Chapter 21
Sorry, friends. This chapter needs some work. I'm posting part of it.
It had been a couple of weeks since Mary Louise had seen Cheyenne, as Cheyenne had been on vacation. The same dread that had filled her the first time she started up the steps came creeping back. It would be so easy to turn around, run home, make up an excuse as to why she couldn’t come. Before that plan could come to fruition, Cheyenne opened the door and Pixie stood beside her, excitedly yipping instead of yapping. Mary Louise felt a warm glow in her heart and was happy to make it the rest of the way up the stairs.
She barely had a chance to sit down in her usual spot before Pixie jumped in her lap and gave her a couple of licks on the cheek.
“Looks like you made a friend,” said Cheyenne.
“Indeed.”
“Do you want her to stay or would you like me to put her up?”
Pixie had already curled herself up as Mary Louise gently massaged her head just behind her ears, something she seemed to enjoy immensely.
“She’s fine.”
“Tea?”
“That would be lovely.”
Pixie and Mary Louise continued their reacquaintance while Cheyenne fixed the tea. By the time she’d set the steaming cup in front of Mary Louise, Pixie was sound asleep.
The women exchanged a few pleasantries, then Cheyenne picked up her notebook, ready for business.
“Is there anything specific you’d like to talk about today?” asked Cheyenne.
“Nothing comes to mind,” said Mary Louise.
She still didn’t know why she was here. Her generation was still part of the stoic philosophers. Bad things happened. You dealt with them and went on. How could looking back help with anything? How could “unpacking” the past do anything but bring back the pain she’d worked so hard to stow away?
“Mary Louise, I feel like you are hiding, like someone standing behind a curtain with only their face peeking out. Is that an accurate assessment?”
Mary Louise considered the question. It was true. Hiding out of fear. Hiding out of shame. It did feel like she’d spent her whole life hiding, or hiding something. She had no choice but to show her face, but yes - she’d hidden as much as she could. First with her father, then with Albert.
When she was still at home, everything had been about being safe. She’d married Albert because he was safe. Safe in the sense that there wasn’t a violent bone in his body. She didn’t have to ever worry about him coming home drunk and abusing her, or waking from a nightmare and thinking she was the enemy. He was Mr. Goodtime Charlie. He was outgoing, so it took the pressure off of Mary Louise to be social. However, then she had to hide the fact that he cheated on her and that their marriage was one of convenience, not one of mutual love like Dottie and John.
She had been overprotective of her kids long before the term “helicopter parent” came onto the scene. How many millions of times had her children heard “be careful” growing up? She’d done everything in her power to protect them, clearly to their detriment. She now realized that she’d smothered Carla to the point that she’d moved out as soon as she could and stayed away for years. She had protected her little girl like she’d wanted to be protected, only Carla didn’t need that protection.
“I think that could be an accurate statement,” she said to Cheyenne.
“Was your father abusive?” asked Cheyenne.
“He was batshit crazy,” said Mary Louise, shocking herself but not Cheyenne. Where had that come from? It had just slipped out of her mouth like it had been lurking there for years and years waiting for the right opportunity to escape. That was happening a lot lately.
Mary Louise took a deep breath and then let it out. Cheyenne waited patiently. Did Mary Louise really want to talk about this? No she did not. All those years of burying it deep would be wasted if she let it out now. What was the point? The past was the past. She couldn’t change any of it. Her mother was dead. Her father was dead. She was alive and well and living a pretty good life, wasn’t she? She had spent many days trying to convince herself that ‘it was okay to be happy.’ What would be the point of bringing all of that back up? She took a drink of tea, which was now growing cold.
“When he was in his right mind, he could be wonderful,” began Mary Louise. “He would play cards with us. Take us for ice cream. The all American dad. But he was so unpredictable. A certain sound or smell could set him off. Loud noises were the worst. If a car backfired or a trash truck came down the street when we had the windows open, it could set him off. Oddly enough though he was an overnight press operator for the Houston Chronicle. My mother said the loud, rhythmic sound of the machines actually soothed him. He would usually get home about the time my brother and I were getting ready to leave for school. My mother preferred it that way because she could watch over him while he slept. If he woke from one of his nightmares, she was there to sooth him and my brother and I were not around.
“These days they call it PTSD,” continued Mary Louise. She knew she didn’t need to bother to define the acronym. “My father fought in the Korean War. According to my mother, the man who left her to go and fight against communism was not the same man who came back. They said he had Battle Fatigue. He was discharged under a Section VIII.”
