Quietly Crazy
by Monika M. Segally © 2006
CHAPTER 1
Romeo is dead. Now you know the end of this story. Now you should be able to understand why I'm here. And why I don't want to talk about this. And why I hate you for making me. I really don't feel it's any of your business, but the only way to get out of here is to write this.
Romeo is dead and I killed him. I wish I had the courage to be too. Romeo is buried under an old tree on the top of a hill in Blue Hills Cemetery . He's in the ground rotting away and you wonder why I ended up here? Why don't any of you understand that I just can't get over it? How do I possibly go on when he's cold in a graveyard and I sit here in perfect health? How do you expect me to be able to sleep when every time I close my eyes I see his face? He whispers my name in my ear whether I'm asleep or awake. Romeo haunts me. You can't possibly be able to help me. You aren't Dr. Frankenstein. You can't bring him back. So why do I have to write this? It's too hard. That's all I'll write for now.
#
I know this isn't easy. It will get easier the more you do write. I wish you would choose another color though, yellow is very hard to read. I'm sorry Romeo died. You didn't kill him. I know that isn't true. It's your choice to write this rather than talk. I'm here to listen when you're ready to speak.
#
You're too scared to let me have a pencil or pen. I picked yellow so it would be as hard for you to read as it is for me to write. I feel you should suffer a little too. I wish the whole damn world would suffer and die, me included. You're not sorry either. How can you be sorry when you never knew him?I know I can't talk, not that I would anyway.
I'm writing this for Mama. I don't want her to see this though. You won't show her will you? I owe my Mama a lot, so I'm only trying for her you know. I don't know where to start. Tell me where to start so I can explain it to you.
#
Why are you so concerned with what your mother thinks? The last thing you said to her was that you hated her. You do realize she loves you very much. She wants you well Margaret. I can't tell you where to begin. I don't know when it started. I only know the bits and pieces your mother has told me. No one will see this but me without your permission.
Why don't you start at what you consider to be the beginning?
#
I don't really hate my mother. At least I don't hate her most of the time. She has done a lot for me. I'm sure you have heard all the stories about Mama. All beautiful women have stories told about them. You think she's beautiful too, don't you? I can tell by the way that you look at her. You're the same as anybody else. I really don't hate her. Mama's so next to perfect it would be like hating roses.
I don't like the name Margaret. It's horrible. My whole name is terrible. Margaret Honora Stone. What the heck kind of name is that to make a kid have to live with? Don't call me anything. I'm not anything anymore. Not since Romeo died. That's how I feel. Like nothing. How's that for your breakthrough? I feel like nothing. I don't see that ending sometime soon. I'll feel like nothing until the day I die. Why didn't they just let me die?
#
I'll call you Maggie, like your friends do. You are right. I do think your mother is beautiful. I think you look very much like her.
It is a breakthrough for you to tell me something of how you feel. You are not “nothing.”
You were not meant to die. However much you wanted to, it wasn't your time. Now you say you love your mother, did you for one minute stop and think what that would have done to her to lose you? I have heard the stories told about your mother. It's a small town Maggie, everyone knows everyone's business. Including mine. I haven't lived in Blue Hills long enough to know your business. You haven't told me anything I didn't know already.
Why don't you tell me how you got this name that causes you so much grief?
#
My mother named me after her mother and Grandmother Stone. Did you know I never met my slime ball of a father? Was that a story you heard yet? I'm sure you heard Blue Hills' version of Mama's fall from grace. There isn't much truth in any of that old folk tale. It's also a lot of the reason we were ostracized for most of my life. I was Mama's constant reminder of her sin.
She loved my no good daddy. I can't figure out why, because he was a real shit. I don't know why Mama named me after Grandmother Stone either because I think my father got a lot of his shitty attitude from her. I guess being rich gives you license to give people a hard time. Mama and I are not rich. Mama would never take Stone money. Mama is letting the Stone's pay for my stay here though. I know Mama ate a lot of crow to accept their help. I'm ashamed of that. Especially after everything that she's been through in her life.
