Page 102 of I'll Look for You, Everywhere
‘Well, of course she wouldn’t stop screaming. Telling me I’m selfish and stuck in la la land, which she says so often that I don’t even hear it any more. And the book was so good, that I just took it off the island and started walking to the dining room table while she was yelling. Obviously, that was rude. I should have apologized, but I just got so sick of being the one she yells at that my head went silent. But I guess I tuned everything out too well, because then all of a sudden I just fell over.’
The memory doesn’t make me sad, but replaying the scene in my head – the absence of time, and the darkness from those few moments of staring at words in a book to the grout in the tile – my stomach drops. A sick feeling crawls up my throat.
‘You fell?’ His eyebrows furrow in confusion.
‘Well, she threw the pan of hot oil at me, so yeah, I fell.’
Silence. He takes a breath in. Then out. Closes his eyes. When he opens them, there is nothing. I try to recall feeling pain. But it’s so distant. I can only remember the oil seeping into the dips in the floor and thinking how difficult it would be to clean up. Anger seeps off his fingertips. I see the slight tremor of his Adam’s apple as he swallows. I begin to worry. Worry for my mother, oddly enough. That this will ruin how he sees her.
‘Jesus, fuck, Magdalen.’ Theo grips my waist, fingers splayed across my stomach as he presses his forehead against my ribs.
‘The pan, it must have hit my head or something. I woke up alone, burned. Smelling this awful smell. And then there they were, just me and my new burnt flesh.’ I laugh softly, running my fingers through his hair, but he jerks his head to stop my hand and stares back up at me, the darkness now directed at me.
‘How can you fucking laugh?’ The disgust in his tone is palpable, and a wave of anger fills me.
‘What else should I do? Cry? Throw something back at her to get even? It happened years ago. I don’t care any more.’
‘It’s abuse.’
‘It’s life,’ I say, louder than I mean to. ‘And she apologized the next day, of course.’ I feel compelled to defend her. She is my mother, supposed to be my mamma.
‘Don’t ruin this for me, Theo. Don’t tell me that my mother abuses me.’
‘You’re seriously fucked if you don’t see that.’
‘You’re not allowed to come here after years and tell me my mum hates me.’
‘Well, Magdalen, what the fuck do you call someone who scars their daughter over tomato sauce?’
‘You’re foul.’
‘And I guess you’re delusional.’ He stands back up, grabbing his chin with his hand, biting down on his index finger.
My voice is quiet; I’m trying to think of a way to make him understand. Angry that I’ve betrayed my mamma to this boy.
‘She was always there for me. She just messed up one time.’
‘Those scars are permanent, Magdalen.’ He whips his head towards me. Everything about him has changed. He’s harsh, all hard edges and rigid.
‘You made me tell you. I didn’t ask for your opinion. I could say a lot of things about your dad. You have no right to lecture me about perfect parenting.’
‘That’s not what I’m—’
I cut him off. ‘What happened after you went upstairs?’
‘What?’ He stares at me blankly, consumed by a memory he wasn’t even there for.
‘I told you. Now it’s your turn. What happened after you went upstairs?’
‘This was a mistake. The upstairs part, that doesn’t fucking matter. It’s before.’ He paces around the dark garden nervously and even when I hate him, I feel drawn to protect him.
I reach out my hand, an olive branch of understanding. I hear myself whisper, ‘Our parents’ mistakes do not have to bleed into us.’ My fingers stay wrapped in his, hoping that, for now, this is enough. ‘Please, tell me.’
54
THEO
I stare at the garden around us, little cherub statues poking out like they’re listening. Cursing myself for confessing it all out here, in this sacred place of happy memories. She laces her fingers in mine, pulling me to her through the tips of our touching hands.
