I can’t stop crying. I know everyone is watching me but I’m past caring. If there is a God, this is the perfect time for a miracle because I don’t know what else will take this pain away. I am wishing that I will wake up and it will all be just a bad dream. I keep imagining that one of those nurses will emerge from behind those plastic doors anytime now and say, “Hey, we got ya! Mai-Ling is fine, but you’ve both learned a valuable lesson, haven’t you?” But I know this is not going to happen and the feeling that I have, this unbearable feeling, is killing me.
Someone has just sat down beside me. I can feel their eyes piercing into my crumpled form, now doubled over on the chair. As I look up, Mai-Ling’s mother’s face mirrors mine. She’s mouthing words but no sound is coming out of her mouth, just tears streaming down her cheeks as her lips quiver.
“Carrie …”
My heart is breaking for her.
“Mrs Truong. I’m …”
I can’t speak either and she doesn’t try to make me, she simply nods. We sit in silence for a while before she tries to talk again. “Carrie, they tell me that Mai-Ling might die.”
She says this so calmly that I am stunned. “No, Mrs Truong. She’s going to be okay.” I stammer.
She looks at me like I am the parent trying to comfort the child, and I feel stupid. Her expression is so loving that I know she is not blaming me, even though God knows she should be. I know she wants to say something but she doesn’t open her mouth. She stares at me for ages and I’m so confused I don’t know what to say to her.
“Mrs Truong I’m …
“It’s alright.”
“I mean, I’m really sorry, I …
“I know, Carrie.”
Her face is wet with tears and her mouth trembles as she speaks. “Carrie, you’re Mai-Ling’s best friend.”
“Yes.”
“You know her. Better than me.”
“No …
“I knew my little girl once, but not now, not since we came to Australia.”
I should take her hand or hug her or something but I can’t. She’s Mai-Ling’s mum, not someone you ever get to know. I only know her the way Mai-Ling talks about her. Not that she is horrible or anything like that; it’s just I never think of her as a real person. So instead of hugging her, I blurt out a string of empty words.
“You’re her mum. Of course you know her better than anyone.”
She shakes her head and covers her face with her hands. “Carrie, I am one woman. I can only do so much and that has not been enough. I have watched her grow from a little girl into a grown woman but I only know the little girl.”
“Mrs Truong, I …”
“It’s alright.” She takes her hands away from her face and her bloodshot eyes beg for help. “Carrie, I need to know why. I need to understand the woman my little girl has become. I don’t want to lose her, but if I do I will never be able to bear this emptiness inside. Carrie, can you help me to know my daughter again?”
There is nothing I can do to help. Still, I ask, “How, Mrs Truong? How can I help?”
“I want you to tell me about the Mai-Ling you know. Everything, leaving nothing out, even if you think I don’t want to hear it. Tell me all you know about her, everything you girls did together. Everything.” Tears tumble onto her cheeks and her voice breaks into a whisper, “Everything about my Mai-Ling.”
I just sit there staring. She is a middle-aged woman who has worked seven days a week all her life. She has no idea of the things I could tell her about her daughter – she would never be able to deal with it. And when Mai-Ling gets better and finds out what I’ve said, I will lose my best friend. I am like a fox caught in a trap and there is no escape. I think about telling her some bullshit story, enough to stop her questions, but she is staring at me with such sorrow in her eyes that I can’t do it. Jesus, I just can’t do it! Instead, I nod. She smiles back and softly squeezes my hand. This is going to be the longest night of my life.
So my story begins.
Mai-Ling was pretty shy when she first came to my school. Her English was not great and I guess that’s why she ended up in the same classes as me, the low-stream classes. I’m not saying she was dumb or anything, far from it. To be honest, I shouldn’t have been in the low-stream either; I was just lazy more than anything else. Oh, and also I thought it was great that my poor performance bugged the crap out of my father. He really hated spending good money on an education that I was seemingly not getting.
He was always writing emails and calling the school, complaining about the “low standard of teaching”. He threatened to take me out of there every other week. I reckon they secretly hoped he would so they wouldn’t have to listen to his crapping on anymore. That’s the thing about my dad, he thinks that money buys everything and solves every problem. He buys me the latest and greatest of everything but he never sits down with me and helps me with my homework. Instead, he works a hundred hour week so he can afford his toys – and his girlfriends.
One year, when I was really little, he organised this fabulous birthday party for me. We had everything; people dressed up like superheroes who were there to entertain us, hundreds of balloons, a jumping castle and all the junk food you could imagine. You name it, we had it. I was so excited and what was really special was that I had my dad to myself for the whole afternoon. He wasn’t at work or with a girlfriend or anything, he was with me.
