Page 70 of The Second Chance Bus Stop
London
Two days after my call with Blade, I receive an email with a ticket attached to it. It’s from an Eliza, but the message says
that it’s sent on behalf of Edith. Edith. I’m going to meet Edith, Blade’s mum, the woman my uncle loved so much he’d do anything for her. The woman he loved so much
he’d even leave her be, to let her do what was best for her son. I can’t pack flowers, but I can pack things that calm me. From what
Blade has told me, his mum has similar difficulties to me because of her disease. I know all about being sensitive to light
and touch.
I know that Edith will be waiting for me at her address, and I also know that Blade won’t be there when I arrive. Blade and
I are messaging again, slowly building up trust. Figuring out what things might look like if I decide I can handle his life.
As if she knows I need the encouragement, my mum has sent me an email, which I read outside Arrivals, waiting in line for
a taxi. I open it and smile to myself. All my emails have gone unanswered until now, but as it turns out, not for nothing.
She’s listened, which is all I ever wished for. To have a voice.
FROM: Mum
SUBJECT: Me communicating. Finally.
Dear Sophia,
I’m sorry this has taken me a while to write. All I ever wanted was to give you everything. Your father and I worked so hard
for our house, for the clothes you wore, to give you kids everything we didn’t have. I wanted you to look like the other girls
in school. I never did. One time my classmate’s mum brought a black bin bag with clothes and dumped it next to your grandma’s
car. ‘Here you go,’ she said. ‘Your girl is a bit smaller than mine, and some of this may fit her.’ I didn’t have the heart
to tell my mother I could not under any circumstances wear the most popular girl in schools’ hand-me-downs. It would be social
suicide. Because the relief on my mother’s face was bigger than my shame. Her girl wouldn’t freeze and she wouldn’t have to
choose between grocery store money or buying me clothes.
You see, Sophia, we were poor. I told you to do things like eat your food, think of all the starving the children in Africa,
but in my head I thought ‘Think of me.’ We weren’t poor in the sense you may think of it but gosh, yes, we were poor. I did
my homework in the dark because I didn’t want to waste electricity. Squinted my eyes to the point of my mother thinking I
needed glasses.
So when I started making money, I wanted to make enough of it.
I would stay late at work. I found a babysitter for you all.
I enjoyed my job but even more so I enjoyed buying things for you, Sophia.
I enjoyed the girls looking at you when you arrived to school, glancing at your new glittery trainers.
When you wanted to cut off the labels and rip off the sequins on a skirt, I thought, There goes all my effort.
And I couldn’t understand why you would want to.
Does she not know what I’d have given for those clothes when I was her age?
I thought the only way forward was to give you more. There were so many things we did wrong, because we didn’t understand
you. But that was our fault. We didn’t try hard enough to.
I never meant to hurt you, not then and not now. Knowing that I did hurt you pains me more than I can ever tell you.
Your Mum
PS I thought you loved the babysitter?
FROM: Sophia
SUBJECT: Re: Me communicating. Finally.
I loved her because she put on Cinderella as many times as I wanted whilst she did her nails, and she let me scrape my food
into the kitchen bin. I never ate when she was there. It was fine, but I would have loved my mum there instead.
Sophia
PS Why did you never hug me when you got back home? I saw families doing it on TV, so I ran to the door when you were back,
but you never scooped me up.
FROM: Mum
SUBJECT: Re: Me communicating. Finally.
But you never liked hugs. You would stiffen and stand still as a statue.
Mum
FROM: Sophia
SUBJECT: Re: Me communicating. Finally.
Research shows trees respond to hugs. Plant cells can perceive pressure waves. Trees are still and unmoving. Meaning, I still
needed to be hugged. I might still.
FROM: Mum
SUBJECT: Re: Me communicating. Finally.
You’re in London now, but I might go and hug a tree for you, since you say they can respond.
I smile as I type my reply.
FROM: Sophia
SUBJECT: Re: Me communicating. Finally.
That sounds good. Try to find a Weeping Willow, they’re the best ones to hug. They need the emotional support;)
My mum is going to go hug a tree, just for me.
Forty-five minutes later, a taxi drops me in front of a white house with a red door and a wild and unruly front garden.
I can tell immediately upon meeting her that Edith is a rubber plant, a Ficus elastica . You might mistake her for something romantic like a lilac, or gorgeous like a rose, but that would be to underestimate her.
She has large waxy leaves and can adapt to any situation. I know instantly that I can get along well with a Ficus elastica .
‘My girl,’ she says and pulls me down towards her. ‘Finally I meet you. Would you like me to show you the way to Hornton Street?’
I manage Edith’s wheelchair onto the ramp of the red bus and park it in the dedicated space. When we get off the bus, she
asks me to stop. It’s busy, and the pavement is dirty. Everyone walks faster than what I’m used to.
‘I will wait here. You go ahead. Straight ahead and on your right, a large rust-coloured brick building. You can’t miss it.’
‘I can’t leave you here,’ I object.
‘I have a lot of friends here. Half the neighbourhood. I’ll spot one of them soon enough. Go.’