Mama was a golden child. She was the pride of Blue Hills. She was Blue Fairy Queen three years in a row and that is even still an honor now. Then Mama's parents died and she was poor and alone. She only had the Aunts as family left. You know them right? Aunt Patsy and Betsy, they're twins. I can't tell them apart so I just call them the Aunts. The Aunts had to be old even then because they surely are now. Anyway, Mama sold her folks' farm but didn't get much because they had owed a lot to the bank. She got an apartment above The Blue Do or Dye and moved the Aunts in with her. She worked as a waitress and went over to the beauty school at night. She worked like a dog to keep food on the table.
The only reason I know any of this is through gossip I've heard around town and the Aunts get pretty loose tongues with their evening cocktails. I make them extra strong. And I make sure I listen real hard. I'm awfully nosey I'm sure you've heard.
The sperm donor, whom people call my father, was at the Blue Hills Bank on business when he met my Mama. Did I mention the Stones own several banks? Allan Grant Stone saw my Mama in the diner while she waited tables. He fell in lust with her at first sight, the pig.
I shouldn't get all bent out of shape over his lusting after Mama. Most men always have and most men still do. Well, you know what she looks like. She looks like she walked out of a toothpaste commercial with her pretty white smile. Her hair is really like that, it doesn't come out of a bottle or anything. Mama is the only one I know with so many different colors of gold and yellow in her hair. I have my father's hair. Mine is black and course and curly. Yuck! But I've learned that what makes Mama so beautiful is that she doesn't even realize she is. And with her it's as if it's on the inside shining out. You would think, being all golden like that, that life would be easier for you. I guess it's not.
Anyway, Mama fell in love with him the three months he was here. And when she told him about me, he went back to Chicago and hid like mold under a rock. Poor Mama, she sent him letters and didn't know why he wouldn't answer them. He never even opened them. I know that for a fact. I found them in a box in Mama's closet and not one of those damn letters had ever been opened. I told you I was nosey but not nosey enough to open them and read them. Well that's a lie. I'm sorry, but I can't erase crayon. I did read one. My poor Mama. What a shit he was and still is
.
Reading that one letter explained so much about Mama. I shouldn't even tell you this because if you know my Mama at all you know her personal business is just that – personal. Mama would be upset if she knew I was telling tales out of school. But I'm only telling because you wanted me to start at the beginning and the beginning starts with her.
Anyway, the letter. Mama begged my scum bag father to come back to her. She asked him to tell her what she did to make him stop loving her. She begged that shit, probably in all her letters to him. I still can't resign myself to the thought of my Mama begging anyone. Mama has always been so strong. I didn't know she could have a moment of weakness.
I feel sorry for her; because the Aunts said that the town whispered about her and looked down their noses at her and her condition. That's when Ms. Rosa stepped in. She's an outcast still you know. Ms. Rosa said being an outcast never bothered her but that when someone was always golden, being shunned is close to dying. I guess I understand that in a way. I've always been of the shunning variety. I'm used to it because I guess I really don't know what I'm missing. And I really don't care what anyone thinks or wants. I think most people call me selfish. I don't really give a shit even though I agree with them. I wish Mama would learn to not give a shit.
Ms. Rosa is a gypsy. I'm not using that word as a description of how she is; it is who she is. She tells fortunes for a fee and sees the future. She would never tell me mine though. She says I have so much to do in my life, that I would just be hung up on what she told me and not enjoy living it.
When Mama was pregnant with me, Ms. Rosa went to the women in Blue, and told them they had better stop behaving like they were, and act like the good Christian women they claimed to be. She said they needed to prepare for my birth since Mama was alone. She told them that what happened to my Mama could happen to any of their daughters, and probably happened to some of them. They were just lucky enough to have a man around to marry them so they didn't have to be ashamed. She also reminded them of who she was, Ms. Rosa Romany, a woman of a long line of seers, a woman who could not only see their futures, but a woman who could see their pasts, and tell about it! She also told them she would put a curse on them if they didn't do the right thing.
