Sleeping Awake

by Noelle, Gamali

  Bryn snorted.

  “Don’t believe in love, Mr. Conchobair?” I teased.

  “Oh I do, babe,” he said. “I’m in love right now, and it fucking hurts.”

  “Tell me about it.” I sighed. The sand scratched against my palm as I dug my fingers into it. It reminded me of how I felt whenever I thought of Nicolaas.

  “Still having troubles with my dear cousin?”

  “How do you know about me and Nicolaas?”

  “Noira, it’s high time that you accept that I know everything,” Bryn replied.

  “He told you, didn’t he?”

  “After we shared a bottle of Appleton Estate, yes,” Bryn admitted. “You should have seen him today; he looked like shit.”

  “What?” I couldn’t imagine Nicolaas looking anything short of perfection.

  “He looked like shit,” Bryn repeated. “What do they say in those horrid novels that you girls like to read?”

  “I wouldn’t know, Bryn. I don’t read those kinds of books.”

  “I remember! His eyes, black as death, announced that he had lost his zest for life.”

  I dug my fingers deeper into the sand and replied, “Nothing a good fuck won’t fix.”

  “Do you really want him to make love to someone else?” Bryn gasped.

  “I never said anything about making love.”

  “Because you only want him to do it with you, right?”

  “Yes,” I replied. The words were out of my mouth before I could stop myself. Bryn always knew how to get the truth out of me. It was no wonder that he and Nicolaas were related.

  “Quit while you’re ahead, Bryn.” I warned.

  “Where are you? I can arrange to have a villa booked for the two of you and fly him out. If you’re good, I may even toss in some strawberries and champagne.”

  “I said that you were to quit while you are ahead.”

  “Fine. Sit there alone on the beach when you know that you should be frolicking on the sand with the man that you love.”

  “Why aren’t you off frolicking with Anjali?” I asked. It was time to change the subject.

  “Because she’s like you and chooses to run away and play the ass instead of swallowing her pride and doing what needs to be done.”

  “Don’t give up, Bryn. She’ll come around.”

  “I know. But until then, I’ll be sitting here with my cock up to my belly and watching as it turns blue at an alarming rate.”

  I laughed so hard that I had to wipe away the tears from my eyes. I would never find anyone like Bryn.

  “Look, let’s be serious for a second, yeah?” Bryn said. “You have a problem. Nicolaas is in love with you, you’re in love with him, and yet you’re running around like a chicken without a head. What are you going to do about it? Running away isn’t going to make your feelings go away any faster.”

  “I’m not going to do anything,” I replied. A turtle was waddling up shore.

  “Why the fuck not?” Bryn demanded.

  “Because it’s too late for me, Bryn,” I replied. “So stop trying to save me.”

  “You know what your problem is?” Bryn said. He didn’t wait for me to answer before continuing. “You don’t want to live; you’re happy just existing. As much as I love you, Noira, I’m not going to sit around and watch you fuck up your life. Call me when you’re ready to grow up.”

  I jumped, burnt by the cigarette that fell from my mouth, as Bryn’s voice was replaced by a faint click.

  *~*

  After a week of avoiding each other, somehow my mother, my sisters and I had managed to be in the living room at the same time. Cienna was on her laptop, and Maman and Camelea were reading. Philippe was making business calls to China on the veranda. I opened my sketchpad, prepared to sketch Maman, when I noticed something.

  "Maman, why are you wearing a wig?" I asked.

  At my école élémentaire in Paris, whenever the noisiest of rooms suddenly became overcome with unexplainable silence, the nuns would tell us that an angel had passed through. An angel must have passed through the living room, because the silence was so sudden, so unexpected and so prolonged. God was tired. Tired of the arguments. The unexpected surprises. The secrets. The lies. The apathy. The selfishness. Plain tired. So He sent His angel, knowing that when it passed, something would stir in us and we would all find a way to be set free. He worked in mysterious ways all right.

