Letters to Leonardo

by Dee White

  “I doubt that.”

  I think about the fifteenth birthday card and the ones Mum never sent – the pieces of her from the past and a piece from the present. There will probably be nothing of her from the future, but I don’t care. I take the cards I have read and start ripping. Dave tries to stop me but I push him away.

  “Don’t,” I yell. “I’ve got the right to do this.”

  Dave backs off and stands watching while I toss card confetti around.

  When I finish I sit on the bed and cry. We stay like that for ages. I don’t think Dave knows what to do. In the end he gets up and leaves.

  “I’ll give you space,” he says.

  I fall asleep on top of the broken bits of my past, and wake up at about 4 am feeling stiff and miserable. I climb into bed and pick up the cards I haven’t read.

  Reading Mum’s words makes me feel better somehow. I’m sure she loves me – in her own way. Mothers have to love their kids, right? I wish Troy was here right now. He’d make one of his goofy comments like “What’s not to love?” or “You’ve got a face that only a mother could love”.

  When it gets light, Dave arrives at my door with bacon and eggs (not what Rosenbaum would recommend to start the day) and the hand-held vacuum cleaner. He puts breakfast on my desk. He turns on the vacuum cleaner, and is about to suck up all the bits of paper. “Wait,” I yell. “I might be able to put them back together.”

  “Come on.” Dave grabs my empty wastepaper basket and sweeps all the pieces into it. “We’ll do this at the dining room table. It will be easier.”

  I wolf down my breakfast and get dressed. We spend the next two hours bent over the table, arranging the pieces of card. Finally, we have three separate piles. We put the bits together like a jigsaw and paste them onto a piece of cardboard. There are obvious join lines, but eventually the cards are all in one piece.

  Dave’s being really cool about everything – considering all the stuff I said to him – and the fact that I destroyed his beloved Rosenbaum. I guess he’s trying to make things right.

  “I know you didn’t sleep much last night. I’ll drive you to school later, if you like,” he says.

  “I’ll get the bus.”

  “I don’t mind taking you. I’d rather make sure you’re okay before I head off.”

  “I’ll be fine.” I try to stop my voice from shaking. “I guess I’ll just go back to being what I was, before I found out I had a mother.”

  “It wasn’t all bad, was it?”

  “No, Dad. We were okay.”

  I feel calmer than I have in ages. I guess we’re starting to sort stuff out.

  Dear Leonardo,

  You and I are different.

  Our mothers were not the same. Your paintings are full of little kids with curious smiles, wearing the confidence of their mother’s “everlasting” love. To paint like that, you had to know what it felt like.

  Matt

  16

  At school Troy ambushes me the minute I get off the bus.

  “How did it go? What was she like? Did you talk?”

  Where do I start? I choose my words carefully, try to keep it impersonal, contained.

  “We didn’t talk.”

  “You mean she wasn’t there again?”

  “She was there.” The memory of her fear makes me sick in the stomach.

  “What? Matt, what’s wrong?” Troy stands in front of me like he’s trying to shield me from the other kids – so they can’t see I’m upset.

  “She was terrified of me.” The words come out in a whisper.

  “How do you mean? You’re her son.”

  I tell Troy about Mum’s face at the window.

  “You’re kidding. What’s with her?”

  “She’s sick. She has this thing called bipolar.”

  “Can’t you take something for it?”

  I scuff my shoe on the asphalt. “Not if you want to be an artist.”

  Luckily for me, the bell goes for the start of class. I’ve had it with talking about Mum, thinking about Mum, wondering why she made the choices she did – why she doesn’t even seem to know how much she has hurt me.

  After school I’m doing my homework at the kitchen table when there’s a knock at the door.

  “Door’s open, Troy,” I yell.

  Slow footsteps creep down the hallway. They don’t sound at all like Troy’s size-nine Blundstones. I get up from the table.

  “Mum!” At first, when I see her standing there, I’m shocked. Then I get mad. “What are you doing here?”