These women, who claimed that Ms. Rosa was a fraud, decided they didn't want to take any chances.
By this time, Ms. Rosa helped Mama buy The Blue Do or Dye. The only payment she asked for was her hair done twice a week for the rest of her life, and twenty percent of the profits. The closer Mama got to giving birth, the more customers from town Mama got. At first, they came out of fear and maybe pity. But as they left, they realized how gifted Mama was in hair fashion. She made them all beautiful despite their ugliness towards her.
Little gifts would show up outside the door to the beauty shop. One day a baby blanket came, the next a pair of tiny booties. Someone even left a beautiful hand carved cradle, lined with rose-colored velvet. That cradle still sits in my room – a bed for my old baby dolls.
Mama was happy again. At least she pretended to everyone she was. Ms. Rosa says at that time they were surface sweet, but they still tended to treat Mama like loyal hired help. Ms. Rosa said never to mention this because Mama needed her dignity.
Ms. Rosa called the Grandparents Stone when I was born. She wanted Mama to have her pride but she also wanted Mama not to struggle so much too. Hours later, they took a plane and came to see me. Grandmother didn't believe I was a relation until she saw the moon shaped birthmark on my wrist – a family trait. Grandmother Stone, (that's what I'm to call her) claimed she never heard of any Lorelei Andrews. I know this is a lie because all the letters to my father were marked “return to sender” in what I later realized was her bold handwriting. I guess I understand in a way. People probably want something from you when you are rich. And who knows how many other bastard children my father has out there.
Grandmother Stone asked my mother to give me her name as it was a family name. She also told my mother that it would be best for me to have my father's last name since this would ensure that I would have a relationship with them. They also offered my mother gobs of money to take care of me to ensure a relationship with them. Mama agreed to the name thing but she wouldn't take the money. I still don't understand that. Things would have been so much easier if we had a little cash now and then. Mama told the Grandparents Stone they were welcome to have a part in my life as her parents were dead and they would be the only grandparents I would have.
That's how I got my name, part out of love (Margaret) part out of duty (Honora). Mama really was too nice. She needs to not give a shit. Now I'm stuck with this monstrosity they call my name because Mama cared what people thought. Sometimes I think I'm really much better off being selfish.
#
I have to agree, you are selfish. You need to learn the difference between duty, and respect or kindness. You are completely right, you are nosey and your mother would be mortified if she knew you told me this. She will never know with or without your permission
.
It seems to me that your mother has forgiven the town. Why can't you? Is it so hard to understand why your mother chose to have dignity and pride instead of taking your grandparents' money? She wanted to make it on her own merits. She didn't want them to own her in any way. That's a very strong thing for her to do. And she did that for you, so you would learn to be strong.
Your mother begging your “scum bag father” was not weak, Maggie Stone, it was human.
#
I thought you were just supposed to listen to me and not make little comments. How would you know why Mama did anything? Are you in love with her too?
#
That last question is none of your business. This isn't my life we are discussing but yours. I will make a comment here and there. Your story, in all honesty, is terribly interesting yet infuriates me too.
I have been talking to your mother too, not about what you write. Not everything is about you. Your mother has a lot to deal with right now. She almost lost you and she thinks it's her fault.
If you are uncomfortable with this, I can assign your case to someone else.
#
Thanks for the guilt trip, but I'll stick with you. Everybody else is so old. You are in love with my mother.
#
Maggie, why are you still angry with the town? Tell me about that.
#
I'm a bastard to all of them. That's a big part of it. I have never been a stupid person. I heard the whispers. I heard what they used to say about Mama. I didn't understand it all, the words they used, but I did realize the meaning they were trying to get across.
They only stopped after she cut off all her hair. Maybe Mama can forgive it, but I can't. I won't.
Right before Romeo came; I asked Mama what a bastard was. That was the only time I can remember Mama slapping my face. She asked, “Wherever did you here that vulgar language?”
