Letters to Leonardo (20 page)

With your paintings, it’s always the faces, the eyes, that tell so much. I try to really look at people now. I look at their eyes and try to work out their story – even with people I don’t know. I reckon that if I can understand people, I can paint them better
.

Have been trying this theory on my parents too. Not sure it’s working all that well yet. Must be because I know too much backstory already – I guess it gets in the way of gut instinct
.

Matt

It’s Saturday – the day Troy and I usually hang out together but today I’m shopping with Mum.

Shopping brings back memories I’d rather not think about. Mum doesn’t seem manic at the moment, but I still can’t help worrying.

She insists on taking me to buy new clothes. She only buys one pair of shoes and some runners for me, but I still worry. We go to a clothes store where she buys me a pair of jeans and a top.

“Can you afford this, Mum?”

“Don’t worry, Matt, I’m not going overboard.”

I’m glad when we leave the shopping centre – together. But next stop is the doctor’s.

“Hi, Zora, good to see you,” says the receptionist. “Doctor will be with you soon.”

“Eva, this is my little fella, Matty,” she says (even though I’m at least thirty centimetres taller than her).

“Pleased to meet you, Matt.”

I can’t meet her eyes.
Little fella
. Just when I’m starting to have doubts, Mum pipes up and says, “Only joking. Big strapping lad, isn’t he?”

Eva nods – she seems unsure what to say.

I read mags while I wait for Mum – at least she is seeing someone.

She comes out with the doctor, holding a script in her hand. “See, I’m still taking my medication,” she says.

We go to the chemist to get her pills then to the pizza shop where Troy and I have arranged to meet.

“Might treat myself to a massage. I’ll be back to pick you up in a couple of hours.” Mum hands me a twenty dollar note and drives off.

“You and your mum seem to be getting along well,” says Troy.

“Yeah, but I think she might be getting a bit carried away with the mother/son thing.”

“How do you mean?”

“It takes a bit of getting used to. I didn’t see her for ten years and now she wants to be my new best friend.”

Troy pretends to cry.

I punch him on the shoulder. “As if that’s going to happen.”

“True. Nobody could live up to my talents, could they?”

Troy puts on his Frankenstein face and I can’t help laughing.

I take a bite of the barbecue chicken pizza that’s just been delivered to our table.

“I thought you loved having your mum around.” Troy says, his mouth full of pizza.

“I guess I need a bit of space, that’s all.”

“That gallery opening she took you to last week was pretty awesome.”

“Yeah, but it’s the doctor’s appointments and shopping and all the other stuff she wants me to do with her – it’s just too much.”

“Why don’t you talk to her about it?”

“I can’t. Don’t want to upset her – she might go off the rails again.” Melted cheese drips from my fingers.

Troy hesitates. “Yeah, it is a bit of a worry. No normal mum would expect their fifteen-year-old son to hang out with them.”

“You only think that because you know she has this bipolar thing.”

Troy pushes a pizza crust around the plate. “That’s not true.”

“Maybe she just wants to make up for lost time.”

Troy puts the crust in his mouth and talks through pizza chunks. “Yeah, but she needs to get a life.”

Dear Leonardo
,

I’m starting to think that Mum and I are like your
Lady with the Ermine.
I’m Mum’s pet. Maybe that’s all I was to her when I was a kid. Like the Christmas puppy that people buy as an accessory to carry around for everyone to admire – then dump it when it stops being cute and cuddly
.

She’s definitely starting to suffocate me – and it’s not because of motherly love
.

She wants me with her all the time. Doesn’t even seem to care what’s going on in
my
life. If I try to tell her how Mrs D is picking on me or that Troy and I had a fight, she just changes the subject. She makes a big fuss of me, pats me, gives me food then puts me out for the night
.

Dad seems to have taken a step back from the action. Troy says he’s letting me work things out for myself. I don’t mind this new Dave – one who doesn’t pick up a book every time there’s an issue – one who acts as if he trusts me
.

What do think, Leo? If dads can change, surely mums can too?

Matt

I’m on the way home from school, when I get a text from Dad:
Meet me
@
Mums
.

I show it to Troy. “That’s strange. Dad never finishes work early,” I say.

Troy shrugs and I get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. “Something’s wrong. Something’s happened.”

“Chill,” says Troy. “Could be anything. Maybe it’s your Mum’s birthday.”

“Don’t think so.” I realise I don’t actually know when my own mother’s birthday is.

My house comes into view from the bus window. There’s an ambulance next door. I leap off the bus, jumping all the steps in a single bound.

“Call me,” yells Troy out the bus window.

Dad meets me at the front door. I can hear murmuring voices (must be the ambos) coming from the kitchen.

“What’s happened? What’s happened to Mum?”

“Take it easy, Matt.”

“What’s happened to Mum? Can I see her?”

Dad speaks carefully, as if he’s trying to sound calm. But he’s shaking – like he’s holding something back. “Don’t think that’s a good idea just yet. Come and sit down.” He walks away from me.

“I don’t want to sit down. Tell me what’s happened.”

I follow Dad into the lounge room. We stand across from each other.

“Your mother rang me at work …”

“Why?”

“She was in the bath and …”

“And what? She slipped?” I can’t shake the feeling of dread.

Dad’s voice is soft. “Matt, there’s no easy way to say this, mate, but your mum … she … well, she tried to kill herself.”

I try to push past him. “I have to see her.”

