Page 21 of And Still Her Voice
After I declined the offer, she got up to get a pen and a piece of paper near the yellow wall phone and wrote something down. “Our phone number and address in case you change your mind, or, if you just want to talk. I know I talked so much, but I gotthe sense you didn’t mind.” She winked. “Besides, I noticed, on the ride up, you carrying on your own conversations a lot. They seemed pretty deep. At first, I thought you were asleep.” I felt my face flashing red. “My father used to talk about some of his cases. Schizophrenia is such a fascinating subject. I’ve never really . . .”
“Wait. What? I’m not schizophrenic!” Although, I’d heard talk about it being part of my father’s diagnosis, the reason for his Navy discharge. Was it hereditary?
“I’m sorry, of course not.” She smiled apologetically and then took in a sorry breath. “I really feel if you stayed, I could make a difference.”
Like what? I wondered. As your little lab rat? “I’ll be okay.”
Grandma added, “Of course. Besides you’re a mother and a wife, well a mother, whose responsibility is her family. That’s a job you have until you die.”
Betsy stared at me, open-mouthed. “You sound hoarse. Are you getting sick?
I shook my head.
“I guess you’re right. My place is next to Ben.” She then took my hands and looked into my eyes. “We all have our challenges, and I get the sense there’s something heavy on your mind.” I couldn’t hold back the tears. “I know you’re running away, but maybe you’re running toward something,” she said, sounding wiser than her twenty-two years. “But remember, wherever you go you take yourself with you.”
Betsy looked down at my shoes. The march had given me blisters and one of my straps from my Mary Janes had ripped, flapping along as we marched up Fulton Street toward the stadium. “But you can’t get keep running in those,” she said, peering closer. “Is that mustard?” She handed me her boots and told me I could hang out in the house as long as I liked, but that Ben’s parents would be home in a couple of days.
“Thank you,” I said, wiping my nose with the back of my sleeve.
It didn’t take long for them to pack up. “Stay safe.” Betsy pulled me into the middle of a group hug with her and Ben and Poppy. As we said our goodbyes, I felt my heart tearing apart. I missed family.
***
Before deciding my next move, I called home. At last, my mother came to the phone. She sounded upset, of course, but Dad was fine, like Grandma told me.
“So, the police aren’t looking for me?”
“No. How would I explain that it was your dead grandmother who caused her son to get stabbed?”
“I’m so sorry this happened, Mom.”
“Why should you be? It wasn’t your fault.” She didn’t sound mad. “Anna, you’ve always been stuck in the middle.” She understood my dilemma? “Just come home.”
Now she’d really given me something to cry about. Without saying so, I knew she missed having me around while everyone was off at school. She missed her ally, her helper, her partner in crime. Mom sounded sweet which made it harder to explain that I wasn’t ready to come home yet. I tried to describe how I was changing. And just as quickly, she harshened her tone. “I’m sure you are, traveling around with those big ideas in your head. Desgraciada. Como tienes sangre azul. I’m sure your high-society Grandmother is so happy she finally pulled you away from us.”
“She didn’t pull me away, I ran away after I stabbed Dad, remember? He would have killed you if I hadn’t stepped in.”
“He wouldn’t have touched me if your grandmother hadn’t been such a metiche. Anyway, it was nothing any different. He needs me too much to actually kill me.”
So, she’d risk getting beaten to death. “But needing isn’t the same as loving, Mom.”
“What do you know about love?”
Not much, except that it’s obviously truly blind. Mom had never seen the frightened little Anna standing in front of her.
I wondered if the reason she constantly engaged in arguments with Dad, a sort of sick game to her, was to prove some kind of love. Still on a high from marching for peace, singing songs of freedom and unity, chanting words of hope, I wouldn’t let Mom bring me down.
“Anna, what are you trying to do? Get killed? You don’t understand what it’s like to be a minority. You weren’t around during the riots.”
“You’re right, Mom.” But we’ve come a long way since the Zoot Suit Riots. I’m marching for change. We need to end the war.”
“Aye dios, your father would be shocked to hear this.”
“And your father might be proud. Where would we be if not for Dolores Huerta and her family? Don’t you see the good that came of her?”
Mom laughed and I could picture the sneer on her face. “You’re no Dolores Huerta.”
No, I’m Anna LeMar and I’m not coming home. I hung up the phone.