  “Sorry about the other day, Matt. I really am. You just caught me at a bad time.”

  Not much of an apology. She’s making out it’s my fault. “You could have at least answered the door.”

  “I couldn’t, Matt. Not the way I was.” She shoves a red and blue striped plastic bag towards me. “Here, I brought you these.”

  “What are they?”

  Mum smiles. “I know it’s a bit late. But these are all the birthday presents I bought for you over the years.”

  “What if I don’t want them?”

  “Come on, Matt,” she coaxes. “Aren’t you even a little bit curious?” She pulls out a Lego robot. “I got you this the year you turned six. What do you think?”

  She crouches on the floor and walks it towards me. It reminds me of Troy’s Frankenstein walk. The thought makes me grin.

  “See, I knew you’d like it,” she teases.

  I’m not quite ready to forgive her yet. “Mum, we need to talk.”

  “Later. Let’s have some fun first.”

  She sits on the floor in the hallway and takes other toys from the bag, an easel, paints, shoes, a clock radio, rollerblades and a spitting dinosaur.

  The dinosaur has three horns on top of its head like a triceratops. Mum pulls a plastic cap off one horn and takes the toy to the kitchen sink where she fills it up with water. She puts the dinosaur on the floor in front of me. “Turn it on.” She’s like an excited kid.

  I flick the switch. The dinosaur plods down the hall. Mum pushes a button on the side of its head and the dinosaur spits water. A splash hits me in the eye.

  Mum laughs. “Can’t believe the batteries still work. I bought this nine years ago.”

  She runs down the hall, turns the dinosaur around and walks it back towards the kitchen.

  She looks at me sadly. “I guess you’ve grown out of most of them. They’ll only clutter up your room anyway.”

  She starts to put the toys back in the bag.

  I take them from her. “Thanks, Mum.”

  “Friends again?” She smiles brightly.

  “Mum. It’s not that simple.”

  She stops being the excited child. She looks miserable. “I know it’s not that simple, Matty. But I’m really sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry for all the times I’ve hurt you.”

  It’s hard to keep up with these sudden changes in her. Nothing about her is simple.

  “Why, Mum? I don’t understand any of it. I don’t understand why you picked your painting over us. Can’t you have both?”

  She tries to hug me. “It doesn’t work for people like me.”

  I pull away. “But why not, Mum?”

  She won’t let me go. “Because of my sickness, Matt.”

  “I know you have that bipolar thing, but so do lots of people – and they have families – and they take tablets and stuff so they can be normal. Why can’t you?”

  She steps back and looks into my face. Her voice is soft and uncertain. “Matt,” she says. “You can’t just take one course of tablets and make bipolar go away. You have to take the tablets forever.”

  So? I don’t get it. Why wouldn’t you take them if it meant you could be well?

  I look at her blankly. Mum takes another deep breath. “My sickness isn’t in my stomach or on my skin like the allergies your friend’s sister has.”

  “But you can take tablets.”

  She’s close to tears. “But I can’t paint when I
’m on my meds. I can’t do anything. But without them I can live, be sad and happy. It’s hard for me to control how I feel and sometimes, I even do things that I really wish I hadn’t.”

  I almost say, “Like leave your child in a shopping centre.” Instead, I bite my lip to stop the words spilling out.

  “But at least I feel things.” A tear drops down her cheek.

  “You seem okay now, Mum.”

  Mum frowns. “I’m a bit like your friend’s sister in a way,” she says. “She has to think about everything she eats, and I have to think about everything I do. It’s hard for me to know what’s real and what’s not. I have to consciously work out if what I’m doing and feeling is real or just some part of a high or low cycle.”

  I’m still confused. When I look at her she seems normal – like any mother trying to help her son understand something. “Are you like that all the time – even now?”

  She nods. “Even sitting here talking to you, I’m thinking, is this the right thing to do? I don’t know. I just feel so bad for hurting you again.”

  “These cycles, do they last long?”

