Love Rewards The Brave (8 page)

49.

Terry’s looking at me

waiting for me

to talk.

I’ve been down this road with her

for so many weeks.

Her waiting for me to

speak

some truth about what

made the visit end the way

it did.

Truth about why he

fled.

Everyone’s frustrated,

confused.

Terry’s telling me

that Benji won’t say a word.

I guess he won’t say what he

heard

from me.

About Mom coming back

for us.

I want to tell Terry:

I don’t know why it makes him mad

she’s the only mom we ever had.

That I don’t get why he’s so angry

at everyone

at everything.

That yes, the apartment we

spent our days in

was ugly

to say the least

but I kept him safe from most of it.

Kept him safe from the worst of it.

That while the bad things happened

in the other room

he was in his bed

looking at the moon.

Falling

asleep.

But I don’t tell Terry that.

“Louisa, we can’t help you when you keep the truth from us. That’s what I have been telling you for the past year.”

50.

I look up at her,

thinking that if she only knew.

Knew what it was like to be in this chair,

on this side of the

room.

Maybe then she’d be

able

to see that

the idea

of me opening up

to her

is as likely

as me opening up myself to a

guy.

It

ain’t

ever

gonna

happen.

Why don’t they teach that

part in the

classes she took

to get the

right

to sit here

asking me questions

every Monday

night?

“Okay, Louisa, I see we aren’t getting anywhere with that. Why don’t you tell me about your Thanksgiving. I understand Ms. Francine’s sister came. How was that?”

It was

apple pie

lotion at

Bath & Body works

for five days

straight.

It was

a magazine

spread

white

tablecloth

name cards

placed

by each plate

perfection.

It was

everything I

ever wanted

but

have been

too scared

to admit.

It was

hands held around a table

where we said

grace

and bowed

our heads

before

we were

fed.

It was

the kind

of happy

I

heard

about

but never

knew.

I tell her, “It was fine.”

The clock

tick tock dings!

Marking the end

of our hour.

51.

Ms. Francine’s been

acting completely normal

the same

slow go

not really saying no

mostly okay with me

being free

to do what

I please

ever since the Thanksgiving visit

ended

INSANELY.

I keep waiting for her

to ask me about what

happened

why he left me

stranded

on the sidewalk all-alone.

It’s like I

want her to act the way

she

should
.

Push

me so I have to

pull

away.

I want her to

force me

to do what

she wants.

Instead she’s there

after school

always the same.

Checking on homework

asking about Jess

careful not to press

too hard

about math

or science.

Respecting my

silence.

It’s times like these

I wish someone would

just

shove me in a corner

and tell me I have to

say something

or else!

But these new people

in my life?

That’s not how they react.

And so I’m left

feeling like a jerk.

The way Dad used to operate,

retaliate

set me straight

was:

DO
IT

OR

________________

(fill in the blank

with some sort of act

usually reserved to

extract

pain)

That mode of operation

doesn’t fly

here.

And

I

don’t

know

how

to

do

different.

52.

The letter came in the mail.

I was relieved

to
understand
hear

from my Little Benji Boy.

“Lou-Lou,”

he wrote,

“Sorry to walk out on you

didn’t want to leave you.

I had to get away

it seems like too

much to take

sometimes.

You know?”

I did.

“I got in a bunch

of trouble.

Guess everyone was scared.

But I’m gonna be okay.

I’ll try and stick to the plan––

you know what plan

I mean.”

The plan he wants or the one I want?

I don’t think they

are one in the

same

anymore.

“One day it

will all be different.

I’m sorry,

Lou-Lou.

Never meant to

hurt you.

You’ve been

hurt

enough

already.”

I hate that the person

who wrote this letter

is usually the one missing

from the conversation.

53.

Ms. Francine picks me up

from school.

I’m going to my weekly

visit

mandatory

commitment

assigned to me by the

state.

A visit with Mom.

“Louisa, I wanted you to know that my sister, Margot, is going to be at the house when we get back. Her place is being fumigated today so she’ll be staying the night with us.”

What am I supposed to say?

That Jess will be jealous

that I got to hang

out with the

one person

we both want to impress?

“Anything you want to talk about before the visit with your mom today?”

Um.

Like I hope Benji keeps it together

with Mom.

Um.

Like I hope when she talks about Dad

I stay calm.

Um.

Like I hope she doesn’t miss the appointment

and mess it all up.

Um.

Like I hope if she does,

she’ll manage to call

so I don’t feel dumped

by

my

mother.

“No, I’m cool, Ms. Francine.”

54.

But she shows.

And so does Benji.

I give him a hug

forcing him to stop

pacing

the waiting room.

He’s wearing a giant parka,

ski gloves

ski mask

snow boots.

An entire

ski suit

ready to hit the slopes or to build a

snow fort.

Not exactly the right clothes for a

court-appointed date.

Yes –– it’s December,

but it’s still a solid fifty-four degrees.

And I wonder if he’s as

crazy as

Jess thinks he is.

She said he was, “A messed up kid who weighs you down.”

I told her, “That’s a really bitchy thing to say.”

She laughed. “But you know it’s true.”

Her and I had been sitting

in my room

getting ready for an uneventful Saturday night.

I went back to

straightening my hair

knowing

if I tried to say,

explain

it would require a whole lot of words

I wasn’t interested in

using with her

that night.

But in this waiting room,

seeing him in his snow gear,

I kinda get what she meant.

I

sit down

next to him

anyway.

55.

The social worker guy

is already in the room with Mom.

He motions for us to sit

at the table,

you know,

stay a while.

I do as I’m told,

remember the good girl thing?

Why does it always crop up

when it feels like it

and never when

I want it to?

It’s like

I’m not allowed to do what

I want, to say how I feel.

I’m a puppet

waving around.

Never able to stand my ground.

It would probably

help if I knew what

ground

I was looking for.

I look at Benji

frozen

in the doorway.

In between Mom’s

misses

and his

rep

e

ti

tious

behavior

there have

been seven and a half months

since

the last time they’ve

seen one another.

The social worker guy fills us in on these facts

and I’m quick to react

to what the impact

of them not being

around one another might be.

See,

every week I show up here,

Ms. Francine

dutifully knitting

in the waiting room.

I sit here

hoping to be seen.

Fifty-fifty

I’m ushered into a room

like this

where

it’s always

hit or miss

if

my visit is solo.

But I always

assumed

that

Mom and Benji

must be meeting at another

time

place or

day.

But, according to social worker guy

they don’t.

And Benji is standing at

the door

with a ski mask

pulled over his face

only showing his eyes

through little holes

refusing to budge.