Letters to Leonardo (19 page)

After school I have my second class with Steve Bridges. We talk about how to avoid symmetry in your painting.

Symmetry is what you need in your life, but not in your artwork. I need my life to be even and balanced. But I wonder if it will ever happen. Even when I’m listening to Steve, my mind drifts back to the “Garage Giveaway” and how everything seems to be unravelling and getting more and more out of whack.

It’s the bit Troy said about my mum being crazy that bothers me most – even though he didn’t mean it in a nasty way. I don’t want Mum to have anything wrong with her. I want my life to be normal for once – with two normal parents in it.

But there’s that voice that keeps whispering that maybe Troy and Dad are right.

Face it, Matt. Admit the truth. She’s stopped taking her medication
.

Troy comes around after I get back from town. Neither of us say anything about the fight at school. It’s like it never happened.

I make nachos and lemon cordial, and we sit at the kitchen table getting ready to start our Science assignment.

“Luckily, your mum never got a chance to give this away,” Troy says, patting the kitchen table. “Or we’d have to do our homework on the floor.”

“Shut up, will you?” I slam my books on the table.

Troy stands up and goes to the window. “Hey, what’s that noise?” he asks. “Sounds like somebody having a rumble.”

We peer out. Mum and Dad are standing on the front doorstep arguing – in public, for everyone to see! Great. Why not just tell the whole world how stuffed my family is? Put it on the internet or broadcast it over the radio?

“You’ve got no right to touch our things,” yells Dad.

“I don’t know what your problem is. Those suits wouldn’t fit you now anyway.”

Dad’s face goes a deeper shade of red. “That’s not the point. They belong to me. They weren’t yours to sell.”

“I didn’t sell them – I gave them away.”

“Whatever! They weren’t yours to do anything with.”

Mum doesn’t seem to care that Dad is fuming. “They’re just possessions,” she says coolly. “They can be replaced.” She talks as if she hasn’t done anything wrong – or unusual.

Her calmness gets Dad even more frustrated. His face goes a shade of purple. “How? With what money?”

“Mine.”

“Didn’t think the invalid pension paid that well.” Dad drips sarcasm.

“For your information, I live off my paintings. I don’t take charity.”

“You just give it.” Dad is still talking loudly, but he doesn’t seem so angry any more. As if he’s just realised there’s no point to this argument. “You’d better tell me what else you got rid of.”

“Just a couple of things of Matt’s. He didn’t get aggro like you, though.”

Dad sighs. “You’ve been nothing but trouble since you came here. I should never have let you back into our lives.”

“It wasn’t your choice. Matt wants me here. He’s my son.”

At that moment, I don’t want to be anybody’s son. I want to be a worm and slide into a hole in the ground – a really deep, dark hole where there’s nobody else but me.

“I’ve had it with you,” Dad says. “You’ve stopped taking your stuff again, haven’t you?”

I want to block my ears but I can’t help it – I have to know the answer. Troy looks as if he doesn’t want to be there either.

“So what if I have?” Mum says defensively.

“You promised Matt you’d take it.”

Mum’s voice wafts back. “I know. But I’ve been doing so well. I thought I’d just cut back.”

“You know it never works when you do that,” says Dad.

Mum starts crying. “I just want to paint, that’s all. Is that a crime?”

I feel so terrible when she says that. Am I wrong to want her to take tablets so she can be a “normal” mum? Am I trapping her like a caged bird – clipping her wings so she can’t fly away? I want her to choose me, but now she’s miserable and she’s making everyone else unhappy as well.

Dad doesn’t give her any sympathy. “You should have thought about all that before you came here. Do you know what this is doing to your son?”

“Yes.” Mum sounds shaky. “I was sure I’d be okay.”

“Well, you’re obviously not, are you? Maybe you should just leave.” Dad’s words are clipped and hard.

“Perhaps you’re right.”

I can’t stand it any longer. I run out the front door. “Stop it, both of you!” I yell. “She’s my mother and I want her to stay.”

“But Matt, it’s not working,” says Dad.

Mum takes my arm. “I’m so sorry, my darling. I’ll do better. I will.”

I’ve only just found her. In spite of all the trouble she’s caused, I don’t want her to go. I think of what Troy said. “Mum, we can get you some help,” I say.

Dad stands watching us, arms crossed.

“I know you can.” Mum strokes my arm.

“Please, Dad.”

“Doesn’t look like I’ve got much choice.” He turns away, mumbles under his breath and shuffles off.

When I get back inside Troy’s still sitting at the kitchen table. “Maybe you’d be better off without her,” he says.

“She’s not your mum.”

Troy shrugs. We both look at our Science books. Neither of us is in the mood for homework.

“I guess I’ll take off then,” says Troy. “We’ll try this another time.”

“Whatever.”

Troy picks up his stuff and leaves.

Mum walks in the door looking really pleased with herself. “Don’t worry about your father. He’ll come round. We’ll work things out.”

