Harley

I weren't late. Ma were already there. We'd said 3:00. And it were 2:50. Ma had a car and I didn't. I walked down from me new flat. Were a pretty nice walk. Listened to some of the classics. Yungblud. Madonna. Cher. Bit of Placebo. By the time we arrived, it were 'Welcome to the Black Parade', by MCR. 

Ma had a latte in one of those tall skinny glasses. Never liked those. Always feared we would end up smashin' them. Suppose they're no different to regular mugs, but still. Anyway, me Ma were there. With her fruit loaf and latte. And there were me. Me hot chocolate, with cream, marshmallows and a lemon tart. 

"Alright?" 

"Hi, Pickle." 

"... Sorry, I'm late." 

She looks at her watch. 

"You're bang on." 

"Oh, right. Aces." 

I sit down opposite her. She got us a quiet table in the corner. 

"How've you been?" 

"Alright, I guess." Me answer is muted, yes. Guarded even. But I don't know quite how to tell her that me leavin' home were the best thing for me. That I were happier. Healthier. That I felt like I could be meself without her pickin' holes in everythin' we wore, said, acted, did. 

She looks us up and down. 

"I'm glad." Her smile were pained. "How's Sam?" 

"He's good. At work." 

"Oh, nice. Still at the care home?" 

"Yeah. He's still there. At least for the moment, anyway." 

"And... … … you're well?" 

"Yeah. We're … … … we're well. Thanks. You?" 

"Yeah. Yeah. Fine. Just chugging along, really. Still flat hunting." 

"Do I need to transfer you some rent money for that?" 

"No. No. I don't expect you to do that. Not if you are paying for your own place as well." 

"But I'm still a third of the tenancy agreement..."

"And your father is guarantor. We make up the slack. He agreed to it."

"… … …"

"I spoke to Kelly the other day. She is asking after you."

Me shakin' knuckles, mid sip, clench tightly around me mug, sendin' hot chocolate cascadin' down onto the tray. I quickly set the drink down and mop up the spills with a napkin, cursin' under me breath. 

"Harley… … … She misses you. And she's sorry. For what she said. She said if she could take it back, she would. She'd had a drink. And was feeling emotional because she was on the other side of the world and there was nothing she could do..." 

And whose fault is that? She could have done a great many things in our short 26 years as sisters. 

I wanna say that. But all I can muster is a simple... "Oh."

"She's been having a few problems with her work. And with the kids. And with Mark. And, she's going through a lot."

"So that gives her an excuse to say what she said? To do what she did?" 

"I'm not saying that. What she did was nasty and hurtful and spiteful. But it came from a place of hurt and love. Can you see that?" 

"Which part? The part where she called me a 'povo scrounger' or told me I caused you and Da nothin' but pain and misery for 26 years. Or how about that I should "grow up", "get off my arse" and find a job?"

"She... she didn't know the whole situation when she wrote th—"

"Still didn't stop her from puttin' in her two cents, though, did it? But why shouldn't I be surprised? After all, with her, the advice centre is never closed. It's been like that for years. Her goin' on at me like a mini me of Da. Tryin' to parent and tell me how to 'better meself'. And she continues even now. Ugh. "

"Harley … … …" 

"So, what, she thinks I like this? Bein' deemed limited capacity for work due to health conditions? Havin' seizures? Blackouts? Havin' people call paramedics on me every other week when I collapse in a pub or in a supermarket or in the middle of the street? Get your own house in order before you come for me."

"A seizure? What? Recently?"

"Fairly recently, yes." 

"When was this?" 

"Last Monday..."

"You didn't say..."

"It doesn't matter. Me point is, she can sit there all she wants and make moral judgements, but her not feelin' like she is doin' enough is not me problem. Or me fault."

"But … she's your sister." 

"So what? No, seriously, I am askin'. So what? I am so sick of hearin' this argument. If someone treated you as badly as she did for 26 years, said the same stuff to you as she did to me, would you want them in your life?" 

"… … …"

"I am sorry she is havin' a hard time. Truly, I am. But I ain't ready to talk to her. Not yet. Maybe one day. Maybe. But not right now."

