I bask in the warm feeling that spreads through me. It’s been a long time since I had a companion. Actually, I can’t remember ever having had someone coming home with me. Yes, I bonded with the animals in the vet clinic, but they went home with their owners. I pat Prince’s head. It feels good, not only in a safe way but also in an I’m-no-longer-alone way. I smile at the dog and could bet a thousand dollars he smiles back at me. I start the van and we are on our way.
Happy with my day so far, I stop at the grocery store. A woman with a trolley filled to the brim with groceries pushes past me as if she’s afraid I’ll pick items she’s set her heart on. For one terrifying moment I’m afraid everyone can read on my face that I’m a fraud and don’t know what I’m doing. I can’t remember the last time I went grocery shopping. Helen always took care of these household tasks.
The number of aisles and items overwhelm me. How does one know which of the five different brands of spaghetti to choose? In the end, I decide to work down Ama’s list and just pick something. It takes a bit of backtracking until I find everything. A thought—or is it a voice that talks to me?—distracts and calms me as I wait at the checkout.
“It’s just shopping and not rocket science.”
We arrive at Wright’s Homestead just after midday. To my astonishment, I drove all the way into town and back. I didn’t black out, and I didn’t wake up in a different town. That makes today an exceptional day. Maybe connecting with the friends inside isn’t that bad if this is the outcome? Maybe things are looking up? Lots of maybes?
Prince jumps out of the car after me. He doesn’t run away but stays by my side. I praise him and scratch him behind the ear. I have a good feeling about this dog. I get a bowl for water and another one for his doggy biscuits. Prince waits until I motion him to eat. I’m happy all around and there is a spring in my step. My life looked so grim and depressing only two days ago.
I leave Prince to eat and get the grocery bags from the van. Then I start the fire in the cooking range, cut up half of a pumpkin and a bag of carrots, and start a pumpkin soup for tonight. I have no clue how long it’ll take on the old-fashioned cooking range. The good news is I have all the time in the world to learn all the things that go with my newfound freedom.
Chapter Ten
Lilly: 19 November 2015, Late Afternoon, Wright’s Homestead
The truth about being a multiple is that it sucks. I’ve heard people talking about it as if meeting a multiple is the most exciting thing in the world. They try to make parts come out as if this is a game of hide and seek. It makes me want to punch people and give them a bloody nose. It’s not a lifestyle choice, for crying out loud.
“Can I talk to Lilly?”
No, you can’t, moron. That’s one reason we don’t like people knowing our names. It gives them the power to call us out. More often than not they have seen all the wrong movies and read all the wrong books. They either expect us to grow horns and twist into ugly looking aliens with souls darker than the darkest night, or function as tonight’s entertainment program in the form of a standup comedian.
I was once part of an online chat group for trauma survivors. Believe it or not, the stupidest question asked was,
“Can an otherwise peaceful multiple turn violent?”
I’m not joking. Do they compare us to The Silence of the Lambs?
All I said was, “Can you?”
I left the group after that. I have better things to do than bother with ignorant people. They are all in awe of us being able to switch in and out, having all these different skills, ideas, and values. Most of all though, other survivors envy the fact we can switch into parts that have no memories of the past. They don’t get that they too have times when their bad memories are not in their awareness because their focus is on other stuff. It’s the same thing.
I, for example, have none of the bad memories. I know about events because I listened when we visited Miss Marple. But these second-hand memories don’t have the same punch as if they were mine. With them, I’m more detached, like hearing a sad story on the news.
What people forget is that being a multi is like giving a class of school kids only one computer. You’re always fighting for your turn to use it, everyone has different ideas on what to do with it, and often nobody knows what the others have done with it.
Take this morning, for example. Elise had the body and read Ama’s letter. I love what Ama wrote and for once, Elise took the time to read it and reflect on it, rather than dismissing us again. That’s a good start and I will do my part by introducing myself, too. She has to accept us now. After all, she owes her newfound freedom to us. We persevered when she’d given up.
Then Elise went dog shopping. I get it. The dog is important for our safety. But she’s not the brightest bulb on the porch. She should have searched for the stash and taken more money. But that’s Elise for you, strait-laced and obedient. I had to push her aside and sneak out to get more money because nobody remembered we threw away our cell phone and five-hundred dollars won’t go very far. She didn’t even notice I popped into Noel Leeming’s in Port Somers and bought a new phone, a solar charger, and a mobile USB Wi-Fi connection for our
