Madame Kay reminds me of Lala.
This has been niggling at the back of my mind for months now. She reminds me of someone, she reminds me of someone…Who is it and is that important?
Yes, it’s important. She reminds me of the person who loved me most in all of my young life and of the person who helped me more than anyone. And she also reminds me of the person it hurt the most to lose.
Lucey I have been able to remember. I could remember his scratchy beard and his snuggles. I could remember he read books to me and that I tried to climb him like a tree. But Lala has been a shadow for me. Or, it was as if my memories were pictures with a face cut out of them. I remembered her only vaguely, because remembering too well hurt too much.
It still hurts too much.
Sometimes, I sit next to Madame Kay in the chair she keeps next to her desk because her feet hurt—she likes to elevate them to relieve the pain. Her feet and I share the chair. Sometimes I talk to her, sitting there, and sometimes I come intending to talk and then find I no longer can.
Those are the times I become Ghost, who is unable to speak. In the same way that Lala never pushed me to speak, Madame Kay doesn’t either. If I talk, she listens, and if I am silent, then that is okay with her too. With Madame Kay, I can just be there. She accepts me however I am. Or she seems to.
That is what reminds me—her patience as I struggle with what I need to struggle with and the fact that she sometimes knows when I’m struggling, but says nothing. She cares, but she does not push. I can tell her my secrets. I can keep my secrets if I’d rather do that instead.
Recognizing what she reminds me of breaks down a wall in my head, and it’s time now to rearrange the furniture in the room. This is making me a little bit dizzy. I know first of all why I treat her a little differently than I do my other friends. To the rest of me, she is my friend. To some part of me, she is my mother. Knowing this explains some of those weird little idiosyncrasies that one is bound to have when one is in parts. That is a bit helpful. Confusing, but helpful.
At the same time, there is also something about the resemblance that just makes everything feel more real. I don’t know that it’s terribly logical, but that’s the healing part. The fact that Madame Kay exists somehow makes me think that Lala existed, and if Lala existed then everything I learned from Lala must be true. First of all, I am a person. And second of all, people can be good. Not all people are good—my dad is not good—but many people are good. Being a person is mostly a good thing to be.
Next, I am loved. I was loved and I am loved. I will always be loved. She said so. Even now, she loves me. She said that. And Lala always told me the truth.
And it also means I have a home to return to, even if that home is a place I can find only in own mind. I was home once. I had a place where I was safe and I was loved and once you have that place you can carry it with you always—you can go anywhere. Your home will always be with you.
This means that I won’t always have to be sad. I don’t always need to be homesick for a place I can never return to. I can feel better.