It's My Life - Melody Carlson [67]
“You mean like mine?”
“I wasn't saying that.”
“Yeah, but that's what you mean, isn't it? You think my life is just one big, stinkin’ mess, don't you? Go ahead, Caitlin, admit it!” She stood up now, her voice growing loud. “I know you're always looking down on me–you and those picture-perfect, little yuppie parents of yours, just like June and Ward Cleaver. I know you guys all think I'm nothing but poor white trash. Don't you?”
I stood too, unsure of what she might do in her anger. “No, Lynn.” I spoke calmly, hoping to soothe her ruffled feathers. “I don't think that at all.” I paused to take in her messed-up face, realizing how underneath that she was actually still quite pretty. And then I suddenly felt tears filling my eyes. “To be honest, Lynn, I might have thought like that before–before I started seeing things differently. But now, I just think you've had a really rough life, and it's taken its toll on you. And it just makes me incredibly sad. Sad for you. And sad for Beanie too.”
She exhaled loudly, almost as if my words had somehow deflated her, and then she sank back down onto the couch. “Yeah, well, it makes me pretty sad too.”
I paused for a long moment, then sat back down, silently begging God to give me the exact words that Lynn needed to hear. “You know, it doesn't have to continue like this.”
She just shook her head. “Nothing ever changes for me. I just get older and uglier and pick out worse men is all. But no matter what I do, nothing ever gets any better.”
“It could get better, Mom,” said Beanie, clearing her throat as she stepped into the room.
“I knew you were there listening,” said Lynn matter-of-factly, without even looking up.
“Mom, I love you,” said Beanie, her voice breaking. “And I really want to see things get better for you. Do you know that?”
Lynn nodded, swallowing hard. “I know, baby. I know.”
“But you're the only one who can make things change,” said Beanie.
“I know, but I can't.”
“You can!” demanded Beanie. “But only if you let God help you.”
Lynn looked up, her eyes now filled with tears. “Look at me, Beanie, and tell me honestly. Do you really think–if there even is a God–that He would give a flying fig about someone as messed up as I am?”
“First of all, I know there is a God,” said Beanie. “And second of all, He loves everyone no matter how messed up we are.”
Then I jumped in. “And sometimes it's only when we realize how messed up we are that we can understand how much we need to call out to God for help.”
“And what if I did that?” She looked intently to Beanie, then back to me. “What if I did call out for God to help? And what if He just wasn't there? Or didn't answer? What then?”
“He is there,” said Beanie quietly. “He will answer.”
“And you'll never know if you don't ask,” I added even more quietly, worried that we were both pushing Lynn too far and too fast, and that any moment she might just blow up on both of us.
She sat there for a long time, just gently rubbing her arm, which I suspect was also hurting from the beating her Harley man had given her. And the whole time, I just kept praying. Praying that she wouldn't blow up, praying that she would listen, and praying that for once in her life she would just call out to God.
Finally she stood. “Well, I'm sure you girls need to be on your way.”
“But, Mom–”
”Just go!” cried Lynn, swinging her arm as if to defend herself. “Leave me alone! Just get out of here, both of you! Leave!”
Beanie nodded to me, and we both moved toward the door; then Beanie said, “I'm praying for you, Mom.”
“Me too,” I added as we stepped out to the porch. Then we heard something crash against the wall and break into pieces.
“It's okay,” said Beanie. “Probably just an ashtray, her favorite form of projectile.”
I looked at Beanie. “Are you okay?”
She smiled. “Yeah. That was great.”
“Great?”
“Yeah, I've never seen her listen to stuff about God that well before.”
I kind of laughed, then we got in the car and drove over to Grandma's where we hauled all Beanie's stuff into the laundry