  “It depends. Some people only go off the rails now and then. But I’m what they call a rapid cycler. It means I get them all the time – that’s why it’s hard to work out what’s real and what’s not. It all seems real to me.”

  I think of the night sky. I like to pretend the constellations are real. I pretend that Sirius really is a dog and the Seven Sisters belong to him. But afterwards, I always know it’s all in my imagination. I try to understand what it must be like for Mum – not to be able to tell the difference, to be scared of yourself and what you might do.

  “I can’t imagine what it would be like just not to do things,” I say. “Sometimes what I do works out and other times it doesn’t. But most of the time it doesn’t really matter either way.”

  “It’s not like that for me,” says Mum. “I can do terrible things if I’m not careful.”

  I look closely. For the first time, I see how brittle she is. “So why don’t you take the meds?”

  “I used to. But then I found it stopped me from being creative. Part of the thing about seeing things in such an intense way, is that it gives more depth to your painting.”

  She looks beautiful when she talks about her work. Her cheeks dimple and her eyes shine with a glow that lights her whole face. I wonder if there will ever be anything in my life that makes me that happy.

  “Couldn’t you take less medicine?”

  Her face clouds over. “If you don’t take the right dose, it doesn’t work. Matt, I really am sorry. I came here today to try and make it up to you.” She reaches into her handbag and takes out a bottle of tablets. “Lithium,” she says. “I’ll go back to taking these, if you’ll give me another go.”

  It overwhelms me. I’ve never had anyone prepared to make such a sacrifice for me before. “But what about your painting?”

  “You’re my son. You matter more.”

  What if she changes her mind? What if she decides to leave me again? What if I get used to her being in my life again? “I don’t know, Mum. Why do you want to do this now?”

  “I think I’m stronger. And I’m not going to risk losing you again. I’ll be all right, you know.” She holds up the tablets. “As long as I keep taking these.”

  I don’t know if any of this is a good idea, but Dad said she was okay when she was on her medication.

  “Come on, Matty.” Mum grabs my arm. “Let me make it up to you.”

  “I guess it would be cool to catch up on weekends and things.”

  “I’ve got a better idea. Wait here.” She runs out the front door.

  I send the robot down the hall after her. I look through the bag of toys she gave me – all the stuff I would have loved when I was little.

  Mum comes back carrying two suitcases. “I’m going to stay for a while. You’ll get to know me a lot quicker that way.”

  I just about choke. Dad will have a fit. Can I say no? Do you say things like that to your own mother? “What about Dad?” I say.

  Mum seems to have already thought of an answer. She says quickly, “If he knows you really want me here, I don’t think he’ll throw me out.”

  I don’t even know if I’m ready to have her here. I don’t even know her – not really. “I’ll have to ask him first.”

  “Of course. Why don’t you call him now?”

  I don’t know what to do.

  Dave won’t like it. But she’s my mother, I owe her this chance, don’t I? But what if she goes weird on me like she did up at her house? What if she is crazy? The whole idea scares the life out of me.

  I need to buy myself time to think. Dad vs Mum. This is a mega step. “I can’t do this over the phone, Mum. This is something I have to tell Dad in person.”

  “You do what you need to do, Matty. I’ll be here waiting when you get back. You know I love you,” she says.

  I grab my bike from the back verandah and head off. I’m completely distracted and nearly ride straight into a lamppost, only a girl about my age yells just in time, “Watch out.”

  Once I get to Dad’s office, I ride around the block a couple of times before I go inside, still trying to get things straight in my head.

  Finally, I decide what I’m going to do.

  I lean the bike up against the front of Dad’s work and walk in. I need to get to know Mum better. She is my mother.

  Dad’s between clients. He looks up from his paperwork and smiles at me. “Hi, buddy,” he says. “Don’t see you round here too often.”

  I sit across from him. I have a sick feeling in my stomach – the sort you get when you feel like you shouldn’t be asking for what you’re about to ask for.