“No, Matt.”

Dad seems so in control. I take my fear and anger out on him. “You don’t even care.”

“Of course I care. But this isn’t the first time she’s done this sort of thing. It’s her way of getting attention.”

Dad stands in front of me to block my view, but I catch a glimpse of Mum’s dark hair, hanging wet and limp around her face as they take her on a stretcher from the bathroom to the waiting ambulance. I try to run after her – to ask if she’s going to be okay. But Dad puts an arm out to stop me.

The ambulance leaves without its siren flashing. Dad says, “Ambulances do that sometimes so they don’t upset the patients – particularly if they’re agitated.”

We follow in Dad’s car.

I don’t talk on the way to the hospital.

“It’s not your fault,” says Dad.

How does he know?

We wait for two hours in intensive care until the doctor comes. “Is Zora your wife?” he asks Dad.

Dad nods.

So they never got divorced.

“She’s going to be okay. Her injuries are not life threatening, but she’s going to need psychiatric referral.”

“We understand,” says Dad.

They won’t let us in to see Mum that night, so we go home. I don’t sleep and neither does Dad. In the morning, we both shuffle down to breakfast with major bags under our eyes.

I put three sugars in my coffee and stir it till Dad says, “You’ll wear the bottom out of that mug.”

The phone rings. We both jump. I’m too scared to answer it. Dad picks it up. “Dave Hudson … yes … I see … I think that would be best.” Dad hangs up.

“The hospital?” My voice comes out in a whisper.

Dad nods. “Apparently, your mum is physically okay, but they’re moving her to Gardenvale Hospital – to the Acute Psychiatric Unit.”

Maybe
I
should ask for a bed there.

Dear Leonardo
,

How can you cut through flesh with a knife?

How could you do something like that to yourself – for whatever reason? How bad must Mum be feeling?

Matt

I take the bus to Gardenvale Hospital. Dad wants to come with me, but I won’t let him. He never wanted her back in our lives in the first place.

The hospital is huge and new – not like Barry Hill, at all. In the foyer there are shops where you can buy food and flowers. Damn, I should have brought money. I reckon Mum would have liked flowers. Then again, maybe not. I’m a bit scared now that I’m here.

There’s an information desk once you get past the shops. A woman in a blue cardigan asks, “Can I help you, love?”

“I’m not sure. I’m looking for my mother. Her name’s Zora Hudson.”

The woman looks up the computer. “Sorry, love. Nobody by that name. Are you sure she’s here and not Gardenview, the maternity hospital? Not having a baby, is she? Some people get the two places confused.”

Then I remember. “She might be under ‘Matthews’,” I say.

“Oh, right. Here she is. Room 12. Up the stairs to your left.”

“Thanks.” I hurry away, wondering if she thinks Mum’s mad. Probably the whole world does by now.

As I get closer to room 12, I slow down. I’m not sure if I’m really ready for this. I hesitate outside room 10. The door’s open. There’s a guy, not that much older than me, sitting on the bed. He’s small and wild-looking. When he smiles there are huge gaps between his teeth. “Hi, I’m Kevin.”

I’m about to keep walking, when he says, “You want to come in? I never have visitors.”

It would be awful, being stuck in a place like this. I step into the room. Kevin bounces up and down. “Sit here.” He pats a spot on the moving bed.

“I’m Matt.”

Kevin stops bouncing and settles at my feet like a pet dog. “What are you doing here? You don’t look crazy. But then you never can tell.”

He leaps back onto the bed, rolls up one sleeve of his thin blue pyjama top, and shows me a white line across his wrist. “That’s where I slashed last Christmas.”

He grabs my hand and makes me feel the fine ridge of his scar.

“It’s worse on the other arm. Want to see?”

I shake my head. Kevin pushes his face close to mine till our noses are almost touching, and I can smell his sour breath.

“I’m crazy, you know. It’s a family tradition.” Kevin’s laugh is off-key.

I stand up. He moves closer. “Am I scaring you? I scare heaps of people.”

I back towards the door. “I’m looking for someone so I’d better go now.”

Kevin stands up and follows me. He grabs my arm. “It’s not my fault,” he says. “It runs in the family.”

I try to step outside the door, but Kevin hangs on. “You can’t fight genetics.”

“Bye, Kevin.” I pull my arm free and run.

I don’t stop running till I’m on the bus back to Brabham.

When I get home, Troy is pacing up and down outside my front gate.

He follows me into the house. “So, how’d it go? Did you see her?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

I pour us both a glass of milk. “I freaked out. It’s a scary place.”

Troy grabs the jumper that’s tied around his waist and hangs it over his face. He walks around with his arms outstretched. “I am the ghost of Gardenvale,” he says in a spooky voice, then collapses laughing.

“Not that kind of scary.”

Troy is still laughing when Dad walks in. “What’s the joke?” he says.

“Wasn’t really that funny anyway.” I signal to Troy.

“Gotta go, Mr H. Catch you later.”

I grab my backpack and head to my room before Dad can hassle me about today. I’m too embarrassed to tell him what a wuss I am.

I slam my bedroom door shut. If I hadn’t been so freaked out by Kevin, I would have got to see Mum – and I could have asked her stuff. Stuff about us, about me, about genetics – and whether I might be bipolar too.

I lie on the bed, banging my head against the pillow, thinking about Kevin. I never expected to see someone that young in a psych place. Is he right? Is madness something you can get from your parents?