"Not even for us?" 

"Us?"

"Me and your father never liked to see you two fight." 

"Ma, all we ever did were fight. And you did nothin' about it. When she hurt us. Physically. Emotionally. Verbally. We were told to get along and play nice. And I tried. But we are two very different people. Too different. And she as good as told me she didn't want me as a sister. Both through actions and words. And then she wonders why I get all tense and nervous around her when she visited or we have Zoom calls." 

"She knows that it wasn't easy between you both. And she's sorry." 

"Well, if she's brave enough to text me that she actively wished my benefits were cut to, what were it … make me appreciate who were 'wipin' my arse', she has no problems pickin' up the phone and messagin' an apology. Oh, wait, that's right, I blocked her. And she's lucky that's all we did, because Athena were ready to bite his head off."

"Athena? Is that one of your... entities?"

"She is a member of our system, yes."

"… … …"

"One who actively dislikes Kelly and thinks she is in no position to mock or judge others about their ability to find employment when she is workin' at a private school that her mother-in-law owns and runs. There is a word for that, you know."

"That's not fair." 

"Yeah, well, you're lucky my colleagues were able to talk Athena down. She's blocked. But... If she's as sorry as she says she is, she is more than welcome to contact me another way. She has me email. Or she can send a homin' pigeon. A distress flare. Smoke signals. Maybe Morse code for all I care. Look... I … I love her. But I don't like her. Frankly, I really don't like her. And I tried. For 26 years, I tried. But there is only so much tryin' a girl can do"

"What about what you always say about family, huh? That you think it's one of the most important things..."

"Ma, she stopped seein' me as family when she pissed off to Brazil. No... actually, no... It were before that. She stopped seein' me as family when she went to uni and adopted a random kid to be the brother she never had."

"That's not true." 

"That's how it feels." 

"... She's proud of you, you know? Of you getting your radio show. She does listen in from time to time." 

"... Actions speak louder than words, Ma. And right now, I have 26 years of resentment, cruel barbs, flippant dismissal of bein' non-binary, and again, literally bein' replaced by a sixteen-year-old kid. And made to feel like I had to live up to this boy. To fight for scraps of love and affection that she were so eager to give to anyone, and I mean anyone, who weren't me." 

"… … … Will you at least consider it? For me? For your father?" 

"I … I don't know. Alright? I don't know. I … I … I … I can't make promises I can't keep… … …"

"Why do you have to be so selfish? To make it all about you? This is why we fought. Because when we have a conversation, just like this, you just shut down when you don't like what you hear. When people tell you their truth, you ignore it and invalidate it by going silent. You silence me. Made me feel I couldn't talk in my own home out of fear of offending you. And don't use the autism card. I have autism too and have meltdowns and shutdowns, and I can still converse with civility."

"Like when I told you how you made us feel on Valentine's Day and you stormed off to bed?"

"Because you attacked … … …"

"I merely quoted some of the things you said to me in the past." 

"Stuff you took out of context. And warped and twisted it to make yourself look like the victim?" 

"So me havin' DID didn't scare you? You weren't terrified that you didn't know who you lived with? I wasn't the cause of our relationship breakin' down? That me System didn't ruin my life by stoppin' me from gettin' surgery? Which, by the way, were not their fault. That you didn't keep tellin' me that you wanted your daughter back? That you ridiculed me life goal of happiness, scoffin' and dismissin' it. That because you ain't happy, I shouldn't be happy either? Askin' why this, me health conditions, kept happenin' to you, and why you couldn't have just one week off, when a paramedic has to bring us back home."

"… … …"

"You said all that stuff to me, Ma. All that and much, much more. How did you think I were gonna take it?" 

"… … … I haven't been taking any of this well, Harley. All these conditions. They don't just impact you. They impact all of us. It has affected my relationship with your father. I can't work properly without worrying that something might happen to you. I went on holiday to visit your sister and spent all the time worrying about you..."

"So I am what...? Meant to stay in a glass case for all of me life? Do you think I am that fragile?" 

"No... I..."

"Then what is it, Ma?" 