I cried and said, “That's what they call me behind my back at school.”
And my Mama turned her back to me and cried.
So I told you I wasn't stupid and I looked up the definition in the dictionary. And then I looked up the word wedlock too. And I was ashamed of who I was and what Mama made me.
“You are what they call you aren't you?” I said to her straight back. Mama turned on her heel, a horrible look in her pretty eyes. She walked into her bedroom and slammed the door. The sound echoed through our tiny apartment.
The Aunts and Ms. Rosa, who was visiting, gasped aloud.
Ms. Rosa grabbed my arm and shook me. “How could you? How could you say such a thing to your mother? Shame on you! Shame on you!” Ms. Rosa cried too as she knocked on Mama's bedroom door.
I could hear Mama sobbing. And I was ashamed. I still am ashamed that I could say that to her, especially after she cut her hair off. It made me terribly angry that the town drove me to that.
#
I haven't heard about your mother's hair. Why was that so important? You do realize we are all responsible for our own actions. That includes you, as well as the town people of Blue Hills.
#
I know that now in hindsight. I do know I'm responsible; it's just easier to live with if I blame someone else.
Mama's hair, how could you not have heard this? It's what made Mama golden again.
When I was eight, only a few months before Romeo came, I came home from school to find Mama sitting at the kitchen table with almost all of her beautiful hair gone. The sun shone in the window and reflected off her bare head. I screamed, “Mama what have you done to your hair? Why is it gone? What did you do?”
Mama sat calmly, as if she was lost in thought. I remember her stirring her tea absently in a rhythmic pattern. Her tea was already cold. She didn't answer me. I said again, “Mama, where is your hair? You look so ugly.”
“Don't talk about what you don't know.” she whispered. Mama turned her head to the kitchen window and I could see tears hanging onto her dark lashes. “You haven't a clue what beauty is.”
“Why did you make yourself ugly?” I yelled.
Mama just stared out the window though the tears had fallen off her lashes onto her creamy cheeks. I couldn't understand how Mama could have done it. She always said a woman's hair was her crowning glory. My God, she's a beautician for Christ's sake. My mother had never looked ugly in her life, not one minute. And she did this on purpose.
For weeks, Mama locked herself up in her room at night after the Blue Do or Dye closed. I would bang on the door begging her to come out and she would ignore me. Ms. Rosa came a lot those weeks to look after the Aunts and I guess me too. I asked Ms. Rosa what Mama was doing all alone in her room. “Mind your own beeswax!” she would yell at me every time. I asked the Aunts and they would just hem and haw and say nothing at all.
It was only my snooping that found me answers weeks later. This was after Mama's hair had started to grow back. It's funny really. My Mama wasn't ugly bald-headed. Her sky blue eyes just looked bigger and brighter. Even though I called her ugly, she wasn't, just strange. The Blue Do or Dye was closed when I came home from school and all the front lacy curtains were drawn. I figured something was going on so I went in through the back as quietly as an eight year old can. I heard voices, Mama's and Ms. Rosa's murmuring. I could hear them but I couldn't understand what they were saying.
I leaned against the closed door of the shampoo room, straining my body closer to the door to eavesdrop. The door wasn't latched tight and I fell through the doorway in a heap on the ground. Mama started hollering right away.
“Margaret Honora Stone! You get your evil prying eyes out of this room right now. I told you this is none of your concern!” Mama shouted.
Mrs. Eliza, the town librarian, sat primly in a chair with her hands crossed in her lap. “Lorelei let her be. It's okay, really.”
“That child, she's just going to be the death of me. She's getting right out of hand…”
“Is that my Mama's hair?” I whispered while I gazed at the long flowing mane adorning Mrs. Eliza's head. “Mama? Why is Mrs. Eliza wearing your hair?” I shouted back.
“I have told you before; it's none of your concern…” Mama started.