Anyway, just before the party started, he got a phone call. I knew it was one of his girlfriends because of the voice he put on. He has this charming voice he uses when he speaks to women. When he got off the phone he told me that he had to go to work, an emergency or something. He put on his charming voice for me too when he wanted me to agree with him. He did his usual “I’m-so-sorry-baby-I-promise-I’ll-make-it-up-to-you” routine and left. He paid the girl dressed as Wonder Woman to look after me and make sure the party ran well. Can you believe it?
So, the thing is, there have been so many times when he didn’t bother to go out of his way for me that I guess, now, I try to get his attention by giving him the shits. It’s stupid, isn’t it, but that’s how I feel.
That’s probably why Mai-Ling and I got on so well when we met – we both had parents who worked 24/7 and this left us with plenty of time to hang out together.
I am suddenly aware of what I have just said and Mrs Truong looks more upset than ever.
“Oh, I don’t mean you’re like my dad, Mrs Truong. Not at all and neither did Mai-Ling, I swear. I just meant that we were good company for each other because we didn’t have anyone at home. Christ, that sounds bad too. I mean …”
Mrs Truong is smiling in this understanding kind of way, “It is important to have a good education where I come from. It is the difference between a good life and a poor one. Mai-Ling worked hard on her studies to please me, so I could give her that good life. I know she understands that. It’s okay, what you have said.”
I am in recovery mode now. “That’s true, she understands that. I know she does.”
She nods and looks down. She tries to hide that she is wiping the tears out of her eyes and I pretend I haven’t seen. I feel that I should continue talking as if we were sitting down over a cup of tea or something, to try to ease the tension. But I can’t stop thinking about Mai-Ling, and how we had become friends. I push myself to keep going none the less.
We kind of clicked from the start. When Mai-Ling arrived we were in Year 10, our last year of junior school. All the girls in my year had gone through school with me pretty much from the start of high school and we were a pretty cliquey lot, you know. We hung around in groups, the ‘popular’ girls, the brainy ones, the sluts and the nerds. Then, of course, there were the girls who didn’t fit into any group in particular, and drifted from one to the other. I was that kind of girl. No-one hated me but no-one loved me either.
The new girls fell into that group, and that’s how Mai-Ling and I got to know each other. We hung around with each other a lot in the end and I suppose it was because neither of us really wanted to be part of any one group in particular.
I look over at Mrs Truong. She seems to have recovered from my last faux pas and is looking at me curiously. I’m not sure what she is thinking but I’m acutely aware that she probably isn’t listening to everything I’m saying because I’m prattling on a bit.
“Is this what you wanted me to talk about? Because I can stop if you want.”
I am offering her an option to have me shut up but it is really me who wants the out.
She smiles, “Yes, please, go on.”
There is no escape; I smile back like I’m happy to keep talking. “Okay.”
I continue my story like this …
After six months, they moved Mai-Ling up to the top class. It was pretty obvious that she was smart and her English was pretty good by then. It was strange having an empty desk next to me and I began to realise that my shitty attitude with school was making me into a bit of a loser rather than one of the cool kids. And even though my father hated the fact that I was wasting my time and his money I realised that he hadn’t made any effort to do anything about it. So I wasn’t even getting the attention I wanted. I was wasting my time and no-one else’s.
The girls in the higher classes were nicer too. I never would have admitted that before because I was always calling them ‘those snotty bitches’. The thing was though, in a funny way being one of them actually felt more comfortable.
Mai-Ling wasn’t like that. She was just nice to everyone and people genuinely liked her.
As soon as these words leave my mouth I am conscious of how they sound. I am talking about the past, but in the process I am also talking about Mai-Ling like she is also in the past. I am talking about her like she is a ‘was’ not an ‘is’. Shit, this is not going well.
“Did she talk to you much about school?” I ask. I am trying to get Mrs Truong to talk for a bit. Maybe she might feel better if I let her talk about her daughter rather than listening to me.
“No, I would ask her about it but she shut me out of that side of her life. I thought she wanted to have her privacy but I worried that there was something she couldn’t tell me.”
Well that worked a treat. Next brilliant idea?
I smile back at her, “Oh.”
I couldn’t think of anything else to say. There was a lot Mai-Ling couldn’t tell her mother. Not because it was really bad or anything, but because her mother would think it was really bad. That’s what Mai-Ling would say too. She thought she had to lie to her mother because, if she didn’t, she wouldn’t be allowed to do anything.
There was also this other thing that happened. Something I did. Something really bad. I know I should tell Mai-Ling’s mum but I can’t. Not now, not after this.
