Chapter 41
Note 2:
His birth.
The 1st November.
Levi was “born through X”—meaning my parents convinced me to give birth anonymously. I couldn’t even hold him before the midwife took him away from me to social services. My parents told me I wasn’t fit to be a mother. I’d be unable to take care of someone because something was “wrong with me”—they often thought I had a borderline personality disorder, bipolar disorder, or anxiety. He deserved a better chance in life than me. I remember the scene clearly in my head:
“I can take care of him,” I begged my mother, covering my ears with my hands to seek refuge from the sensory chaos. “He’s crying, I need to see him.”
“Social services will take care of him. You got knocked up by the first asshole who came along! In your condition, you can’t raise a child properly,” my mother spat before patting my head—I hated when she did this. “We’ll wait for you outside.”
It was the last time I saw my parents.
“Are you okay, madam?” Another midwife had entered, this one with striking white hair. “The hospital can help you with moral support if you need it.”
The sound around me was made of shades of purple and black, and I rocked my body back and forth. I knew I shouldn’t do that in public because people thought it was weird. Mom would either slam my fingers with an iron ruler to make me stop or yell because I shamed her.
“He cried so much; his heart was beating at 210. I feel like I have a knot in my stomach, a scream bubbling within. It’s the worst day of my life; I feel like I lost something,” I said to the midwife.
She knelt beside me. “If you want to bring your son back with you, you have one month to reconsider. We’re here to support you during this time.”
No one could help. My mind thought of everything that could go wrong. Maybe he would have no friends like I did. Being different is dangerous. If he doesn’t fit in, he’ll draw negative attention to himself.
Being me was BAD.
“I’ll be a terrible mother.”
Eye contact, social cues, waiting for the right moment to speak, not speaking too much, don’t flap, hold it in, don’t freak out that someone is touching you, don’t mind the noise, don’t forget to smile, don’t say what you think, read between the lines, focus on the conversation, be more flexible, ignore the thoughts running through your head at once…
I’ll be a terrible mother.
“I don’t believe you’ll be terrible. You seem worried. It’s normal for parents to be worried,” the woman said with a smile. She seemed trusting, but then, I never read people right. “It’s normal to freak out.”
Did she notice? Did I not act right?
“I can’t give him what he needs.”
I’d have to meet with other parents. Would they look down on me? I’d have to communicate with teachers, attend events at school, and take him to medical appointments. How would I know to make this right if I struggled doing them for myself? How would I teach him things I’m not good at?
I want him to be normal. To belong. Not like me.
“A mother’s love is precious. No one can tell you what your child needs. It’s your choice.”
“I don’t want to talk. Please, leave me alone.”
Her smile dropped. Rude, I was rude again.
“Okay, but I won’t let you go. Is that okay? Can we keep in touch?”
I nodded.
The woman smiled. “I’m Diana Caron, by the way.”
Note 3:
Diana Caron.
Almost a month later.
I heard when people say “we’ll keep in touch,” they usually don’t really mean it, but Diana did. She requested an appointment a week later—she was my contact link between the hospital and social services.
“I can’t play music anymore, I’m always tired. I still hear his screams, it’s the worst.” My finger was tapping nervously on the chair.
“Do you want to see your son? You could request — ”
I shook my head. “No, my parents believe I shouldn’t have children. What if I end up doing something wrong? I can’t — ”
“He’s your son, you’ll know what’s best for him,” she told me. “We all need a little bit of help. If you need someone, I’ll be here for you, Mrs. Delombre.”
“Are you a mother?” I asked her.
She smiled, but I didn’t understand why. “No, it’s been difficult for me… We tried, but… It’s my dream. I want a little girl. I want to play princess with her, for her to confide in me about everything, to be there for her like my mom was never here for me, you know? She never saw me grow up, and I felt so empty without a mother. That’s why I want a big family and — ” She stopped talking. “Sorry.”
“Why are you sorry? I asked the question.”
“It’s not about me.” She brushed me off. “I’m not giving up… That’s why I don’t want you to give up for the wrong reason too. Do you want to see your son?”
