Free Sarah Vaughan is Not My Mother: A Memoir of Madness by MaryJane Thomson Page B

first.”
    â€œOkay.”
    We go outside. I make a coffee on the way as I can barely keep one eye open, then we sit at a table at the end of the yard by the only tree and we chat.
    â€œWaris, can I get some hair dye?”
    â€œOh, I think that’s a good idea, nicer than purple.”
    â€œYeah, shall we go?”
    â€œOh, wait—what about what happened today?”
    â€œWe walk then talk,” I say.
    â€œWe won’t be able to go for another hour, until just before dinner,” Waris says.
    â€œOkay, I wait.”
    â€œYour mother is very upset. She is your mother, MaryJane, and you can’t change that.”
    I stay silent. I’m still bewildered as to the matter of who my parents are.
    Lester comes over and sits down at the table. “Hey,” I say. Waris gets up and gives me a disappointed look. “I’m off to do rounds.”
    Lester waits for her to leave and then says, “Babe, where you been?”
    â€œOh, I crashed out: they gave me something to calm me down. Must have got aggro earlier, don’t really remember.”
    â€œThey like to have us calm and sedate, babe, that way we don’t cause so much mayhem and disturb the peace.”
    â€œYeah, they like us bedridden, back to the mattress, if you can call it one.”
    â€œBabe, thanks for helping us out the other day. I still owe you cash but haven’t gotten out yet.”
    â€œNo worries. I’m going out to get hair dye later.”
    Virginia starts walking towards us. Lester turns and says, “Mother fucken Mary.” Virginia gives us both a disgusted look and turns the other way.
    â€œPut it on my EFTPOS card. Get Fiona to do it—she’s really good at things like that. Plus it might cheer her up to have something to do.” Fiona is a new patient and is on suicide watch. Lester has obviously got to know her in no time.
    â€œDo you trust me to go out with your EFTPOS card?”
    â€œI trust you so much, babe, I would even sign a contract between us to say I totally trust you.”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œYeah, you’re a really easy person to trust. I’ll just go get it out of the safe.”
    Lester trusting me makes me feel good, especially now I know he’s a legit person because he’s keeping his word and paying me back. While I wait I look around at the hundreds of cigarette butts on the grass. I feel sorry for the grass and decide to start picking up the butts. After about fifty I decide I’ve had enough. I go and wash my hands in the day hospital toilets by the staff lockers; they are much cleaner and nicer.
    I walk back past the room where the computer is and see the big art tables littered with felt pens. I see through to the garden and wish I could get out there for a smoke. At least you can see the street from there.
    I go back to the map on the window and am led to Mauritania again. “Guess that’s where I’m from,” I say to myself. I’m led to a river called Rosso; the voice says that’s where I was born. I stand and look for about five minutes.
    Stephanie comes past and says, “Looking at anything in particular?” It pisses me off being spoken to in this tone. It’s as though she thinks I’m just zoning out and staring, when in fact I am actually looking at my place of birth. I know better than to say anything though, because she’s the kind of nurse who would demand I have an injection if I show any sign of not being as you’re expected to be, namely calm.
    â€œJust checking out the African continent.”
    I go back outside. Lester’s sitting at the table with Fiona. He has his EFTPOS card in his hand. Fiona says, “Lester told me you want to dye your hair. I’m good. I dye my daughter’s hair—when I’m not in this place, that is.”
    Lester lights a smoke. I light another smoke and don’t say much. Lester kicks my boot under the table.