He told me to stop crying. Stop crying. Stop shouting. Stop pulling at your hair. Stop worrying her. She could crash the car. That would only make the situation worse.

She could crash the car.

Then she would be further away.

Her soul could split further – lost into a thousand pieces.

I could barely find her

Only at night.

I wasn’t allowed to see her in the day.

Crying.

Quietly.

Downstairs.

Not loud enough for anyone to hear except me.

I would find her lying wrapped up on the floor in her dressing gown.

Immovable.

My mother.

My beautiful mother.

My wonderful mother.

 

Fingers in her soft hair.

Tell her it’s okay.

Lie with her until morning.

 

Lie there until

I was taken away again.

 

The school rush. Brush your teeth. Tie your hair. Brush your hair.

Take your fingers out your hair. Tie your shoes.

Brushed past the door.

Nanny will be driving you today.

 

Reaching up for the handle for the classroom.

I can’t breathe. I can’t speak.

I can be well behaved.

Put your fingers in your hair.

She will be okay.

If I stop.

Crying.

Laughing.

Talki-

 

(He smiles over his moustache.

His thick bristly. Grey. White.

A wrinkly smile.)

I am well behaved.

Eleanor