“Yes,” I said, avoiding looking at her beautiful white hair. It was impolite to stare.
“Would you like me to come with you?”
“Yes.”
I didn’t know at that time, but she was risking her own job to help me. When we went to social services, the baby was screaming in a room devoid of light. It was colorless. So empty.
I rubbed my fingers together. “He’s screaming; he doesn’t want me.”
Diana cradled the baby and smiled at him. She effortlessly was a mother at heart. “See, he just needs to be held. They didn’t let you hold him at the hospital, right?”
I shook my head. She gave me the baby, and I felt a shard in my guts. I had abandoned him. He screamed again like he could feel it. Like he resented me for it already. Did I do something wrong? I should have been more prepared and read more articles.
“If you were him, what would you need?” Diana whispered.
“Music,” I said back.
And so I played “Your Song” by Elton John, and he stopped crying.
He loved that song so much. It soothed him every time.
I could make things right with him by doing something right with music. I promised myself I’d do the opposite of what my parents did with me.
Note 8:
Levi’s list.
Levi’s likes: his love for puzzles, the relief he felt finding his special interest, which is disassembling computers, watching shadows, butterflies.
Note to self: should delete my notes from my computer and rearrange them somewhere else.
Dislikes: strangers who touch him when we go grocery shopping, Beethoven. Reading, if it’s not on a screen.
Note 11:
Diana.
Dalia.
Diana is busy with a little girl she named Dalia.
Sending a violin to her baby so if she cries she could play to her too—is it polite or displaced?
Note 18:
School.
Patrice.
Levi bullies children at school, and I can’t help but feel like it’s because of me. I struggle to fit in, and he sees that.
“Don’t you see they’re all making fun of us? They call us freaks, and you’re entertaining them because you’re so naive!”
I couldn’t look him in the eyes to see how ashamed he was of me.
I compare myself to the other parents who seem to have it all figured out. I’ll never be the fun, popular mom. Sometimes I have to remind myself to hug my son. Hugs were dangerous in my parents’ house, but when I tried to hug Levi, he pushed me away. I feel like I’m failing him. He doesn’t want to play piano anymore, nor bond over puzzles.
But then I met Patrice. He’s older, more mature, and shares the same special interests as Levi. I can’t offer my son a normal childhood, but maybe Patrice can. Maybe he can understand Levi in ways that I can’t.
Note 23:
Diana.
Death.
Diana is gone just like her mother was gone… She left her eight-year-old daughter behind. She never wanted her daughter to grow up without a mother. I don’t have any energy to get out of bed, nor to talk to someone. I wasn’t invited to Diana’s funeral because no one knew we were friends. She was the only person who was kind to me, and now she’s gone.
Her daughter shares the same special interest as I do—she loves the violin too. She has my violin. Diana liked my gift. Her daughter looks just like her. I know what I have to do. I’ll become her music teacher.
Update: I promise you, Diana, I’ll teach your daughter everything I know about music so she can fulfill her promise to you.
Update 2: Dalia left the music room open for Levi, I think she likes him and he likes her music. That gives me hope.
But my fingers are hurting me even more.
Update 3: I can’t play music anymore.
Note 88:
Fail.
Levi.
There’s a void between my son and I. I failed him. They were all right. Patrice thinks Levi should be sent away to boarding school. Levi heard everything, and he punched Patrice. What did I do wrong? Patrice was like a dad to him; he was the normality he needed.
Side note: Levi’s therapist wanted to have a word with me for a session. He believes I’m on the spectrum. Autistic. I looked into it, and it’s like a part of me always knew. But what does it change now? It’s too late.
Note 216:
The end.
My last goodbye.
“I fucking hate you! I wish you never gave birth to me!” Levi lashed out, his voice meddling with the reminders of the shattered stereo on the ground.
It hurt my ears. I had to repair this. I need to repair things. I was crouched on the ground, trying to gather the fragments. This wasn’t supposed to break. All my senses were hurting, shades of a dark purple everywhere, the deafening noise of the refrigerator hitting my ears.
“You’re not even listening to me,” Levi screamed again. “You don’t even care! You can’t even look at me, for fuck’s sake.”