“Lorelei,” Mrs. Eliza said softly in her most proper library voice. “You should have told Maggie. Oh little Maggie, you must have thought your mother went plum crazy shaving off all her hair. Maggie honey…I've got the cancer. The treatments made my hair fall out. Your Mama gave me hers, Maggie. She gave me her beautiful hair so I wouldn't be ugly.” Mrs. Eliza sniffled loudly and blew her nose.
“Are you gonna die Mrs. Eliza?” I asked stupidly.
“Margaret!” both Mama and Ms. Rosa shouted together.
“Well are you?” I turned to Ms. Rosa then, “Is she? You can see can't you?” Ms. Rosa had tears in her big tired brown eyes. It was one of the few times I'd ever seen her speechless.
Mrs. Eliza laughed, “Maggie, Ms. Rosa isn't God you know. Only he knows that. And besides, I'm trying real hard not to.”
“Why didn't you buy a wig instead of using Mama's hair?”
“Your Mama wanted to do this for me. I have to admit I always wanted hair just like your Mama's and they don't make wigs like that.”
Mama bent to hug me a moment then told me to run upstairs and leave them alone.
“Mrs. Eliza?”
“Yes, Maggie?”
“Is it okay if I pray for you?” That was when I still prayed and believed God wanted to answer my prayers.
“I would like that and I think it would help me a lot.” Mrs. Eliza smiled at me.
#
Five weeks later Mrs. Eliza died in her bed. God didn't listen to any of us that time. That was just one of many times he didn't listen. Mrs. Eliza was buried in my Mama's hair. I asked Mama if we could keep her hair and she could wear it and then she wouldn't have to be embarrassed walking around all bald-headed. Mama said she would never be embarrassed by what she had done and wouldn't think of taking back the wig. She said Mrs. Eliza had lived and died with great dignity and should be buried the same way. I said what did it matter since she was dead just the same. Mama told me to shut up.
#
So the town knew your Mama had given Mrs. Eliza a precious gift. She gave her back her dignity and they forgave her what they had no right condemning her for. It's truly a remarkable and selfless thing your mother did. I am amazed and that doesn't happen too often. Just out of curiosity, did Ms. Rosa know?
#
Of course she knew, you fool. Haven't you been paying attention?
Ms. Rosa knows most everything concerning other people. She just doesn't know what's going to happen to herself. She knew when she met Romeo what would happen. I hate her for not telling me then. Maybe I wouldn't be who I am right now if I had known.
Ms. Rosa told me after he died it wasn't her place to say. Ha! Like she doesn't say whatever she wants to, whenever she wants to. She is always telling me what to do or what I shouldn't do even more than Mama does. Ms. Rosa did have a big part in my raising, you know. The Aunts have always been so old, and while Mama worked, Ms. Rosa took care of us.
After Romeo died, Ms. Rosa said what she had known. I wanted to punch her right in the face. I wanted to spit on the tears falling down onto her wrinkled leathery cheeks. Ms. Rosa said, “Oh my child, you wouldn't have wanted to miss it. I know, you think different now, eh? But later you catch you breath and remember how lucky you were and are. And Margaret, you were so lucky.” I haven't spoken to her since.
Even now, after I remembered why she was here and what happened to her. I know why she said what she did, but I don't feel lucky yet.
#
Maggie Stone you leave me hanging on every word. This would be so much more effective if you told me all of it instead of bits and pieces just to peak my curiosity. You do nothing all day here from what I hear. Why don't you just write and tell me it all? Tell me, Maggie Stone, what happened to Ms. Rosa? To be honest I don't put much stock in people seeing the future or knowing what happens in other people's lives. Some people are just more observant than others are.
#
Last time Ms. Rosa was here, she told me why you were here. You're mad at your father the big shot, citified psychiatrist. You came here to be as different from him as you could. You wanted a quieter, slower life. You thought you would be a better doctor that way. You're not married, never have been, and no illegitimate children. You're a very nice man. And kind. You're also going to marry my mother someday whether I'm better or not.
#
No comment. I hardly know your mother, and I have no intentions of ever getting married. You've convinced me with the other. Tell me Ms. Rosa's story.