It’s that frustration that drives me to Liz’s office again. I walk in without knocking and Liz catches a gasp in her throat.
“Sorry to startle you,” I say. Liz puts her glasses on.
“Are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Sorry to startle me.” She sits in her chair. I look at her and think about the question. She’s right, I’m not sorry at all. I’m pushing on her and testing her limits just as I’ve been testing my own. I like Liz, I realize. She’s annoying in many ways, but mostly, I like her, even if she doesn’t believe I killed my mother. It’s clear she doesn’t and never has, but I think maybe today I’ll make it clear to her.
“No. You’re right. I’m not actually sorry.”
“Thank you.”
“For?”
“For being honest with me. That’s all I’m really asking of you here, Lola. I’d appreciate it if you could honor that.”
“I really have,” I say, meaning it. “I don’t appreciate being called a liar, Liz.”
“I didn’t say you were a liar, Lola, but I do think you haven’t been completely honest with me.”
“I really have,” I repeat. She raises her right eyebrow skeptically. “I haven’t lied to you once,” I say seriously. She seems confused and she flips back and forth through pages in her notebook. Then she looks up at me, her mouth open as if she’s about to object, but when she looks me in the eye I know she can see it’s true.
“I believe you, Lola.”
“Good. You should,” I smile a little. “I feel almost like we should start from the beginning now,” I say. She looks at her notes a bit dumbfounded and speaks almost under her breath.
“Yeah.”
“So. I killed my mother,” I begin.
“Why?” is all Liz can manage. I don’t think she’s blinked for a full two minutes and her voice sounds much breathier than before, like now she’s afraid of my answers instead of thinking she’s telegraphing and charting them.
“Well, she was a shitty mother, Liz, but the real reason isn’t because she ignored and hated me, it’s because she had power, real power – not some kind of hippie flower power bullshit – and I just knew that if I killed her I’d get it.”
“And?”
“And I’ve got it,” I say, smiling wide like the cat that has the canary.
“When you say you’ve got power, what does that mean, exactly?” Liz asks, putting the metal tip of her pen against her teeth. I consider, for a moment, how I can spend hours explaining it to her, trying to convince her, and decide it’s too much effort. So instead I look around the room for something to break. I stand up and walk to her bookcase. I pull out a copy of her book from the shelf. It’s thick, maybe four hundred pages. I put my hands on the top of the book, and tear, with minimal effort in opposite directions. The book tears neatly in two and Liz’s pen hits the hardwood floor with a little plink.
“Oh my god.”
“Yeah, so I mean it, like, quite literally,” I say, tossing the two book halves onto the desk. Liz is still sitting there, minus her pen, mouth hanging open.
“You wanna see something else?” She doesn’t move. I look around the office for something impressive. I want to break her laptop in half, but I figure she’ll freak out if I do that, so I decide to go with something less controversial. There’s a huge gorgeous looking four-drawer filing cabinet in the corner, it looks more like art than office furniture. I grab it and lift it a foot off the ground. There’s a slight ring of dust around the indent in the rug and the fibers underneath are tamped down from years of punishment. “You really need to clean under here,” I say matter-of-factly, before setting it down gently. If Liz had another pen to drop she would have dropped it.
“That…that cabinet is filled with files…it must weigh five hundred pounds!”
“More like four fifty,” I say, dusting off my hands from all my hard work and walking back to the couch.
“You want me to do anything else?” Liz’s eyes dart back and forth between the cabinet and the torn book. I decide to do one more trick. I sit on the couch and cross my legs. When she finally looks me in the eye I lift my hand from my lap and grab the fingers of my left hand with the palm of my right and in one quick movement snap them all backward, never flinching. It hurt like hell, but she doesn’t need to know that. Liz cringes, dipping her head slightly into her raised shoulder. A small sound like a kicked animal escapes her as she looks away, her eyes closing instinctively.