Sarah Vaughan is Not My Mother: A Memoir of Madness

by Thomson, MaryJane

  It must be seven o’clock by now because Waris comes in and says, “Oh there you are. Was looking for you.”

  I turn around and say, “Are you all right today, Waris? Yesterday you looked tired.”

  “Yes, darling, I feel much better.”

  “Maybe you need a day off.”

  “I know, but maybe I need to work. If I have a day off I miss you too much, darling.”

  I smile and laugh.

  Waris walks out and I say to Lester, “Just going to go chill in my room. Maybe I’ll smuggle a drink back in for you. Just don’t say I gave it to you.”

  “Babe, you don’t have to do that, honestly.”

  “Well, I’ll see what I can do.”

  I walk back to my room and have a shower. I put on my jeans and shoes and a singlet. I don’t really want to wear a singlet but it’s one of the only clothes I have here. I take my hats to the bathroom and deliberate as to which one to wear. I decide not to wear a hat and just leave my sunglasses on in case the pigeons are out. I look through the rosy pink hue the world has thanks to my sunglasses and feel happy.

  I walk towards the dining room and a nurse, Rachel, says, “Oh, you look beautiful. You are not wearing a baseball cap.”

  “Just thought I’d try a day without the hat,” I say.

  Waris comes up behind me. “Darling, you look so different, you look great. No cap today. Oh, let me see you without your glasses on.” I take off my glasses and stare down. “You’re beautiful, MaryJane. You’re getting better.”

  I start to tell her that I need glasses because of my eyes’ sensitivity to light, then decide against it. I put my glasses back on and Waris says, “I think the new meds may be working. I will tell the doctors how great you are doing. You’re having showers on your own volition and you look great in what you’re wearing.”

  “I just need a new T-shirt or something,” I say. “I don’t want to wear these singlets any more.”

  “I’m sure your mother would be delighted to bring some in. She has the clothes that were at your flat.” I’m still not talking to my mother and don’t want any favours from her, so I say, “I’ll buy one today.”

  I leave Waris and Rachel talking and go into the TV room. Fiona’s in there. She glances up as I walk in. I try and dodge the porridge on the carpet and dump myself on the other couch.

  It takes Fiona a while to recognise me without a hat on. It’s not until I say, “Morning” that she notices.

  “Oh, MaryJane, I hardly recognised you.”

  “Yeah, I parted with my helmet today. Still need the sunglasses though.”

  “You look really beautiful. There is a dramatic difference to how you were before to how you are now. Maybe those meds aren’t so bad.”

  “I don’t think they are like the other ones,” I say. “They don’t make me feel quite so tired and zombied out.”

  The meds really are making me feel better. The doctors have raised the dose slowly, so I am not on a really high one as I was with Olanzapine. I am not feeling quite so hostile with the world. I just want to fit in more.

  “At least someone is getting better in here,” Fiona says. “Seems to me like everyone else is deteriorating.”

  “Yeah, some people look as if they have just fought a war. Mind you, I’ve looked like that before—dishevelled and worn and tired. I don’t want to be like that any more.”

  As I speak I start to realise I really am going through changes, and the new meds I am on may be working. And they don’t have the side effects of the other drugs, just a little stiffness. I wonder whether meeting Jared is such a good idea.

  I take my tray and Fiona’s back to the kitchen, where all the nurses comment on how great I look. Fiona and I head outside for a cigarette and we sit in silence for what seems like hours while I decide whether or not to tell her what I intend to do. I gaze at the sky looking for a sign. Finally I say, “I’m going to meet Jared today, my ex-boyfriend.”

  “Really? Is that going to be all right?”

  “I hope so. I haven’t told Waris. I don’t think the staff here would think it was such a good idea.”

  “Is he someone you use drugs with?”

  “Yes, he is.”

  “Well, you should be careful. If you use drugs with him and they find out, they might take away your leave. You seem to be making really good progress; you don’t want to halt that. With the way you are going you could be out of here in no time.”

  “Yeah, I might be sabotaging things a little.”

