Letters to Leonardo (21 page)

At school I am called to the headmaster’s office. They say my name over the PA, but I don’t move. Since I heard about what Mum did, I’ve felt kind of sedated, like I’m living in a haze and nothing’s real. Is that what Mum feels like on the medication? No wonder she doesn’t want to take it.

“You’re in for it, Hudson!” says Carly Ralph.

Damon Knox asks, “What’s Marvo Matt done now?”

“Don’t listen to them,” says Troy.

“I’m not.” The words seem to come out of my mouth without me making them. My mind can’t focus. How do you forget the image of your mother lying in a bath full of blood? Even though I didn’t see her do it, my imagination does a good job of making the picture for me.

“Matt Hudson to Mr Madden’s office now.”

“You’d better go, Matt,” says Troy.

“Yeah.”

I get to my feet and Troy pushes me towards the door. “Good luck, mate,” he whispers.

I stand in front of Mr Madden’s antique desk.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

Madden looks at me intently. “You weren’t at school yesterday. Want to tell me about it?”

I glare at him. “Not really.”

“Your father rang. He told me your mother had to go to hospital. It might help to talk,” says Madden. He has that same “I’m here to help you” look that Dad wears.

“I doubt it.” I don’t see how talking about it can fix anything.

I bite my lip. I’m going to howl – right then and there in Madden’s office.

“It’s not your fault, Matt. Your mother’s ill. It’s not anyone’s fault.”

What would he know? I’m so sick of people trying to tell me who I should be and how I should feel.

I slam out of the headmaster’s office.

I run and run. I can’t stop running. It’s like the day I found out Mum wasn’t really dead. My anger’s too big to fit inside my body. I want to keep running and never stop.

Finally, when I can’t run any more, I collapse on the ground. I lie facedown on the soft grass next to the river. I don’t care that the sun’s beating down on the back of my head. Don’t care if I die of sunstroke. And nobody else will either.

Troy finds me before the sun has a chance to fry me.

“Hey, Matt! There you are.” He flops down on the grass. “Madden got me out of class to come and look for you. Thanks for that,” he says with a grin.

“Any time.”

“What happened?”

“He wanted to talk about Mum. Dad phoned him. Madden reckons it’s not my fault she did it to herself. But that’s crap.” The grass itches my face. I sit up.

Troy rolls a blade of grass between his palms. “What does your dad say?”

“He reckons she just wants attention. Says she’s nothing but trouble. I hate him.”

Troy hesitates. “He’s got a point, you know.”

I get to my feet. “Whose side are you on anyway?”

“I’m just a mate, trying to help you sort through all this.”

I get up. “Well, you’re not helping. So nick off and leave me alone.”

Troy stands too. “You’ve got to face it, mate. Your life has been a train wreck since she came on the scene. She’s stuffed in the head and she’s making you the same way. I know it’s not her fault, but you can’t let her drag you into it.”

The anger keeps swelling inside me. I’m mad with so many people: Dad for lying in the first place; Mum for doing this to herself; and now Troy’s giving me a hard time as well.

It’s too much.

He sidesteps my clenched fist, but the blow catches him on the side of the face, sending him tumbling into the water. His face goes under; his arms and legs flail about.

At first I think it’s just another one of his jokes. But he’s not coming up. I dive in, lurch about until I grab hold of his arm, drag him to the surface and swim to the bank. He’s still a bit dazed, but manages to cough up the water he swallowed.

I feel worse than ever. Troy’s my best mate – the one who stuck by me through all this – and I nearly drowned him.

“I’m sorry, Troy.” What else can I say?

Troy smiles weakly. “No harm done.” His voice is croaky.

“You’re right. My life’s a train wreck. I just don’t know what to do about it.”

We lie on the grass, drying in the sun.

I sit up. “Troy, do you think I’m like her?”

“’Course you are. She’s your mother.”

“That’s not what I mean. Do you reckon I’m moody?”

“No more than anyone else I know.”

Troy looks at me. For once he’s not laughing. “What are you really asking me?”

I take a deep breath. Force out the words that I’ve not had the guts to say aloud. “Do you reckon I could have this bipolar thing? It’s supposed to run in families.”

“Nah, you’re not bipolar. Not that I really know much about it. But you seem normal to me. Hot-headed and stubborn maybe, but not crazy. What does your dad say?”

“Haven’t asked him.”

“Maybe your mum can help you. She’d know better than anyone what the signs are.”

Dear Leonardo
,

Every time I look at one of your paintings, I realise it’s the truth and the detail that make your work so great
.