Levi left, running upstairs, the door of his bedroom slamming and making the walls shake. I fell onto the ground, cuddling my knees and rocking my body. I have to fix this. I had to fix our relationship. By playing “Your Song,” everything would go back. I covered my ears with my hands. My useless fingers were shaking, they were good for nothing anymore. I couldn’t repair the instruments. I couldn’t play. I missed music.
“What’s all of this?” Patrice said, a beer in his hand. “What did the kid do again?”
“I have to fix this,” I kept on mumbling.
Patrice seized my arm and forced me to stand. “Take a pill and chill, you’re being overdramatic again. You freak me out when you’re acting like a freak, baby.”
Baby. Baby was a nice word, but why didn’t it make me feel happy or safe? I hadn’t felt safe in a long time. I didn’t like what those pills did to my brain. I felt numb, tired, but then, I was used to being uncomfortable all my life. I’d never found my place in this world. The longer I felt the need to hide who I truly was, the harder the meltdowns.
I cleaned the mess and threw everything into the trash. With slow steps, I walked upstairs. Levi’s door was ajar, a crack by the handle. He rummaged through his electronics scattered in lines on his desk. I should have knocked, but when he removed his sweatshirt, I noticed the marks on his arms in the reflection on the mirror.
Scars. Burns in shapes of holes.
“What is this?” What was he doing to himself?
Levi’s eyes became dark as he twitched his lips backward and turned around.
“Like you didn’t know,” he spat.
“Why do you have this!” I screamed. “Answer me!”
“After all these years, open your fucking eyes, Mother.” He slammed the door in my face, locking himself in. “I should leave this shithole!”
I banged on the door. “Levi! Open the door!”
He turned up the volume on his stereo, and as I descended the stairs, I tripped and fell. I found Patrice laughing, opening another beer and smoking a cigarette. I told him not to smoke inside, but he never listened.
“You’re such a goof. What’s up with him?”
“He has burns, scars,” I said, tapping my fingers on the stairs.
Patrice put down his beer. “Did he say where he got them?”
I shook my head.
“The kid probably did it to himself; he’s deranged. Probably has the same sickness as you.” He pointed up.
“He’s not deranged, and I’m not sick!”
My brain was wired differently; that didn’t make me unlovable — or did it? I hated myself. I hated who I became.
“And who’s taking care of this house with a real job, huh? You inherited millions from your dead-ass parents and don’t know what to do with it. You don’t have friends because no one likes you. I’m the only one staying with you, knowing who you truly are. Don’t forget that. I accepted you. I know you’ll never leave me. Levi needs me. He needs security, right? You can’t do anything on your own.” He gave me a soft kiss on my forehead before scratching his cigarette on the table. “Want to blow me? That would make you feel better.”
“The burns on his skin, it’s cigarette burns,” I said. “But Levi doesn’t smoke. I’d know if he did. Do you think it’s — ”
“Stop with this kid! I told you I want a fucking blow job! Can you be nice and do it, instead of annoying me with your nonsense!”
I backed away. I didn’t like when he raised his voice at me — his shouts became a tempest of purple storms. My parents raised their voices just like that. Why can’t I do anything right? What’s wrong with me? Patrice reached toward me.
“Sorry, babe, I shouldn’t have raised my voice, but you made me do it. You pushed me. It’s your fault. I need to be satisfied, you understand?”
His words didn’t match the vibes he put off, but he understood what it was like not to belong to this world. That’s why he was drinking. To escape this world too. We bonded through our traumas, exchanging our stories like kids do with Pokemon cards. He was a charming man; he used to love my autism, and was so supportive. He accepted Levi, sharing the same interests as him. A relationship is hard work, the books said, and that was normal.
But Diana warned me never to believe what people said, to always look out for actions. But why would someone lie? Why would someone’s words not match their attitude?
I don’t know how to stop feeling so powerless. I often felt the urge to put an end to it all, to silence the pain once and for all.
“Plus, it’s not like that kid didn’t deserve it.” Patrice chuckled. He had consumed more beers than usual. On his day off, he always drank more.