  We stop talking. Nola comes over and comments on my appearance. “You look different. You trying to change your image?” She sounds quite sarcastic. I ignore her.

  Fiona says, “Maybe she just decided to have a change.”

  I don’t look at Nola. I think how different it is in the outside world, where you don’t have these kinds of conversations.

  As Nola leaves, Fiona says, “Thank you for telling me not to take her advice. She’s a bit aggro, trying to pick an argument with you.”

  “Yes,” I say. “She’s definitely a bit extreme. She screams at the nurses every night. Dean said she needed to calm down and she threatened to beat him up.”

  “Are you going to be all right today?” Fiona says.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Bit worried about you.”

  I’m a bit worried too. I try and try to get away from Jared, but something always pulls me back. It’s as though I’m addicted to him. I don’t just want to use him for drugs. I guess I also like the company.

  “Since I’ve been coming in and out of here I’ve tended to lose touch with my friends,” I say to Fiona. “I don’t know whether they judge me, or can’t relate to me because I’m in here. But Jared’s always reliable. If I ring him he’s there.”

  The truth is that over the years I have gradually stopped contacting my old friends and begun socialising only with my drug-using friends. And friendships in these circles come and go as they are not built on a solid foundation.

  “I’m sure your friends are all still there. Can’t see someone not liking you,” Fiona says.

  “Maybe.”

  “I’m sure when you get out of here things will be back to normal.”

  “Some got in touch when I was back in ICU but I requested no visitors and said I didn’t want to see them. I just wanted to be alone in my room.”

  “Honey, I can understand that. I don’t even want to see my husband and kids. You get to such a point of grief being in here that all you want to do is isolate yourself.”

  11

  I check the time and say to Fiona, “I’d better get a move on. Meeting Jared at ten.”

  I go to my room and grab my bag, and then I find Waris and ask if she will walk me out. “Sure, darling,” she says, leaving a trail of patients waiting outside the nurses’ station.

  “Looks like it’s going to be a busy day,” I say.

  “Same for you. Be back between four and five.”

  “Okay.”

  I walk out the doors and down the steps. When I get to the street I start rolling a smoke. I turn the corner and stand outside my old flat, which has a broken-down fridge outside the front door. Before long Jared rolls up in a beat-up Mitsubishi. I climb in and he gives me a kiss and says, “Sweetie, I’ve missed you.”

  I can see that his bottom tooth is jutting forward. “Is your tooth all right?” I say.

  “Oh sweetie, no, they are all falling out. My years of using are catching up on me. Went to the doctor the other day and he reckons I might lose all feeling in my legs. I need them to find a vein.”

  He starts the car again and we drive down Daniel Street. I have to keep pushing up the material attached to the roof because it keeps slipping down in front of the windscreen.

  “Sorry ’bout that, darling. Just brought this on Trade Me for eight hundred dollars. I need to glue the material on to the roof properly. Anyway, what shall we do? Fancy a drive around the south coast? Maybe we could pick up a coffe
e. Or we could go back to my place and have one. My coffees are much nicer than one of those bought ones.”

  “Sure,” I say enthusiastically, trying to figure out how I can bring up the topic of getting on. I figure I’ll wait until I’m at his place. “It feels nice to be in a car.”

  “I know, sweetie. You don’t belong in there. They bog you down with all those drugs and you don’t know whether you’re left or right.”

  “I felt like a zombie for a while but I’m not on those meds any more. On some new ones.”

  “Darling you don’t need those drugs. The ones I give you are much better.” I decide now is the perfect time to say something. “So how ’bout today?”

  He smiles at me and starts laughing. “Oh, so you’d like some of that, eh?”

  “I wouldn’t mind feeling a bit less tense. One of the drugs they give me stiffens me out.”

  I roll him a smoke. “Thought you might have looked a little stiff,” he says. He smiles at me, winks and says, “I’ll see what I can do.”

  We head out to the coast. I wind down the window and feel the breeze. I stick my head out, excited by the sight of the waves and the beautiful colours. The voice is trying to talk to me but I tell it to leave me alone. I just want to enjoy the momentary freedom I have, free from the confines of the ward.