  When Maman finally spoke, her voice was barely above the softest of whispers. “Because my hair fell out.”

  "All of it?" Cienna finally asked.

  Maman shook her head. "No, not all, but most."

  "I want to see it," Cienna said.

  She was silent as Maman removed the wig from her head, but once it was off, we could hear her sudden intake of breath. Her head was like an old peach with wafts of fuzz tucked between the crevices.

  "What caused this?" Camelea asked. The air around me was getting hotter by the second.

  I rolled my eyes. “I always wondered if you were stupid, Camelea. Now you’ve confirmed it. Maman left for Switzerland with her real hair to receive cancer treatment and came home with a wig. What do you think caused it?”

  Camelea spun towards me. I saw a flash of blue as the vase from the coffee table came hurling towards me. Instinctively, I jumped out of the way, narrowly avoiding it smashing into my face. When I opened my mouth, it sounded like a wounded bear had stumbled into our villa. I didn’t realise that I had closed the distance between us until she was crying beneath me. With every kick, slap and pull of her hair, I let her have it. God wasn’t the only one that was tired. I was as well.

  By the time that Philippe ran into the room, I had her pinned to the floor and my foot was pressing into her neck. I didn’t feel anything; I just knew. I knew that I was going to kill her. I didn’t give a damn about what would happen to me afterwards. The world would have been a much better place without Saint Camelea. Philippe didn’t share my sentiments however, and neither did Maman. He pulled me off Camelea. When I tried to lunge at her, Maman was there to hold me back.

  "Je te déteste!" Camelea spat. Her face was red as she struggled against Philippe’s arms.

  I threw back my head back and laughed. “You hate me? You have no idea what it means to hate someone as much as I hate you right now!"

  "Stop it!" Cienna was beginning to look very much like the baby of the family as she screamed in the background. She resembled a toddler who was about to mess herself from fright.

  "Whatever, you stupid freak!" Camelea started kicking.

  Before anyone knew what was happening, I had her pinned to the floor again. Maman had fallen back onto a sofa. “Do not call me a freak.”

  For every word that was uttered, I slammed her head against the wood floor. Camelea howled. Her eyes were screwed tight as if to block out the pain. I slammed her head again. I wanted her to suffer.

  Fucking self-righteous shit. Who gave her right to judge the rest of us? She dressed up like a coquette and went prancing about New York seducing men. Did she think that she was better than us because her sins were forgiven every Sunday?

  Cienna and Philippe tried to separate us, but I could not be stopped.

  “I hate you!” I yelled, slamming her head again for good measure. Swatting Philippe and Cienna out of the way, I went over to the armchair and sat down.

  Camelea didn’t dare come after me. She lay in Philippe’s arms moaning about her head being on fire. Her face looked as if someone had taken a razor to it. I looked down at my hands; blood and skin were under my nails. I closed my eyes and tried to assuage my rage. For almost five minutes, no sounds could be heard save for Camelea’s low moans and Maman’s coughs.

  “You are a freak,” Camelea said.

  I opened my eyes in time to see Camelea pull away from Philippe. My eyes narrowed.

  “A freak who doesn’t take her medicine and drowns herself in alcohol,” she continued.

  “Camelea,” Cienna whispered, begged rea
lly.

  Camelea just stared at her. “A freak who’s smoking away her life.” She slouched onto Philippe then, exhausted from her speech.

  Cienna opened her mouth to speak again, but I cut her off.

  “Are you finished?” I asked.

  “Do you want to hear a story, Camelea?” I asked, flashing her my most dazzling smile. “It’s one that you’re very familiar with.”

  “Noira,” Cienna begged.

  “It’s the story of a girl named Camelea, who dresses like a whore to attract men. Instead of taking money for her services, she lets them buy her pretty things.”

  Philippe stopped stroking Camelea’s hair.

  “Are you that starved for attention, Camelea?” I continued. “You’re pathetic.”

