But never the truth, which is that Mum tried to kill herself.
She had passed out from the intoxicating fumes. She was breathing but her heart rhythm was feeling the pressure and her breaths were shallow. Once we got to the hospital, I had to be forced back by a nurse.
“You’re a saviour, Kalli,” I heard more than once. “You got there in enough time. You saved her life.”
You know what I felt like saying? Why is it that Mum needed saving at all? If I held my tongue as I had done for the last nine years, we’d all be at home, fine, death far, far away.
The first time we spoke, she mumbled, “Hey, Kalli.” I heard her in a way only a mother of a baby can understand what their first words really are. Her voice was scratchy, and she kept fingering her throat, her wrists. “So weak, so stupid, so unworthy.”
At first, I bit my tongue, clamped my lips shut. I had no right to make her feel bad with death still so close, even if what she said about me was horrible.
I noticed what she meant after a while. She felt that way about her.
Her tone was always that low, murmuring sound like children use when they are afraid to speak up the truth to their parents. She wouldn’t look me in the eye; instead, the sheets tucked under her arms and over her chest.
I didn’t know what to say at first. I flopped over her, held her body in my arms. Eventually, I repeated that I loved her, that I was sorry for my lies, and we fell asleep that way.
Asleep for another ten hours.
“Her doctor had lots to say,” I tell Scout. “Psych treatment, her current and future medical treatment, my medical treatment.” I put the milk on the table and throw my hands up in the air. “As if I need treatment! I didn’t try to kill myself.”
Scout’s eyes dart away. She drinks some of her milk and also places it on the table. Her eyes draw up and she finally says, “I know. Kalli, I know exactly, but from my perspective, I don’t think anyone expects anything of you.” She holds her finger up. “Let me finish. No one expects you to cry or pretend to be fine. People just expect you to be affected. And that, Kalli, is why the doctor must have asked you if you needed treatment. When you’re affected by something that huge, you’re bound to show the repercussions, no matter if you’re Hercules or Barbie.”
I’ve heard lots of condolences from friends and family while I was with Mum, including Nicole. So many people feeling pity on us, and praying. I doubt God actually has the power to kill or save her on the spot if I did pray, but still, even saying it sounded ridiculous. I don’t want any attention. I needed space to get my head around it.
Why? How?
Why?
But Scout’s words knock me back. I grab my milk and sip. I curl up my toes near my ass and just sip, taking in her words.
I say, “Fair point.”
God, she’s amazing. I’ve been moody and bitchy and silent and she’s been looking after my twin brothers since that night. She’s stayed here without anything in return and she’s so level-headed.
Scout must sense a change in me. She one-arm cuddles me to her and I take it. I wouldn’t dare ask for comfort but given to me like this I relish it. I cuddle around her mid-section and dig my head in.
Into her top, I say, “She wasn’t raped at ten by her mum’s lovely boyfriend. She’s never subconsciously or consciously stuffed up all her relationships for fear of the guys getting her alone and raping her.”
I push back and look at Scout. “She wasn’t allowed to be so depressed to want to end it all. She had no right. I was the dirty slut. I was the fuck up. The bitch.
“She couldn’t have helped it, even if she could have known right afterward. She didn’t know he would do it to me.” I punch the backrest behind me. Feels good. “In fact, I wish I could unleash on her about how much she’s violated the rules. She was not allowed to leave me after I finally connected with her properly.”
That last line turns my muddled thoughts into sense. I’m not mad at Mum one bit. Rather I’m mad at me, wholly. What a crap daughter I am. I went on to Aunty Nicole about Mum needing help when I didn’t see the signs of depression, didn’t realise how Mum would take that news infinitely worse than another person would. I blocked the signs, too.
Blocking.
I suppose I’m so good at blocking I don’t see that I’m like everyone else. I think shit about people who pretend to be happy and such. I’ve made myself believe my issues are okay and I’m fine. But really, I’m still like an explosive. No ignition, no troubles, no worries. But bring me the right fuel and I could explode.
After I explain more details to Scout about Mum, I feel more indebted about how much she’s helped.