  “I was wondering if you’d mind if we had someone living with us for a while.” I shift in my seat.

  Dad laughs. “Troy been kicked out of home, has he? I always knew it would happen eventually.”

  I take a deep breath. “Actually, it’s Mum,” I say as casually as I can – even though I feel my face burning. “She’s at the house. Wants to stay for a while and get to know me better.”

  Dad goes instantly purple and swallows as if he’s trying to control what’s going to come out of his mouth. He doesn’t say anything.

  “So, what do you think, Dad?” I ask tentatively.

  “I think she’s manipulative and selfish, and I’m not having that woman in my house.”

  His reaction is worse than I expected, but it comes as no surprise, not after what he’s said before about her. I have to make him understand. I have to take this chance. “But Dad, she’s my mother.”

  Dad’s eyes dart back and forth. His fingers tap the desk. I’ve never seen him look so scared. “Oh, Matt. Look what she did to you – to all of us.”

  “Please, Dad. She’s going back on her medication. She promised.”

  “But for how long?”

  I try to sound confident. “She seems pretty serious about it.”

  “She always is,” says Dad, bitterly. “But it doesn’t last. Before long she’ll be thinking she doesn’t need it any more. Then she’ll be stuffing us around again. Look what she did to you when you were five, dumped you in a shopping centre – anything could have happened to you. There’s a reason the court wouldn’t allow unsupervised visits. She can’t be trusted.”

  “But I’m not a little kid. She can’t hurt me now.”

  Dad snorts. “Huh!”

  I don’t blame him for being angry, but Mum doesn’t seem like that person any more. She seems to be in control. I have to give her a chance. I try to stay calm – to convince Dad that this is a well-thought-out decision, that I know what I’m doing, and everything will be all right. “Maybe she’s changed. Please, Dad? For me?”

  “Forget it, Matt. It’s not going to happen. It’s for you that we’re not having her in the house.”

  Why is he being so unfair? “Fine, tell her yourself then. She’s at the house. She’s got her
stuff there already.”

  Dad stands up. “I will tell her. I’ll tell her exactly what I think of her and her scheming.”

  I can’t face Mum – can’t face her disappointment or mine. I run out, jump on my bike and race it at full speed round and around the block till the perspiration and tears make it hard for me to see. I’m surprised at how fiercely I want her to stay. What if she goes back to Hillton and I never see her again?

  When I get back later, Dad has his nose buried in a new book, and there’s no sign of Mum.

  “I hope you’re happy.” I stomp off to my room. I’m so wild I punch the wall. I wait for Dad to come thumping in and tell me off.

  But he doesn’t say a word.

  Dad tries to make it up to me by letting me pick takeaway for tea. As if that changes anything? I barely speak to him while we chew on pizza. I picture Mum’s face when Dad told her she couldn’t stay. It makes the crust stick in my throat.

  After tea I go to the water tank with Troy. He’s got new cans and wants to paint, but I’m not feeling inspired. “I’m so sick of Dad,” I tell Troy. “He doesn’t listen, doesn’t care what I think.”

  Troy flicks his ear with a blade of grass. “It’s typical. Parents want us to act grown up, but they still treat us like kids.”

  “I’ve just about had it with my odd family. Don’t know how much more I can take.”

  Troy throws a piece of grass at me. “Come to my house for the weekend. Take a break.”

  “Ta, think I will.”

  “As long as you don’t mind Angie and her noisy friends.”

  “At least they’re normal.”

  Troy laughs. “Well, sort of.”

  Dad’s sitting at the kitchen table when we get back – the empty pizza box in front of him. He has his “we need to talk” look on his face.

  “Catch you later.” Troy hurries out the front door.

  I pretend I don’t realise Dad wants to talk. I take the pizza box out to the garbage bin, then sneak in the back door and go to my room.

  Dear Leonardo,

  They’re both tearing me apart. It’s like my skin is paper thin and my insides are being ripped in two. Why does Dad hate Mum so much?