“What?” I asked, and he bit his lips, leading my hand on top of his pants so I’d stroke him.
The only times men treated me like a normal being was when I fulfilled their needs, even if I didn’t want to. Only then did I feel accepted and seen like a normal human being. I wasn’t mean. I wasn’t coldhearted. The world just wasn’t designed for me.
“What did you say?” I asked him. “You think Levi deserves this?”
“Stop yelling,” he complained.
“Pa-Patrice,” I stammered.
“Pa-Patrice,” he imitated me, laughing. “You’re so dumb. I was thinking of turning that music room into a gaming room for my bros. You said that Dalia will never come back here, right?”
I froze. I’d given her the Cigno Nero in our last session. She was ready. I had nothing more to teach her. I couldn’t play anymore. Music was my whole life, and without it, I was nothing. I’ve been giving away everything I own lately. I want to disappear; I want the pain to stop. But everything has to be in order; it’ll be my last symphony.
My only ray of light is the music scores I’ve been writing for Levi. Our last game together.
“Hello! Earth to Lucie?” Patrice was losing patience, lighting up another cigarette and blowing the smoke in my face.
“Answer me,” I said. “I need to know.”
Patrice leaned forward. “I raised your damn kid, so you should thank me for it. Now, you can be proud of yourself. You just killed my hard-on. I hope he didn’t mess with my porn sites again.”
Patrice was leaving. I tapped my heart with my hand curled into a fist. “I want you gone. Leave my house.”
“Get out of town.” He chuckled.
“You get out of town!” I screamed back. Why would I get out of town? It was my home. He needed to leave.
“I don’t mean it literally. You never understand things like that. That’s why no one thinks you’re funny.” He turned around. “And you don’t mean that, baby, you can’t survive on your own.”
“Leave!” I screamed. I threw a pan at his face and grabbed the kitchen knife. “Leave before I kill you, and never come back!”
“You’re a crazy bitch!” He put his fingers on my temple as if they were a gun. “You’re fucking crazy. I’ll let you calm down, and then we’ll talk.”
“No. Leave. Forever.”
“Fine, you freak.” He grabbed his jacket and left.
Levi descended the stairs running with a sharp object in his hand, probably because of the noises, only to watch Patrice leave. My own son narrowed his eyes at me, and I wanted to tell him Patrice would never come back, but Levi shook his head and went back up the stairs, slamming his door.
I was a terrible mother. I had let a monster into my house for so many years. He did that to him, and I never knew, and he never told me. I failed as a mother. This wasn’t normal. I closed my eyes.
“Your parents were emotionally and physically abusive, Lucie,” Diana had said to me once. “They can’t treat you like that, and that man was abusive with you. He says you wanted it, but you didn’t. This was rape, Lucie. This is not normal, and it never was your fault. You were the victim. You deserved to be protected.”
Levi was a child from rape. Abusive.
My parents telling me to act “normal” and screaming how worthless I was when they punished me. Abusive.
What Patrice did to Levi. Physically abusive.
What Patrice did to me. Emotionally abusive.
But he never started as one. He was so kind, so generous and nice. He was everything I ever wanted at first. I was so blind. An easy target.
My head was about to explode.
Focused on doing everything right, I missed all the signs of abuse and reproduced everything I wanted to avoid.
I just went to my music room and locked the door behind me. There is only one solution to free him from this monster, to free us. I can’t break the cycle of trauma and abuse, so I’ll remove myself from the equation. Levi is strong, intelligent, and resilient. He’ll be better off without me. It wasn’t my son’s duty to free me, but he did; he was the only positive change I allowed myself to take.
He was the reason I made it until here. He was the reason I live.
I’m putting my music scores in an envelope that I sealed with his name on it. We’ll finally connect one last time. And in the drawer, there are the pills. If I take enough of them, it’ll all be over.
This is my goodbye.
I love you.
Find someone kind. The world isn’t all ugly—don’t make the wrong choices like I did.
Note to you: I noticed how you look at Diana’s daughter. A mother always notices those things. I think she’s in love with you too.