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“Tell me what you’re feeling, right at this moment.”
“I’m not altogether sure that I can.” I clutched my hands together to try to keep myself from trembling. “I’m still taking it all in.”
“Let me turn on a little heat,” Marcella said, and put the vent on low. “Take your time, Caprice. I’m sure that was a traumatic experience for you, seeing your mother for the first time since she disfigured you.”
“Did you hear what she said about opening myself up to be hurt now that the scar is gone?”
“Yes.”
“Funny, huh?”
“Nothing funny about any of this.”
“True, but I’m trying to ward off my tears.”
“You can only do that but so long.”
“She recognized me right away.”
“That actually didn’t surprise me. There have been instances where mothers have been separated from their children for fifty or sixty years and their maternal instincts still kick in.”
“But Momma’s insane!”
“Your mother has some serious mental disorders, but she’s not clinically insane.”
“Really?”
Marcella nodded. “If she was insane, she would’ve been in a straitjacket in a rubber room. Insanity is a state of madness. Your mother knows where she is and she knows what she did. She also knows what she’s been through.”
“But what about her saying that she was hearing people?”
“That’s her schizophrenia. But that didn’t stop her from remembering that she cut you.”
“I can’t believe that I feel sorry for her. She did this to me. All of this was her fault and—”
“It’s partially her fault, but this all stems back to someone you can never get revenge on: your uncle. He destroyed your mother’s life, probably your grandmother’s life and well, and your life.”
“I wish I could get my fucking hands on him! I’d wring his neck!” I stated vehemently.
“Well, you can’t . . . get your hands on him. Caprice, it’s time for you to try to let all of this go. You’re taking your medication and that’s a good thing, but this entire concept of retaliating against your classmates is consuming your entire life at this point. Have you even finished your album? You’ve been working on it for months.”
“I’m almost done. Just one more song left.”
“And how long has there been just one more song left?”
I sighed. “Too long.”
“Your father told me he’s taking you back to New York.”
I looked at her. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”
“It’s the only idea that makes sense. If you want, I can come there once a month, or we can do weekly sessions over the phone. I feel like we’ve made a connection, and you expressed that you’ve had issues being comfortable with therapists in the past.”
“Maybe you can meet me in some of my tour cities? I’ll cover all the expenses and your fees, of course. I’m trying to stop, you know, that stuff.”
“Good. Everything has its time and place, but participating in all of that is not going to help you eventually connect to any men intimately.”
“You’re right.” I paused. “What about Jonovan, though?”
