Page 75 of The Next Chapter

Now that I’m here, I realize that I’m desperate for her to start.

‘Whenever you’re ready,’ I tell her, hitting record. ‘Just pick up where you left off.’

Another nod.

She sits on her hands.

And starts to talk.

* * *

I was about twelve, the year that Da left. Almost ready for high school. I think for about a year, Ma didn’t accept that he’d really gone. Sometimes, I’d catch her in the garden, looking down the path like she expected him to come bumbling along it like he used to. Except he never did.

It was a hard time for Ma. She had all these kids and I don’t know that she was that fond of any of us by that point. Six kids is hard work for anyone. Six kids when you’re dirt poor and on your own is extra bad. At first, she started selling stuff just to get by. I thought for sure that she’d sell Pa’s guitar, though she never did. After a while there was nothing left worth selling so she got a job fixin’ people’s hair in a salon in Baton Rouge. Long shifts and an even longer bus to get there. She wasn’t around much and when she was, she’d look at us all, even Jessie, like she didn’t know how she got to be here in this crappy house stuck with all of us.

It was the 1980s then and it felt like the whole world was changing around us. I started high school and learned about all the things Pa had cared so much about. Civil rights, nuclear war, that sort of thing. Except sometimes I wondered if the world had forgotten about our family, left us behind, like. I started to hate everything, and I don’t know, maybe that’s the way of teenagers, but I was just so angry all the god damn time.

I started to get in trouble at school, fell in with the wrong crowd. Other kids would pick on us because our shoes had holes in and rather than turn the other cheek like they’d taught us at church, I’d get into fights. I remember once, Ma got called into the principal’s office and while I was waiting outside I heard her tellin’ him that I’d always been difficult. That I was born in a storm.

Needless to say, I spent a lot of time in detention. But rather than makin’ me see sense, it just made me angrier and angrier. It’s not healthy living with so much anger, it makes a person bitter. I needed some outlet for it or else I was going to explode, least that’s how it felt.

I can’t remember what started it, but one-night, I must have been about fifteen, me and Ma got into this blazing argument. We never did the gardening together anymore, all we ever did was bicker and snap. I think looking back I blamed her for Pa leaving, for keeping us in this rubbish house that the rest of the world forgot.

So, we’re having this enormous argument and callin’ each other all sorts of bad names. I’d learned a lot of new swear words from the crowd I hung around with and I felt real grown up to use them. Well, one of the names must have been bad enough for Ma to finally lose it because she told me to get out, said that I couldn’t stay there anymore. That I’d always been trouble and now I’d gone too far.

I didn’t even think about the fact that I had nowhere to go. I just up and grabbed Pa’s guitar. It was covered in dust. I took it and I walked out of the house.

I vowed then that I’d never rely on anyone again. Thought I needed to make my own way in the world, away from the Ma who never seemed to want me.

I never went back there again.

* * *

‘Could we stop there?’ She breaks off suddenly. ‘It’s a lot, you know?’ Her eyes glisten with unshed tears. It might be hard to get a proper handle on Lola, but I’m almost certain that if she cries, she only does it in private.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I tell her. ‘I can’t believe your own mum threw you out.’ It’s completely unprofessional to pass judgement on what a client has just told us. It’s not about us, after all. But the boundaries between me and Lola are blurry at best, even if Lola doesn’t quite realize it. I just could never picture my own mum doing that. She wouldn’t have done.

Lola shrugs. ‘Some people just aren’t cut out to be parents.’

It’s impossible not to wonder whether Lola is talking about herself. I guess she must be.

‘I’ve heard that,’ I tell her slowly, hating that my voice has a little wobble to it. ‘My parents are amazing.’ I scrunch up my eyes at how insensitive I’m being. ‘Sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.’

‘It’s okay, Lily.’ Lola has her head tilted slightly to the side. ‘I’m glad you have that.’

I stand up suddenly. This is not what I’m meant to be doing. We’re not meant to sit around and swap life stories with the clients.

‘I think I’d better go,’ I tell Lola, even though I’m already stood up and holding my phone. ‘We don’t need to meet again until next week. There’s plenty of time left yet. I scheduled sessions, for the summer, I mean. I’ll send them to you. Or just tell you them. When I see you.’

‘Course, Lily. Y’all just let me know when you’re ready to meet again.’

I nod. ‘Of course. It’ll be good to have a couple of days to work on the material you’ve given me so far anyway.’ And I need a break, I think but don’t say.

‘Alrighty, then. What do you say if the weather’s nice still, next time we do this outside? It’s awful stuffy in here.’

Outside seems like a bad idea. I don’t like the idea of Lola feeling all free and easy and getting to say things like some people aren’t cut out to be parents whenever she feels like it. But then what choice do I have? That’s not a valid reason for saying no. And as I remind myself for about the millionth time (this whole episode is making me very egotistical) this isn’t about me.

‘Sounds good to me,’ I say. There, I’m breezy. So incredibly breezy. I’m just going to breeze on out of here and then go find a stiff drink. Or ten. ‘See you, Lola.’