Section VIII meant the Army did not think her father was mentally fit for service. Many people were familiar with the term from the television show M*A*S*H. Countless episodes featured Corporal Klinger attempting to be discharged with a Section VIII by cross-dressing. The Army had their rules, society has theirs and they’re ever changing.
“To answer your question,” said Mary Louise, “he was not intentionally abusive toward any of us. But sometimes he would think he was back in the war. Have you ever watched someone wearing virtual reality goggles?”
Cheyenne nodded.
“That’s what it was like. He was in a whole other world, seeing things we couldn’t see and taking action. He might yell at you, or throw you to the ground to ‘protect’ you, or the very worst was if he thought you were the enemy. One time he nearly choked my mother to death, but I hit him in the head with a vase. It was the only thing I could think of to do.”
Mary Louise could see herself in that memory, like she was watching a movie. She heard the crash, felt the vibration up her arm from the impact of the vase hitting her father’s head.
“What happened after you hit him?”
“It just stunned him. It didn’t knock him out. But at least he stopped choking my mother.”
Mary Louise closed her eyes for a moment, remembering and not wanting to remember.
“How did your mother react?”
Mary Louise opened her eyes.
“She did what she always did. She took care of my father.”
“She didn’t talk to you about it?”
“No. Not to me and not to my brother, who was balling his eyes out. I took Roger into the kitchen and made him some chocolate milk. He still loves chocolate milk to this day, which seems kind of odd to me.”
“She should have protected you,” said Cheyenne.
The statement hit Mary Louise like a mule kick to the chest. Tears stung her eyes.
“No,” managed Mary Louise. “My father was ill. She had to take care of him.”
“You were a child. She should have protected you.”
“She couldn’t. She…” Mary Louise trailed off.
“You were left to take care of your little brother.”
“Yes, but…” Mary Louise couldn’t continue. It took all of her energy to hold back the flood of tears and emotion welling up inside of her. She looked at Cheyenne. So calm. So caring. So right.
“Yes,” said Mary Louise. “She should have protected us,” she got out before the sobs enveloped her.
Cheyenne let her sob it out. Pixie snuggled closer as Cheyenne handed her tissues.
“I’m so sorry,” said Mary Louise when she had some semblance of composure back.
“Don’t apologize. Never apologize for what you are feeling.”
She stroked Pixie’s soft fur and let Cheyenne’s soothing voice wash over her. She had never talked to Albert about any of this. He was too much of a narcissist for her to even consider one minute of deep talk with him. As lovely as Dottie and Beverly and Joanne were, she considered this all water under the bridge. Why ruin any of their days with whining about her past?
“He’s gone now, Mary Louise. Your mother is gone. Your husband is gone.”
“Is this supposed to be helping me?”
“All the people who had power over you, real or imagined, are gone. There is no one left to please but yourself. Your children are grown. The only one you are responsible for is Mary Louise.”
The only one you are responsible for is Mary Louise. It was true, and yet there was a part of her that got up every morning feeling the weight of responsibility. Habit. A feeling she was so used to it followed her like a shadow.
Mary Louise thought about Carla, currently on her way back home. But the last thing Carla wanted was for Mary Louise to be responsible for her, so that was on Mary Louise. This would be a good test. Living with her daughter for a short time and not changing her current ways to suit her.
(Working on the section here where Cheyenne is talking her through some things. Not ready for posting.)
"I’ve always been a caretaker, watching out for my brother growing up and then my husband and family. It’s what a good girl, a good woman is supposed to do.”
“It has to be a balance. I’m not telling you to never care for another person. But if you take care of yourself first, you’ll be better able to care for others. It’s also okay to say no. Just because you can do something doesn’t always mean you should do something.”
“I’m trying to learn all that.”
Cheyenne smiled, and after returning the gesture Mary Louise noticed by the clock on the wall that they had gone ten minutes over. Cheyenne glanced up as well but didn’t seem bothered by it.
“I’ll send you an email with these notes,” said Cheyenne. “Spend some time thinking about them. There’s a lot of garbage that circulates through our brain, and we can’t get rid of it until we look at it and throw it out.”
After her session with Cheyenne, Mary Louise was drained but did not want to go home. If she went home she would just go back over the session, and that was something she did not want to do right now.
What she needed was a project.
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