “I know that, Lara. You’ve no need to explain yourself to me,” I said softly. She shifted slightly in the tub to meet my eyes. “It’s those who put you in that place that should be explaining themselves. What they did to you, that was crazy.”

  I couldn’t help the trace of anger that entered my voice, but Lara didn’t seem to register it, her eyes following my movements as I stood. I left her soaking in the tub so I could retrieve some desperately needed fresh bed sheets from the linen closet. When I returned to her room she was just emerging from the bathroom, wrapped in that plushy pink towel. She appeared frail, and younger than her years, but the color was returning to her cheeks. While I stripped the bed and changed her sheets she slowly pulled out a drawer and reached for a fresh white cotton nightgown. I shifted my attention away in an effort to offer her a small degree of privacy. By the time I glanced back in her direction she wore the gown and was wrapping the towel snugly around her head. I wanted to bring her out to the garden room with me for a while, but she had her own ideas and made her way to her bed, pulling the sheets back.

  “Come downstairs with me. Keep me company,” I entreated. She shook her head.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m too tired, Sylvie,” was her reply. “I haven’t truly slept in so long.”

  “I insist, Lara. It’ll do you good. This afternoon we’ll come back up and you can have a nap.” Her gaze narrowed.

  “You remember when I lost my first baby?” I nodded. “When you lay down with me, I was able to relax, and finally to sleep. It was the first peace I’d felt.” I smiled. “Stay with me and I know I can sleep.” I shook my head. “But why not, when you’ve done it before? You told me you’d do anything to get me out of this bed.” Her eyebrows came together, rising in the middle of her forehead to form a peak. I realized I’d
hurt her feelings. “I need you, Sylvie. Help me to sleep. Please.” She pressed her lips together in a tight, strained expression as she considered me, her eyes sharp on mine. “I’ll go downstairs with you after and stay as long as I’m able. I promise.” I shook my head. “Why can’t you do this one little thing for me?” she murmured. “I’m just so tired.” She was fading before my eyes. I realized I’d already gotten more out of her than I’d hoped. The potential to get her out of that room by the afternoon was enough to make me waver.

  “All right, Lara.” She almost smiled as contentment replaced her wounded child expression, and she stretched out under the covers. She patted the other side of the bed in invitation.

  “I want you close to me,” she instructed. I walked around the bed as she pulled the covers back.

  “How about I just sit in this chair?” I suggested, placing a hand on the chair near the bed. She shook her head.

  “No. That’s not the deal,” she countered quickly. “Wear one of my gowns if you don’t want to wrinkle your clothes.”

  I shook my head, realizing I was probably making a mistake, destroying the last fragments of those professional boundaries I tried so hard to maintain with Lara. Even so, I eased my feet from my shoes and climbed into bed next to her, fully clothed. She turned on her side so that she was facing me and flashed the first authentic smile I’d seen on her lips in more than three years. She stretched her arm out beneath the covers and seized my hand in a weak grip before closing her eyes. I waited for something uncomfortable to happen as I tensed, but nothing did. Slowly, her breathing deepened as I watched the tension drain from her body, her shoulders slacking, the tightness in her brow smoothing, and finally, the gentle smile on her lips slipping away. After about fifteen minutes I was sure she was sleeping.

  I guess I was more exhausted than I realized, because somehow, I dozed off beside her. When I awoke, almost four hours later, she was curled up close to me on my side of the bed, her scrawny bottom pressed against my stomach, one of my arms flung across her waist, our heads sharing the same pillow. I was a little startled discovering myself so near to her. I raised my hand to her shoulder and rocked her back and forth gently.