You never seemed to paint anything without looking into it. No surface sketches for you
.

I think that’s what I love about your
Drapery Study.
I never thought of clothes as having a life of their own – but they do. We all wear an outer layer to hide who we really are
.

Matt

Dear Leonardo
,

You once said that “The desire to know is natural to all good people.”

Mind you, I’m not saying I’m a good person – just that I need to know
.

Gotta go back and see Mum. Gotta face this head-on
.

Have to live with whatever happens
.

Matt

It takes me three days to get the courage – seventy-two hours of fighting myself. Should I go? Shouldn’t I? Troy offers to come but I won’t let him.

“I can’t believe that you’re still my mate, after I nearly drowned you,” I say.

Troy laughs. “You won’t get rid of me that easily.”

“I gave it a good go.”

“Yeah, but you got me out in the end. Besides, I guess I asked for it.” He points to the side of his face, which is still bruised from where I punched him. “You know this big mouth of mine. It’s always getting me into trouble.

“Good luck,” he says as I hop on the bus to Gardenvale.

As I walk up the hallway to Mum’s room, I think about what Troy said. Mum’s the one who can tell me if I’m bipolar or not.

She’s resting when I walk in. “Hi, darling, I’m glad you came.” Her voice is thin and dry like the air-conditioned room. She sits up and pats the bed. “Sit down and talk to me,” she says.

She wears a faded blue hospital gown and looks so unlike herself – colourless. I feel like I made this happen. I should have left Mum alone with her peppercorn trees and stray cats – back in Hillton in her world where she creates unbelievable paintings.

There are bars on the windows. Do they really need to be there?

“I’m sorry, Mum.” I bend to kiss her.

She strokes my hair. “It’s not your fault, Matt. It never was.”

I lay my head on her shoulder. “But look at you, Mum. You don’t belong here.”

“It’s okay, really. They look after me.”

“But why can’t we do that?”

A nurse comes in and hands Mum a couple of pills which she swallows without water. “I need professional help,” she says.

“You seem okay now.”

Mum shakes her head. “That’s the medication. They’ve got me on some pretty strong stuff.”

I look away. “Mum, do you think I could be bipolar?”

She seems really stunned by my question. “Why would you think that?”

“I get pretty angry sometimes.”

Mum makes me face her. “Lots of people get angry. I wouldn’t worry, Matty. You seem fine. I know I’m not a great one to judge, but there are so many things about being bipolar that you just don’t seem to be.”

“Like what?”

“Insomniac for starters. You don’t seem to have any trouble sleeping.”

I think of all the times Dad has to wake me up for school because I slept through my alarm. “Yeah, I guess you’re right about that.”

“Do you think about dying a lot? Because I do.”

“Not really.” I hardly ever think about the fact that my own life’s going to end one day. In fact, the only death I’ve thought about much at all has been Mum’s – and it turned out she wasn’t dead after all.

“Ever get the feeling you can’t slow down, no matter how you try?”

I think about that day I bolted out of Madden’s office, but even then I got so tired I had to rest. “No.”

Mum smiles. “I’m no medical expert. I’m not even always in my right mind. But you don’t seem to have a problem to me.”

I put my hand in hers. “What about you, Mum? Will you be okay?”

“Sure I will. I’m a pretty tough cookie, you know. I have to be.”

I’ve never thought of her as tough. She always seems so vulnerable to me. But then again, to live without your kid for his sake for ten years must have taken some guts.

“When you come back, I’m going to look after you.”

Mum places a hand on either side of her, as if she’s propping herself up. “I’m not coming back, Matt. I’m going home.”

“But you’re okay if you stay on your medication.”

“I’m sorry, Matt. I just can’t do it. I made a decision once before. And it was the right one. I’m better off away from people. Then I can’t hurt them.”

“But what about us?”

Mum’s firm. “You were doing all right till I came back into your life. Seems to me things went downhill from there.”

I try to hold back the tears.

“I’ll write,” says Mum. “And maybe you can come and stay sometimes – if you’re game?”

At least she’s not going completely out of my life again. I’ll still have a mother. “That’d be good, Mum.”

She takes my hand again. “I’m really sorry, Matt.”

She’s not the one who should be sorry. She can’t help the way she is. “It was my fault all this happened, Mum.”

Mum smiles. “Don’t blame yourself, Matty. It was my choice to come and I’m glad I made it, glad I got to know you.”

I put my arms around her.

“I’m sorry I can’t be the person you want me to be,” she whispers.