Sarah Vaughan is Not My Mother: A Memoir of Madness by Thomson MaryJane

Author:Thomson, MaryJane
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781877551819
Publisher: Awa Press
Published: 2013-01-31T16:00:00+00:00

When I awake next day I look at my phone. No text messages. I scroll down, see my ex-boyfriend’s number, and think for a second of texting him. I decide against it: I’m unsure whether or not I trust him. I don’t seem to be able to trust the right people. My life is at a desperate low. I am searching for people to help me because I can’t help myself.

I text Rose and say good morning, and then I text her some Arabic words to make it clear to her that I am not a Christian, and even though she gave me a Bible I don’t have the same beliefs. I send about ten texts in the space of half an hour and I take my phone to breakfast. After breakfast the music teacher comes and visits me in my room. She asks me if I want to play some songs with her at around ten o’clock. I say, “Sure.” I sit in my room sending text message after text message. At about ten past ten Rose rings me but I’m not in my room. I arrive back to a very brief message from her saying: “Pick up your phone.” She then rings and starts yelling, sounding like she’s supercharged on something. I hold the phone away from my ear so I can’t listen. When I put the phone back to my ear she hangs up.

Feeling Rose’s words of utter hatred has sent me into a state of shock. The music teacher comes in. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah, fine,” I say. “I just got a call from someone I was texting but they hated me. They hung up before I had a chance to explain. She was telling me to just listen. It was like she was on speed: she spoke really fast. Oh well, at least I now know where I stand, can rule out her rescue mission.”

I am relieved at having discovered that Rose isn’t the voice because it takes the pressure off my having to text her. Underneath it all I knew that she, or anybody else for that matter, was not going to come and get me out.

The music teacher tells me a story about Buddha, who is behind a wall. You have to break down that wall to find him, and when you have found him you have really found yourself. The whole idea is that the answers are inside you. She asks me to sing a song and I sing “No Woman, No Cry” very loudly and forcefully, channelling my rage about Rose and the voice.

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