Eventually Mama stops playing. “You can come closer little bird.” Mama calls to me. “I don’t mind.”
I scurry to sit on the rug in front of her.
“It’s been too long.” She says then. “I forgot how good it feels.”
“I thought I was dreaming when I heard you. What song is that?”
“I don’t know. I made it up.”
“That’s what I like to do. Make up songs. It helps me. Feel better. Well sometimes.”
Mama smiles and then looks at me long. “I’m so sorry. I know I put you and your sister through a lot over the summer but I’m trying now Makeda. And it makes me so proud to see the ways you are growing up. Into a strong young woman.”
I don’t say anything and Mama starts another song. This time she puts down her bow and plucks and picks at her strings with her pointer finger. When she stops playing I let the question I have been holding holding holding on to escape.
“Mama.” I start. “Are you going to try to. You know. Hurt yourself again?”
She wraps her violin in scarves and puts it in its case before sitting down next to me on the rug. “I love you Makeda. You know that? At least I hope you do.”
“But … are you going to leave me. Leave us?” I ask again.
I can feel Mama tensing next to me. She and I sit next to each other but we look at the piano in front of us. Mama grabs my hand. Hers is shaking.
“Here’s what I love about you.” She continues. “You see all the smallest details about the world. It’s a little scary how much you see. But you are curious and observant and even when you see hard things you don’t turn away.”
But do you want to live? My head echoes.
“Look. With my illness I can’t really promise anything. And I have to spend some time figuring out how to live with this. How to love myself. How to get back to my music even when the meds make me fuzzy. If I have another manic episode I might have to go away again. But no matter what I do. Or where I go. Or what my mood is. You have to know I love you and your sister.”
“Ok.” I say. But it feels like I have stones in my throat. I am heavy with knowing. A mother hurts. You cannot stop the hurt.
“Listen.” Mama says then grabbing my chin and turning my head to look her in the eyes. “I was thinking. Maybe we should get you some singing lessons huh?”
“Instead of piano!” I almost shout.
Mama laughs. “No. No. Piano is still mandatory. This would be in addition. I think maybe it’s time to get you some formal training. Would you like that?”
I shake my head yes and smile.
Mama kisses me on the chin. “Good.” She says. “Good.”