Stealing Snow

THREE

As we turned the corner to the visitors lounge, I could see the tapestries and high-backed over-stuffed armchairs where the asylum patients met with their parents once a month. It looked like a scene from one of those public television dramas that Vern likes to watch. Only at Whittaker the lamps were nailed down to the floor and the tea was served Luke warm in paper cups for safety.

Mum was looking at her phone when the guard buzzed us through the double doors. She put it away quickly, as if it were contraband. She didn’t like to remind me of the things I didn’t and couldn’t have. We did not have cell phones at Whittaker. We had an ancient cordless phone in the common room that was monitored by 2 orderlies at a time. Mum stood up and hugged me when I approached, wrapping me in her warm arms. She smelled of cinnamon and lemon, probably from her morning tea. I didn’t hug her back. Behind me the door clicked shut. Vern was giving us privacy, although he big mirror on the wall betrayed the fact that we were always being watched.

“you look happy today, snow” she said as she ran her fingers through my hair as we sat across from each other.

Ora Yardley was perfect and beautiful in every way. So much so, that every time I saw her, I wondered how we could be from the same DNA. He had the same blonde hair as me, which she decided to die auburn, and she had a perky nose that would make a cartoon princess jealous. Today she wore a sleeveless pale pink sweater dress that run along her curves and showed off her pale skin. Still, her eyes were my eyes: brown and deep. Her lips were my lips: full, with a tendency toward pouting. But hers were constantly and politely upturned at the corners, mine went the other way.

She continued to stroke my hair. Like Vern, she said my hair was going white because of the medication I was given at Whittaker. But how I remember it, was that my first white streak showed up the day after I tried to walk through, he mirror (before the doctors had figured out what medication to give me). I remember looking in the mirror in my new room and there they were.

“honey I wish you’d just let me do something about them” mum tried again

I pushed her hand away “I like them”

“honey” she began again, but she stopped when I pulled away completely

“I brought you something” she smiled, giggling a little as she reached beneath her chair and pulled out a box. It was plain white and unwrapped, it had probably been searched before I got it. The ribbon was a tiny bit askew, which was odd because my mother was all about perfection. But I tore into the box all the same. Not because the box was pretty, but because it was from my mum. Because it was new, nothing was new at Whittaker.

Inside was a pair of pale blue mittens, they looked home-made.

“winter is coming soon” she said “I want you to have something new for your walks with Vern.

Mums smile deepened with the hope that she had picked the right gift. Something to make everything better, to fill in the gap between us. Some parts of me leaned into her at times like these. I was so close to melting, so close to forgiveness. But I thought back to the day when she and dr. Harris had made the decision that changed my life.

“I’ve talked it over with Dr. Harris and we’re in agreement on this.” She had said sitting in the same chair she sat in today. “we think it is best for you and Bale to be kept separate” she had made the decision so easily, like she was insisting that I wear a helmet while riding a bike, not taking away the love of my life. I had gotten angry so many times before, and I felt it again now, its bubbling to the surface, but happy did its job for once and squashed it down. I forced on the mittens that were in my lap.

“thanks” I said

“you’re so welcome” mum said, clapping her hands. To her me not throwing the mittens across the room meant that the present was a success.

When she smiled wide enough, I could see the faint white mark on her cheek pinch. It was the only imperfect thing about her and it was because of me, on the day that everything changed. She’d been reading Alice’s adventurers in wonderland, and I had taken it literally and tried to walk through the looking glass (mirror) with my best friend. But I didn’t remember that day at all. I had learned from my dad that Becky (the girl I dragged into the mirror) and her family sued us, and we had settled. I never saw her again, but I still wondered about her. My scars had faded over the years, but they were still there, reminding me of how and why all this began. I wondered if Becky was still out in the world with her scars, too.

When I first got to the institute, I thought it was a time out for bad behaviour. I had wondered if my parents just accepted Dr. Harris’ diagnosis that day, or if they knew that when they dropped me off, that it would be forever.

Mum chatted about dad and the house, which I had not seen in 11 years and could not care less about. And a dad who came every other month and on holidays. She must have noticed that I was being distant because she suddenly said

“honey, I know you think that you and bale are Romeo and Juliet, but this will pass”

I felt my anger notch up, but my fingers started tapping against my pants and I swallowed down the rage. Mum gently removed the box that the mittens were in and put it on the nailed down coffee table. She studied me as she re-crossed her legs and leaned into the couch.

“you think its love, but its not. I know how it feels to feel passion and think you can change someone”

I perked up, despite myself. Mum wasn’t talking about me anymore, she was talking about herself.

“you tried to change dad” I asked. My mum was my mum, but my dad was a different story. He was a stranger. Dad could barely handle seeing his crazy daughter on a bi-monthly basis. Most of the time, I’ve had trouble figuring out why they’re even together. I couldn’t imagine what mum had tried to change about dad.

“not dad” she countered, her voice a little faraway as if she was re-living a memory. I never thought of mum being with anyone else.

“the point is you can’t change bale. He’s sick honey. He broke your wrist and that will never be okay”

I closed my eyes and my fingers tapped against my leg. I was getting angrier and I itched to sketch. I needed to calm down or I would get thrown in solitary.

“when they called me to tell me that he had broken your wrist, I was so scared. Bale’s not well” my mums eyes filled with tears, she reached out and put her hand over mine. Stopping my fingers from tapping.

“does that apply to me to” I asked pointedly

“what do you mean”

“I mean if bale can’t get better, then neither can I, right”

“that’s not what I meant” mum faltered, her lips formed a thin, tight worry line.

‘but it’s what you think”

“It’s not. I know it’s hard for you to believe but everything I do is out of love”

“love me a little less” I said without thinking, I don’t know why I said it

“impossible” she said automatically

I crossed my arms and glared at her, until she started to deflate

She looked at me for a long beat, shoulders hunched, before looking at the mirror on the wall to signal Vern. Our twenty minutes was up, Vern was in the room within seconds.

“Vern I’d like to see Dr. Harris before I go” my mother said biting her lip.

Mum cried a little as she hugged me goodbye. I don’t even know if she has realized, I don’t hug her back. I had a secret though, I still loved her even though I never showed it. But mum never stopped visiting, never stopped chatting, never stopped trying and if she did, I would’ve hated her for real then.

I couldn’t let her in, I couldn’t survive if I did. I would have gone soft, longing for what I once had: a pretty little room perfect for a 5-year-old-me and a mother who stroked my hair at night. We couldn’t play mother a daughter in here, not until she was ready to take me home and do it for real out there.

“I’ll walk you, Ora” Vern said, she told the orderly at the desk to look after me. Then she grabbed some drawing paper and a piece of charcoal and sat it on the coffee table next to my new mittens.

“now don’t get into trouble” Vern said while wagging her finger at me.

But for me that was Impossible.