“Carrie, did Mai-Ling take drugs before this?” Mai-Ling’s mum’s question interrupts my thoughts.
How do I answer this one? Lie.
“Never. She never did.”
When Mai-Ling gets better I promise I’ll tell her everything.
“Then why did she take something tonight?”
I don’t know why, it wasn’t like it was a planned thing or anything. We were just partying. It’s not like we’re druggies or anything. How do I explain this to Mrs Truong? “I think she thought it was an aspirin.”
There is relief on Mrs Truong’s face and I’m happy about that, but I feel like crap about lying. The thing is, even if I take my dirty secrets to the grave, at some point Mrs Truong is going to hear something she won’t be able to deal with, and that’s not going to be something big. It will be something small, something I won’t be expecting to be a problem. I know that the more I say the more chance there is of stuffing things up. I’m on the road to Hell without any signposts, and any minute now I’m going to meet Satan himself. Shit! Shit! Shit!
I can see Mrs Truong’s mind turning over as she gazes at the floor. “Carrie, do you think it was a mistake, or do you think someone mixed up the tablets on purpose?”
“Probably a mistake.”
Christ, give me a break. I’m not good with emotions and I hate it when people cry. I especially hate it when I cry and right now I’m so raw that even talking about Mai-Ling is pushing me to the edge. Why the fuck can’t I just be left to sit here on my own? Isn’t it obvious how hard it is for me too?!
“Mrs Truong, maybe you should talk to Mai-Ling when she’s better. I don’t think I …”
I am expecting her to push me to continue, or nod, or at least say something. I can’t finish what I want to say because I suddenly realise what a selfish brat I am. Mrs Truong is sitting here waiting to see if her only child, her daughter, will live or die. She has sat here and politely listened to me rave on about myself and my problems with my father. She hasn’t told me to shut up about myself and talk about Mai-Ling when God knows she probably wants to. She is in pain, and all she has is me to share that with. I am the closest person she has to her daughter right now. I wish I could tell Mai-Ling how lucky she is to have her mum. This thought is killing me because it is beginning to sink in that I might not be able to tell Mai-Ling anything ever again. The image of her covered in vomit on the footpath might be the last image I have of her. Oh God, this is real!
Mrs Truong won’t let up about the aspirin. “Carrie, I don’t think she thought it was an aspirin. She’s too smart, she would know.”
“No, I’m sure …”
“It’s okay. She must have had a reason why she took it. I don’t understand it, something must have happened tonight to make her want to do such a thing.”
My mind is racing over all the things that I could say to Mrs Truong, but I know she will have no fucking idea about any of it. She wouldn’t know the first thing about what guys expect us to do when it comes to sex. How hard it is to stay in the in-crowd, and what it’s like to be on the outside for no reason whatsoever. How the pretty girls get the cute guys and the ugly girls get their reputations for being sluts because that’s the only way to get a guy. Wrap that up with drugs and alcohol and having a good time. Christ the list is endless and I’m barely able to cop on about it all myself let alone try to talk about it to Mrs Truong. My whole life sucks. It fucking sucks!
“I don’t know. We were just talking to people and dancing and stuff. I think it was just a big mistake.”
She squeezes my hand. “Thank you for bringing her to the hospital, Carrie. You are a good friend to her.”
Christ, how bad do I feel now? I should say to her – no I’m not, I’m the one who’s responsible for all of this. It’s my fault, my fault. It’s all my fault – but I can’t. I can’t say anything, because if I do I’ll cry and never stop.
So instead, we sit in silence.
Mrs Truong stares at the plastic doors at the end of the waiting room for what seems like an age. Her eyes are drowning in tears but she will not let any fall past the lids. This is my entire fault – she knows it and I know it. I feel like shit.
“Mrs Truong, can I get you something? A sandwich or a drink or something?”
“That’s okay. Thank you.”
She doesn’t take her eyes off the plastic doors. It is as if she is willing them to open and for Mai-Ling to walk out into the waiting room. This waiting is unbearable. I sniff back my stray tears and wipe my running eyes.
“Mrs Truong, I really don’t know if it will help or make things worse, but if you want me to try to explain where Mai-Ling is coming from, I can. The thing is, I know Mai-Ling in a different way to you, and no offence or anything, but I don’t think you’ll get some of the stuff and I don’t want to …”
“I understand. You are young and I am old. We are worlds apart, but she is my daughter and I love her.” She is crying into her hands. “I really need you to help me. If she dies, I don’t want her to die a stranger to me. Please …”
I nod and put my hand on her shoulder. We are past the point of no return. I make a silent promise to her that I will tell her everything, even the bad bits. Even the worst bit. My stomach is churning because tonight, her angel will fall from grace.