Read Love Rewards The Brave Online
Authors: Anya Monroe
108.
The room is loud again.
It was so quiet for a minute there
when Margot was speaking to the beat
louder each time she wanted to emphasize
hypnotize
mesmerize
me
the audience.
I look around as the lights come on.
Ms. Francine stands
in the back of the room
crying.
I watch as Margot goes over
hugs her tight.
Those two women such an unlikely pair.
Margot wearing her emotions
literally
on her sleeve
a person so extreme.
Ms. Francine
only five years older,
but a lifetime wiser.
Even though Margot always seems
to have it all figured out
somehow I doubt
she got there on her own.
After hearing Margot tonight
I realize there’s more to Ms. F
than I gave her credit for
I was so busy trying to
ignore
everything and everyone
but me.
I’ve been to blind too see
her for who she
really is.
109.
“Did you have a good time, Louisa?”
Ms. Francine drives me home
after the show.
“Yeah. Thanks again for taking me, did it ruin your plans.”
“My plans aren’t ruined. Besides it isn’t even eleven o’clock yet. The night’s still young.” She smiles, looks over at me
as she drives on the freeway. “Do you have any intentions, something you want to work toward in the New Year?”
I can’t answer her.
I saw her crying back
at the club.
I want to know how she stood up again
after being broke down.
I want to know how I can do the same.
I want to ask her if that’s why
she’s alone
taking broken kids into her home.
I want to ask her if that is why
she cares about me
if it’s because she can see
parts of
me
I try
so hard
to
hide?
“Um. I want to…um…I don’t know? I guess I need to think about it.”
It is all I can formulate
articulate
compensate.
“Well, let me know if you come up with any. I’m going to type mine up and tape them to the fridge.”
“Okay. I’ll let you know.”
And I would.
Just as soon as
I figure out
what I want.
110.
I’ve tried to call him
seventeen times.
I’ve left messages
with the secretary at the “home”
with his counselor
with the social worker guy
and still the machine tells me to leave
a message
after the tone.
So I do.
Again.
“Benji, hey it’s Louisa. I just wanted to call and wish you a happy New Year. I’ve called before, but I guess I keep missing you. I love you.”
I hang up.
Missing him on the first day of
The New Year.
111.
I hate going back to school
after a break.
Even though I’ve been working at the 6-Spot
nonstop
it’s so much better than class.
I don’t have to face Jess
at work.
I open the fridge to get breakfast.
Yogurt and strawberries.
I shut the door and see
Ms. F’s
typed list posted clear as day.
NEW YEARS INTENTIONS:
Okay, I get that, that’s like everyone’s’ resolution
I thought she had a job?
Where does she want to go?
Who’s M? Why’s she being so cryptic?
Roommate? Is she going to get rid of me?
Suddenly I’m too worked up
to eat breakfast.
If Ms. F hadn’t left for work I’d
probably blow up at her
tell her
what I thought about her list
posted for me to see
that she was planning on living a
life without me.
Whatever.
And what?
If she were here like
I’d really just walk up to
her and say what the fuck?
I don’t do confrontation.
Whatever.
I run to the bus.
112.
Jess avoids me like the plague.
Great.
It’s not like I expected otherwise.
I’m obviously good at
pushing all the people
who matter away.
Live life on the fray.
Why the hell am I still
thinking about Ms. F anyway?
God.
This day is seriously sucking
and then I see
Markus
and he walks up to me
in the hallway and says, “Don’t be such a bitch, Louisa.”
I turn away
because I deserve it
and tears burn
my eyes
and I brush them away
thinking this
is such a shitty day.
113.
It gets worse.
My appointment with my mom
turns into an appointment with
Terry and the social worker guy
and some other lady who’s sitting at the table with
a file folder
the size
of her ass.
Big.
And my mom is
NOT PRESENT
We are gathered here today
they say
formally
I look at Terry warily
who looks at me with
sympathy,
but it feels an awful lot like
pity.
My stomach turns.
I know what’s coming.
I grip my stomach because I just know.
I haven’t been in the system
for two years
with a dad in prison for
rape, molestation,
physicalmentalemotional
abuse
and not know what’s coming
when a mom consistently never shows
up
after her son has
a suicide attempt.
There isn’t much left
for me
to hold
onto
except my own
two hands.
I press them against my stomach
the one that’s turning
churning
burning
with the
fear I’ve known would come
but
now is here.
I run
to the bathroom
find a toilet, quick,
as I
throw up
what’s left of me.
Not much.
114.
I walk back in the meeting room
more prepared
better aware
of what’s going on
now that everything else got
out.
The toilet flushed.
Down the pipes went
my guts.
Royally.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
The room nods their heads
simultaneously.
The symmetry makes me smile.
God, it’s been awhile.
I guess when all is lost
what you gain
is attitude.
“It’s okay, Louisa. We wanted to have a conversation with you today about some things that are going on behind the scenes, that affect you.”
The next sixty minutes pass
in a wash of
Blah.
Blah.
Blah.
Fuck this shit.
Mom is not complying with the plan.
Mom is not taking the mandated classes.
Mom is not stepping up to the plate.
Mom is not coming back for you.
Mom never wanted to.
Mom
Is
Gone.
A hearing is set.
Do you understand that?
“YES.”
I scream at the row of talking heads.
Yes. I understand
that.
I can tell Terry is taken aback. You know
by my word.
The voice she heard.
“Do you have any questions, Louisa?” she asks.
Do I have any questions?
What the fuck am I supposed to ask?
You know all that depressed girl
repressed girl
broken and confused girl
thing
I had done for the past sixteen years?
I think that’s over.
Gone.
Just like Mom.
And the person that’s forming
from my empty gut
doesn’t seem as sweet
here let me sweep
under your feet
and wipe your ass
and wash your floors
with my unshed tears.
No, this girl
is fierce.
“I don’t have any questions. Just tell me where to show up to watch this disappearing act say her final good bye.”
Then I walk out the door.
115.
I try to call Benji
again.
For the eighteenth, nineteenth, twentieth time.
I leave the same line
on the machine.
Only it’s getting more desperate
as I realize all I am about to lose
as I realize there isn’t anything
or anyone
left for me to choose
left to fight for.
Left to be strong for.
“Benji, it’s me again. Just wanting to talk. It’s really important. Please call me back. Or write. I need you.”
And I hold the phone in my hand
looking at the calendar
seeing that I have one week
before the Termination of Parental Rights
before the termination of the people for whom I fight
before the termination of what might
have
been.
I throw my phone
against the wall.
And it’s
Breaking.
Just.
Like.
Me.