  As we head back towards the city Jared says, “Would you like to drive, honey, seeing as you haven’t for a while?”

  “Yeah, I’d love to.” We pull over and I jump into the driver’s seat. I rev the car into second. Jared says, “Put it in a higher gear—we don’t need to race.”

  “It’s grunty,” I say.

  “Yeah, it’s an ex-undercover-cop car so they would have done a bit of work on the engine.”

  I drive down Willis Street and pull up outside the needle exchange. Jared grabs some coins and jumps out of the car. Even on this summer’s day he is wearing brown leather pants with his flimsy yellow and red tie-dyed top from an Indian clothing store. He comes out with a brown paper bag and I notice his tan, which almost diverts attention from the narrow gauntness of his face and his heavily defined jaw. “All right, sweetie, got the goods. Let’s head up home.”

  I happily drive up The Terrace past the university. He asks me how my mother is and I say, “Haven’t really spoken to her for a while.”

  “She’s your mum; she loves you.”

  “Yeah, but she needs to leave me alone.”

  I pull up and park on the corner by his house. As we walk along the footpath I notice he’s barefoot as usual. He has hard soles and doesn’t flinch when he walks on the stones. We walk up the steep path to his house and I start gasping for breath: months of being in the ward with little exercise have left me unfit. We get to the top to his house and I see it looks the same as when I was last there. Bulls’ horns hang above the door, and the old oven that sits outside is still there. The purple chair that sits on the deck is still looking old, its paint flaking off in the heat of the sun.

  Jared opens the front door and says a loud, “Heelloooo,” but none of his flatmates are home. “The kitchen is ours,” he says.

  I dump my bag in his room and we walk down the dark hall into the kitchen, where the sun is shining in the window. I just about retch at the smell of rotting food and used AA, the solution that turns morphine to heroin. I open the back door and let some air in. Jared goes back into his room and returns with a grey pill. He gets a wet cloth and starts wiping off the grey so the pill becomes white. I turn on the oven and sit on a stool by the back door. I roll a cigarette but don’t smoke it. “Darling, do you want to make us a coffee,” he says, crushing the pill with the back of the spoon on to another spoon. “Yeah, sure.” I get up from the stool and grind the coffee in the grinder attached to the wall. I put it in a stovetop with some water and light the element.

  Jared adds water to the spoon and starts heating it over the element. I fixate on his precision: he does it all very swiftly. He adds the AA and puts it in the oven. “That’ll be ten minutes.”

  He gets a couple of barrels from his room and a tourniquet stolen from the blood-testing centre. “Do you need something to eat?”

  “No, I’m fine,” I say as I pour the coffee into two mugs. I get Jared some cream from the fridge and pour it in. “It’s so nice to have you here, darling,” he says. “I still believe you’re my soulmate. I’m in love with you and it’s not just because you’re beautiful. I think you’re special.” I don’t know how to respond so I just say, “I love you too.”

  Jared checks the oven. He takes the wrapper off the spoon and smells to see if the AA has cooked through. “Still couple of minutes, darling.” I use the bathroom and come back with some toilet paper. I put it on the bench and say, “So, how are your new flatties working out?” “Oh,” he says, checking the oven, “they’re fine.” He puts down the spoon, puts the tourniquet on the bench, and starts swinging his arm in a circular motion to get his veins up.

  He places a couple of filters on the spoon, and sucks the contents in the spoon up into the barrels. I look at the peachy colour of the liquid in the barrel and put on the tourniquet.

  “Right, you can go first.” He comes over with the syringe and I put out my arm. He says, “Oh, I’m jealous of your veins—they’re like train tracks.” He pricks the needle into my vein and I feel the drug coursing through my veins. I stay still for about ten seconds and just enjoy the feeling. I feel it rush to my head and suddenly the room feels a bit cloudy. I light my cigarette and suck in the smoke, feeling the euphoria. I stand up and walk outside and feel the breeze on my skin. I feel light and airy, as though I’ve no worries or stress.

