Page 52 of The Second Chance Bus Stop
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I’m happy. Flourishing. I’m moisturised and hydrated and focused. And I haven’t even remembered to take my multi-vit chewies
for a week. I’ve had the best week of my adult life.
I’ve started writing emails to my mum. I am yet to receive a reply. The emails make me feel freer, but also like the distance
between us is getting bigger with each message sent and each message ignored. I’m turning into someone else and I’m desperately
waiting for her to be acknowledged. I do this before going to bed, sending it off into a void, knowing there won’t be a reply
until the next morning because Mum goes to bed at a sensible hour. I always feel lighter afterwards, as if whatever I’ve written
down isn’t my problem any longer, that I’ve sent it off for good. I scroll through my Sent folder and read what I’ve written.
TO: Mum
SUBJECT: Achievements
Hello Mum,
Vincent has been showing up to look at my work.
He was my uncle’s friend, if you remember?
Having him there made me think about when anyone showed up for me last. Watched anything I do.
I was terrible at school plays, ballet performances and recitals.
I remember the first one, I looked for you in the audience and saw you in a red sundress.
I remember thinking you were the prettiest mum in the room.
Then I went on stage and I messed up. Not tripping on my laces, or forgetting the steps, or singing out of tune.
But worse. A Sophia mess-up. You see, the music was too loud and it was so crowded on stage, and I wanted to be off it and in your arms. My hands went over my ears covering them, blocking it all out. Until someone led me away.
We tried again. And again. I tried all those things that we have pictures of that now sit in photo albums and on Facebook,
that are emotional milestones for parents. Then I stopped getting parts, and I dropped out of activities. Until there was
nothing to show up to and no public accomplishments to watch.
But that doesn’t mean I haven’t done things, that I’m not doing things. Vincent can see it. Maybe one day you can see something
good I do too, even if it’s not what you expected from me?
Sophia Ven
Blom’s Blooms
Stora byv ? gen 28
347 44 Svedala
www.blomsblooms.com
TO: Mum
SUBJECT: ABA
Hello,
I wonder if you read about ABA before you found my therapist? I have now, and it says it can treat 70 per cent of people with
Autism. I’m trying to imagine what I was like, how you could look at me and feel I needed to be treated. Therapy was the worst
thing that’s happened to me. It ruined my ability to say no, taught me that I didn’t have bodily autonomy and primed me for
being taken advantage of. It made me scared of face-to-face situations because I grew scared of the consequences.
Sophia Ven
Blom’s Blooms
Stora byv ? gen 28
347 44 Svedala
www.blomsblooms.com
TO: Mum
SUBJECT: School
Hi Mum,
I hope you read my last message. And the one before that.
I was thinking about school today. Because I had to have lunch at a food court, and it reminded me of the cafeteria.
There were smells and strange consistencies and a variety of dishes brought together resulting in an odour that stuck to my nostrils like glue.
I never knew were to sit, back in school.
I would stand in the cafeteria with my tray, and there were always seats available but I realised I couldn’t pick one.
It wasn’t just picking a seat, it was a strategy.
There were seats I wasn’t allowed in, that were reserved for best friends and where I’d be turned away as I approached.
Then there were seats that had a free space next to them or, worse, several free spaces.
That would mean the bullies could take them, could get close to me.
And chew loudly in my ear and watch as I’d start to shiver.
They might pour a packet of salt on my food.
And finally watch me get up and leave without having eaten a thing.
Do you know what I did in the food court today, Mum? I left after one bite.
I wonder if I would have been a different person if I hadn’t been forced to go to a mainstream school. I could have been a
person who liked to learn, who wasn’t always hungry, and who felt calm and safe. I read about a boy on Twitter, he gets to
skip playtime and replace it with quiet time in the library, he gets to skip PE and have shorter days. I kept thinking about
him, because I’m so happy for him.
I always thought I failed, but maybe it was school that failed me?
Goodnight.
Sophia Ven
Blom’s Blooms
Stora byv ? gen 28
347 44 Svedala
www.blomsblooms.com
We are down to the last days of the trip, and the joy I feel at being able to say, ‘I did it!’ is covering for the other feelings
I have about the trip with Blade coming to an end. He is helping me today, having told me the search and interviews have concluded,
he’s done with his research. When we arrive late afternoon, the marketplace is already full of people, covering the ground,
blending together into a one-coloured carpet-like blur like moss phlox, Phlox subulata.
‘Where do you want the crates?’ Blade asks and I nod towards an area at the edge of the common.
‘We’re really just waiting for it to finish so we can pack up. Getting it all ready.’
This was my favourite installation. I did something entirely different and used geraniums, sunflowers and others to create
something that borders on art. I’ve made six different installations across the common each with a different theme. Dream, Grow, Now, Play, Breathe and Think. They’re large, upright and brimming with colour and character. There is no motif, I haven’t shaped them as a teddy bear or
a large sun, just how I imagine each feeling in my mind and the word made out from shades of flowers.
Blade comes up behind me with a churro in his mouth. I’m amazed at the speed at which he located and bought them.
‘Did you plan to spend the whole day eating?’
‘Plan to spend the whole day in awe of you.’
He reaches out to touch me, and I recoil.
‘Food courts are number three on the list of public places with the most germs. After public restroom sinks and escalator handrails,’ I explain.
‘Got it. Sorry.’
I produce a wipe from my pocket and hand it to him. The sharp smell relaxes me and I inhale deeply, as a familiar voice comes
up behind me.
‘I could tell you were nearby from the smell, sister.’ I turn around and am face-to-face with Pontus, brother number two.
‘Where there’s antibac spray fumes, there’s Sophia.’ He laughs. Blade’s face remains still.
‘You’re here,’ I say.
‘I am, yeah.’
‘Nice to meet you.’ Blade says and they shake hands a minute too long, as if neither wants to be the first to let go.
Hampus comes up behind them, with Mattias next to him.
‘Hi, sister,’ they say in unison.
‘Hi, brothers one, two and three.’
‘This is pretty damn spectacular,’ Hampus says. ‘I don’t know much about art, but this feels like, well... art?’
‘Who did you work with?’ Pontus asks. Taking a step back and joining the others so that my brothers are lined up next to one
another, a trio of blond, bulky men who both look like me and don’t.
‘Just me,’ I say. It’s usually the answer to everything in my life. ‘I work with no one.’
‘Incredible,’ Mattias says, smiling at me, then turning to our brothers. ‘Why don’t I take you for a proper tour and we let
Sophia work?’
They come back half an hour later, with bags full of purchases and words of praise.
‘I had this idea of you with an apron behind a counter selling tulips,’ Pontus says, and Hampus nods in agreement. ‘Thought you might have a stand here selling flowers, so I wasn’t even keen to drive over when Vincent called.’
‘Vincent called you?’
‘He said we needed to see this.’
‘He did promise us free vouchers for the beer tent as well,’ Hampus adds.
Knew it. My flowers alone wouldn’t have been enough to pull them in. But they came. Showed up. And I think that’s a first.
‘Well done you,’ Mattias says.
I look at the ground which is now brown rather than green, littered with beer caps and popcorn.
‘Thank you,’ I say.
Vincent wanted them to see this because I’ve done a good job. Because he’s proud of me. He is the closest link I have to my
uncle, and I can’t help but think he’d be proud too.