  Silence followed. It wasn’t because another angel had passed through the room. Cienna kept looking back and forth between us. Philippe looked as if someone had told him that they were freezing all of his assets. As for Maman… Poor Maman. She looked like Death had come to claim her.

  I closed my eyes and waited for the earth to swallow me whole.

  *~*

  For about an hour after the confrontation between Camelea and I, Maman sat on the sofa. The only movement that she made was to accept the glass of water that Cienna offered her and to take her medicine. Philippe walked back and forth the room as if being manipulated by an unstoppable force as he muttered under his breath. Every few minutes or so, he’d pause and glance at Camelea and I before recommencing the pacing.

  "Noira," Maman eventually said.

  I looked up. "Oui, Maman?"

  "How long?" Maman asked.

  "The beginning of July.”

  "Do you have them with you now?"

  “Yes,” I shook my head. “I’m seeing a new psychiatrist who put me on different medication.”

  Maman raised an eyebrow.

  “I’ll explain later,” I replied. “It’s not what you think.”

  She didn’t reply.

  “Perhaps one of you can explain to me what just happened,” Philippe said. He’d stopped pacing and was standing beside Maman’s armchair.

  "I..."

  "It was..."

  Camelea and I started at the same time.

  Philippe raised his hand for silence. “Don't bother. What happened isn't the issue here. Let’s move on. Noira…”

  “Yes?” I replied.

  "You smoke?" Philippe asked.

  It's clearly a rhetorical question, but I nodded anyway. "Yes."

  "And not only do you smoke, but you drink?"

  “No. Part of my treatment is to stop.”

  Philippe turned towards Camelea. “You’ve been lying to your mother?”

  Camelea glanced at me before answering. Like me, she looked resolved to her fate. "Yes."

  And so my interrogation began. I might as well have been naked and asked to dance for them for how uncomfortable and embarrassed I was.

  Once Camelea and I were finished answering his questions, Philippe turned towards Cienna. "You knew about all of this?"

  “Some of it,” she replied.

  "And yet you never thought to tell your mother?"

  Cienna began to look annoyed again. Speaking to Philippe hadn't been in her plans either. "No."

  Philippe must have sensed that she was going to offer no further information, and nodded in conclusion. I thought that he and Maman would have deliberated for a few minutes, but seconds later, Maman spoke. Throughout the entire proceeding, she hadn’t so much as flinched.

  “Get packed.”

  **~*~*~**~*~*~**

  ¯CHAPITRE QUATORZE ¯

  NOW IS THE START

  The hurricane had descended, and we were all spinning out of control. For the past month, I had watched as my life swirled around me and allowed myself to be pulled into the eye of the storm, far out of everyone’s reach. But no more. The Dominican Republic was the catalyst for me. We hadn’t been home for a day before Maman called us out of our rooms into the upstairs sitting room. She suggested a refresher course at Golden Ridge for me.

  “For Christ’s sake, Maman,” Cienna said. “Stop trying to put a Band Aid over everything and instantly fix our problems!”

  I opened my mouth and spoke my first words since leaving the DR. “If you send me to Golden Ridge on a Monday, you’ll be burying me that Tuesday.”

  Silently, I turned and went down the hall. The only sound that was heard was the faint tick of my lock as I barred them from entry into my room. I didn’t need to listen to hear Cienna and Camelea follow suit.

  Somewhere along the line, we had all made unspoken truces of silence. Maman liked to make solitary decisions. Philippe thought that he could just reclaim his position as head of the household without involving us in the matter. Camelea was forever obsessing over something. Cienna wore pretty clothes and smiled for the camera. I became so accustomed to depression that I couldn’t recognise happiness when I was experiencing it. Enough was enough.

  *~*

  It was just Maman, Cienna and I at breakfast the following morning. Camelea had wolfed down toast and marmalade in record time before excusing herself to go to Axel’s for the day.

  “Girls, I think that you should be nicer to your father,” Maman said.

  Cienna and I stopped eating our breakfast. I looked at Maman, expecting to see her smiling and ready to tell me that it was all her twisted idea of a joke. Her face was solemn.