"I don't want to lose you! Your sister is in Brazil. She has her own family. I am getting on. At some point soon, I am going to need you're help and assistance more and more. I need you."

"You need me? Or you want me?" 

"Both."

"Ma… … … We're only talkin' now because of Kelly. That's it. That's the reason. But this is probational. Because I am not ready to come back. I have me own life. And like it or not, you hurt me. You all did. You. Kelly. Da. And you can dress it up like love, but the love you showed were possessive and cruel. And I am sorry, but I am not gonna stand here and be used as some sort of emotional pawn any longer. I never told you this, but I had three health professionals - two therapists and a paramedic - tell me that the home situation were not a healthy … or … or a safe one to be in. That's how bad it were at the end."

"… … … You were never like this before. You used to show empathy. Kindness. Compassion. Understanding. And then these... these 'Entities' came along and you changed. And it was difficult. So very difficult seeing you care more about imaginary people, people in your own head, than your own flesh and blood. … You would really not want to talk to me or your father ever again? You would really choose to leave things like this? To cut us off?" 

"I have all those things and more, Ma. I love and support me friends because they accept me for who I am. Who we are." 

"Stop saying we. It scares me and your father to no end."

"… … …" 

"So to keep speaking with you, I must, what? Reinforce this delusion? Call you these other names? I already had to go through that once when you transitioned. Surely one change is enough? Don't you agree?" 

"You know that sounds a lot like TERF rhetoric." 

I can't even look at her. I just bite into me lemon tart.

"Don't you dare! I have always been supportive of you. Through all of this. Even when it caused tension with your father. The number of times I had to talk him through doubts and reservations, and moments he could not comprehend or discuss. And this is the thanks I get?"

"Thank you for havin' a conversation about me and not with me. Like I am what? Maria Von Fuckin' Trapp. I'm not a problem. I don't drink. I don't smoke. I never really partied. I am in a stable relationship. I …"

"You were not coming home. Staying over at people's houses. Every other week. You had me worried. I had no idea where you were, because you don't give me your friend's addresses." 

"I were 26. " 

"And living under my roof. My roof, my rules." 

"And me rent equalled a third too, if we're tallyin'. Also, side note, why would I give you me friends' addresses?"

"Must you be so difficult?"

"I'm not bein' difficult."

"You constantly invited your friends over. Flaunt my rules every week." 

"Oh, I'm sorry, where are me manners… … … I paid an equal share of the rent on time, every month. I was never late with those payments. That and the fact that I gave you the money you needed to see Kelly when you were short. I gave you that money. Because you hadn't seen your daughter in seven years… … … If you wanna try, and suggest I don't care for this family… … … Also, if me borrowin' the livin' room for one Saturday a week to watch the new series of Dr Who - which you would have been more than welcome to join us for - when I am payin' £550 a month for the flat, were too unreasonable to ask, then I am sorry. Besides all that... I work. Hard. At three separate places. Maybe it's volunteerin' work, or fake work as Da calls it, but it still counts as real work to me. And I'm good at it. People at work like me. They like us. … Ma... I did everythin'... everythin' I could to make you both proud of me."

"And I was proud. But now... I look at you, and all I see is a broken shell of my daughter. And it pains me." 

"Broken? You think I am broken?" 

"You've not been the same. And I want my daughter back. I don't want to have to share her with these... what do I even call them, anyway?" 

"Alters." 

"… … …" 

"Like it or not, they are a part of me."

"So you will, what, continue to wear this condition like a badge of honour? This is very different to Autism, Harley. Autism is a superpower. This is... I don't even know. I mean, being another person. Living as an 8-year-old. That's just not right. It's not right. And you are presenting this to the world so freely and openly. Without understanding the ramifications of it all." Ma closes her eyes and inhales. "Name one thing, just one reason, why you should be proud of this? Help me to understand. Please? … Because I can't."

"I am never alone."

"... Never alone... never alone... Well, good luck living on your own when you have pushed everyone REAL who ever loved you away."

"Is that how you truly feel?" 

"… … …"

"… … …" 

We just sit there in silence, with only the drenched paper napkins, soppin' with spilt drink, between us.