  I go back in. Jared has a clenched fist: he’s looking for a vein in his hand. He puts the butterfly in by his knuckle and gets the shot away. He says, “Ooh, I felt that one.”

  “That was a nice shot,” I say.

  “Thanks sweetie, just a special treat for you.”

  We walk down to his bedroom, which is also like a living room, with a TV and two big chairs in front of the fireplace. The room is cluttered with ornaments and other collectable items he buys from secondhand shops or finds in the big bins on roadsides. He switches on Radio Active. They are playing reggae. I lie back in the chair and enjoy the feeling of comfort and not having the stiff feeling. I roll smoke after smoke, but then I start to feel sick. I go to the bathroom and throw up. Jared rubs my back. “You’ll be all right, darling. It’s because you haven’t had some for a while.”

  I feel better after vomiting. We drink our coffees and talk. He tells me stories of his family and I sit and complain about mine. I talk about how I’m trying to get my own place because I don’t want to go home. I continue to feel sick and run to the bathroom back and forth for a couple of hours or so. It makes me wonder why I do it if it makes me sick. I keep an eye on time. It’s not yet three. Jared rolls a joint. I have one or two puffs and it kicks in the opiates. I feel even more relaxed.

  I go out to the garden and start singing to the plants. I make long vowel sounds as I walk around the plants and the overgrown bush. Jared comes out, smiles at me and says, “Do you want to take some smoke with you?” I say yes, not thinking about the drug test. We sit on the step and he talks about missing me and says the door is always open. I say thank you and get ready to leave.

  I feel sad about having to go. I am happy to be back doing what I love to do, getting high. Jared gives me a little plastic bag of weed. I check the mirror in the hallway to see how I look. My eyes are slightly pinned from the opiates but I doubt anyone will notice. I look at my hair and immediately want to put on a hat and more comfortable pants.

  We walk down Jared’s winding path. Jared loops his arm through mine so I don’t slip on the damp moss. He drives me back to the ward and we chat about when I’ll get in touch again. I can feel my head moving without my trying to move it. I convene with the voice and the voice tells me not to worry. I am slightly concerned that a nurse in the ward may pick up that I am stone
d. I don’t tell Jared this. I stare at the cars and licence plates, looking for signs.

  We get back to the point where he picked me up. I kiss him on the cheek and he tries to kiss me on the mouth. I get out and tell him I’ll call him. He says, “That would be nice, sweetie.”

  I stand on the street for a minute and ponder whether I regret my actions or not. I don’t feel that good, but I have a sense of physical energy from the drug, as though I could walk for miles and miles. I wish I could take a walk around Newtown.

  I put my hand in my pocket and feel the weed. There isn’t much, just enough for a joint. I decide not to give it to Lester because I don’t want to get caught and don’t know if it’s the best thing for him. I walk quickly up the steps. In the ward I head to my room, hoping people won’t see me.

  As I near the nurses’ station I recognise Waris’s gold sandals. She sees me and smiles. “You’re back. How are you? Did you get anything done?”

  I tell her I went into the city for lunch. I lie about what I ate and did. It reminds me of the old days of lying to friends and family about what I’d been doing and whom I’d been seeing when I was really out using drugs. I told so many lies I could practically make a living out of it, but that’s what drugs do: they make you lead a double life.

  I try not to make eye contact in case Waris can see my pin-pricked pupils through my pink glasses. I tell her I’m tired from all the walking around and I go to my room and lie down. A wave of nausea hits me and I run to the bathroom. I dry retch into the bowl and some bile comes up. I don’t stop to question whether it was all worth it, a quick high for an afternoon of being sick. I know Jared lies. I was using him but he was also using me. People who give you illegal drugs don’t really care about you. They just make you use more and more drugs because you’re paying for their habit. And the more you have the more you change, until you need the drugs every day just to get out of bed and enjoy the shower.

  I go back to my room and lie down. I’m no longer thinking about when I can get out of the ward, just about when I can smoke the weed. The voice speaks to me and tells me to do it tomorrow. I lie there not thinking about much, just enjoying the feeling of relaxation. I decide I will move to another city and find drugs and use them all day.