  How could she ask us to just forgive him after everything? Was she not the one who told us that Cienna would not go to sleep as a baby if she wasn’t in Philippe’s arms? Had she forgotten that if she couldn’t find me, she just had to go to Philippe’s office and I’d be there snuggled in his lap? I had no need for walking when my father was home, he was all the legs that I needed as he carried me about the place, squealing and clapping on his shoulders.

  “I’m not asking you to love him,” she pressed. “Just accept the fact that he’s trying to be a part of your life now. Learn to forgive him.”

  Cienna put down her spoon. “I just don’t understand how you expect me to forgive him after he tossed me aside like a pair of old jeans. Maybe you can just jump back in love with him, but I can’t.”

  “Who said that I fell back in love with him?” Maman asked.

  I sighed, not wanting to hear a speech about a love like theirs being unable to die. “I get that you never stopped loving him, but I don’t know how you can be trying to make a relationship work after all that he did to you.”

  “I already explained why the situation was complicated,” Maman said. She began to rub her temples.

  “And so I’m supposed to accept that he was just scared and rekindle the flame like you did?” Cienna asked.

  Maman giggled softly. Slowly, it turned into a smile. “No such thing happened, Cienna.”

  “Well then explain what happened this year then? I know that Philippe feels that it’s none of my business, but don’t you think that we deserve to know?”

  “Philippe only said that because of the way that you had handled the situation. I’ve told you time and time again that you need to work on that attitude of yours before it gets the best of you.”

  “Fine,” Cienna said. “I’m on my best behaviour right now. Will you please tell me what’s going on?”

  Maman smiled softly. It made her look less like the tired cancer patient that she had become. “You really are a little pixie; always showing the face that is necessary to get what you want. You get that from Philippe, you know.”

  Cienna rolled my eyes.

  “Okay!” Maman said. “Vos questions.”

  “It wasn’t suddenly la vie en rose like you assumed,” she began. “And even though I never told you girls this, I always knew about Philippe’s whereabouts. He didn’t just pack up and leave like a thief in the night as you and Noira like to say. He told me that he was leaving and where he planned to go. Even though I never thought that it was important to tell you girls, he deposi
ted money into our joint account every month for his part of your expenses. He even kept the same mobile number and still lives in our house on St. Honoré. When I found out that I had leukaemia, I called him.”

  “So you’ve spoken over the past few years?” I asked. I felt slightly betrayed.

  “I never said that. I said that he told me that he’d be living in Belgium and deposited money into our bank account for you girls. I only emailed him our address after we moved here in some pathetic hope that he’d one day show up at our door.”

  As she said her final sentence, Maman’s voice lowered significantly. I could feel her shame as she struggled to not cry. I reached across the table and took her hand into mine. I wasn’t used to seeing Maman as anything but a force to be reckoned with. This new, vulnerable Trischa, who never got over her first love, was a bit startling.

  “Anyway,” Maman continued. She smiled weakly and wiped away a lone tear before it could escape. “I called him when I found out that I had cancer, and I told him that there was a possibility that I might die and that he owed me one final request for everything that he had done to us.”

  “What was the request?” Cienna asked.

  “I asked,” Maman began. Her voice was cracked. She sniffled slightly and smiled again. “I asked that if I died, not only would he come and help you girls settle the final affairs, but that he would play an active role in your lives... I didn’t want to leave you girls alone, you see...”

  This time, when the tears began to fall, Maman made no effort to stop them. Maman had always been the one to comfort us. I tried to summon the words to slow her tears, but I couldn’t. I squeezed her hand. I wasn’t exactly sure what else there was to do. Cienna did the same. After another minute of hiccups and our awkward silence, Maman managed to control herself.

  “It wasn’t easy at first,” she said. “I wanted to lunge at his throat when he showed up unexpectedly at my office a few days later…”

  I snorted. She’d have saved us a lot of trouble if she had.