I’m not so sure. Why is it impossible for both my parents to be happy at the same time? One is always making sacrifices for the other – and for me.

“But what about your art, Mum? What’s going to happen if you can’t paint? I heard you telling Dad how much you needed to.”

She smiles at me. “I need you more.”

I try to sound confident. I have to believe in what I’m saying. “You’re right, Mum. We’ll work it out. I know we will.”

It’s Dad I’m maddest with. Why can’t he just get over the fact that she’s here? He wants her to fail.

Dear Leonardo
,

You can’t make people the way you want them to be – not like in a painting
.

Is that what painters get from their art – control over their subject?

In a painting, you can give a person a green moustache or orange hair. You can make them appear any way you want. But in real life, you can’t control anyone
.

It’s funny when you’re little how your mum and dad seem like they have all the answers
.

But now I’m older and I’ve found out they don’t have them either – and what’s worse with my parents is that they’re the reason for most of my questions
.

Matt

Mum won’t answer the door. I know she’s there. I hear her walking up and down the hall.

She’s a caged animal; pacing up and down, but going nowhere – like a tiger I saw at the zoo once. It strode relentlessly from one end of its enclosure to the other. It stopped every now and then to press its huge head against the thick glass where all the people were watching. It looked angry and scared. Everyone stepped back from the glass in a single wave of half sighs, half screams. It was as if they knew – and the tiger knew – that it could just put one huge paw through the glass and that would be that. I almost wished it would launch itself at the glass and make a break for freedom.

But Mum’s not trapped like that, is she? She
chose
to send me that birthday card. She
chose
to come. I worry about her alone in that house. I worry about what she might do. What am I doing to her?

Troy comes over, and we try and work on our Science assignment again.

While we’re working, Mum arrives with a batch of chocolate biscuits she baked.

“They used to be your father’s favourite,” she says.

Troy and I look at each other. She seems normal.

“Thanks, Mum. They smell great.”

Troy stuffs one in his mouth. “Taste great too,” he says, mouth full of biscuit.

Mum smiles. “Thanks, Troy. You can take some for your lunch tomorrow, Matty.”

“Thanks, Mum.”

“Sorry about the other day. I’m back on my medication and I’m not going off it again – not if it means losing you.” She strokes my hair, which is kind of embarrassing in front of Troy, but he doesn’t say anything – not even one of his smart comments. Mum has tears in her eyes.

“It’s okay, Mum.” I take the biscuits from her and eat one. They’re pretty good. “Not sure these will last till tomorrow.” I wipe the crumbs off my lips.

Mum smiles. “I’ll leave you boys to do your homework,” she says. “Talk to you later, Matt. Bye, Troy.”

“Bye, Mum.”

“See ya.” Troy stuffs another biscuit in his mouth.

I watch Mum leave. “Looks like things are finally settling down.”

Troy raises an eyebrow. “Maybe. People with sickness in their head don’t get fixed that fast – it’s not like putting on a bit of ice to make the swelling go down.”

“But she’s back on her medication …”

“As long as she keeps taking it.”

“She will! Jeez, Troy, what’s got into you? You never used to be on such a downer about everything.”

“I’m not. I just don’t want to see you get stuffed around again if she goes off her meds.”

“She won’t.”

She wouldn’t, would she? She knows that would wreck everything.

Dad walks in from work and sees the biscuits. “Chocolate fudge cookies, my favourite.” He pops one into his mouth.

“Yeah, Mum told us.”

Dad tenses. “Your mother made these?”

I nod. I think he’s going to make some bad comment about her, but he doesn’t.

“They’re good,” he says. “I’m surprised she remembered.” He sits at the table and demolishes another biscuit. “So, how’s the homework going?”

“Okay,” says Troy.

“I’m running low on brain food.” I crunch on another biscuit.

“Brain cells more like.” Troy laughs.

I pick up my ruler and try to flick him on the shoulder, but he leans back – nearly falling out of his chair. Soon we’re chasing each other round the kitchen, and Dad’s watching us, laughing.

Dear Leonardo
,

The Science assignment got me thinking about all the stuff you invented, like clocks and cranes and armoured tanks. You even got into parachutes and flying machines. Man, when did you find the time to do all that? I’m having enough trouble keeping up with school, art classes and family stuff
.

And you didn’t have computers, or electric paint mixers or cars or toasters or gas heating – or any of the things that make our life easier today
.

I read that when you did your apprenticeship, it took thirteen years. Ours only go for about three or four – and I reckon that’s bad enough
.

Troy and I finally got our Science assignment done. Didn’t get a great mark, but with everything going on around here, it’s amazing we even got it finished
.

Matt

Dear Leo
,

Just had another lesson with Steve Bridges. It was awesome
.

I learned how to find the focal point in a painting
.

Never really thought about it much before, but there’s always one part of a picture that draws your attention first
.