Interview with a Painted Lady

by Adele Evershed

“When I was little, I wanted to be a butterfly.

On my fourth birthday, Mommy bought me a beautiful pair of wings, all teal, turquoise, and glitter, but when I put them on and found out I couldn't fly, I threw an enormous tantrum. I wrecked my room and scribbled over the wall. When she asked me what I'd done, I said, ‘I've put my angry on the wall.’ Then I smiled so sweetly it gave her chills.

I've never believed that version of events. Mommy was always an unreliable narrator. Take my brother Ian; he loved science, and Mommy insisted he wanted to be a vet, but he's always hated animals. So I think it's more likely that she wanted him to be a vet, and she wanted people to believe I was a psychopath. In my head, she's saying, ‘Darling, you've always had a vivid imagination, but if I did want people to think that about you, it was only to make you more interesting.’”

“Do you often hear your mother in your head?”

“Doesn't everyone? They might not admit it, but doesn't everyone ask for their mother at the end, no matter what she’s done to you in your life?”

“What did your mother do to you?”

“Well, she was the punisher.”

“Punisher?”

“Yes, she doled out the punishment. But she was constantly changing the rules. So one day, not finishing my breakfast could get me a walloping, but the next day, she'd say I didn't have to finish my oatmeal, and she'd just take it away.”

“Was this the same for your brother?”

“Oh no, Ian could do no wrong. You've heard of the little emperor syndrome? Well, that was Ian. He was the last male heir of the Aldred-Jones dynasty. Daddy was Dr. Ian Aldred-Jones III so my brother was the fourth, a bit pretentious, but that's the sort of family we are. Daddy passed away when I was five, and Nana came to live with us to help Mommy. Then a few years later, Gran moved in too. So we were a household of four females and Ian. He was the sun we all orbited.”

“Did either of your grandmothers ever say anything to your mother about her treatment of you?”

“Gran, Daddy's mother, tried. I remember an incident when I was about eight. I'd taken one of the china teacups to have a tea party with my dollies. When Mommy found out, she picked up the cup and smashed it on the floor. She said she could never drink tea from it again because I'd had my dirty paws all over it. Gran told her not to be so ridiculous. Mommy turned on her and said she should mind her own beeswax. It sounded funny, but I knew it wasn't. Mommy said if she didn't stop interfering, she'd be out on the street. Gran was left almost destitute; Gramps was a gambler you see.”

“It sounds like your mother may have had a psychological disorder herself. Maybe she was bipolar?”

“Or maybe she was a psychopath? Don't get me wrong, I loved my mother, but she was not an easy person to live with.”

“Did you ever come out to her?”

“Oh God no, I could never have done that. And anyway, I'm not gay. I like boys too, you know. I'm bisexual, and I definitely couldn't have told her that. A lesbian would be one thing, but bi—ha, I can hear her now. 'Bisexual, oh darling, you always were one to hedge your bets.’”

“Is she in your head now?”

“Doctor Gering, I've told you she's always in my head, but I mostly ignore her. I can tell you my sex life drives her wild. She's always calling me a whore. She was the one who got me into all this trouble in the first place. I’d just made a French exit from the bed of a woman I’d picked up at the club. She was a bit of a slut. Her apartment was a real mess so I couldn’t find my pants. To tell you the truth I couldn’t remember what I’d been wearing the night before, so I left.”

“You left wearing just a t-shirt?”

“I had underwear on.”

“Okay. You were telling me how this was all your mother’s fault?”

“Well yes. She was in my ear about my dissolute lifestyle, and I just felt absolutely starving. I was in the hell of suburbia so no 7/11’s or even a garage.”

“So you broke into Mrs. Adam’s house?”

“Well I didn’t have to break in as you put it. She’d left the patio door open. You think she’d be a bit more security conscious, her being a mother and everything. Ha ha—I suppose you’re right Mommy.”

“Are you talking to your mother now?”

“Why yes doctor. She’s pointing out that not every woman is a good mother. And she should know right? Mommy says you're quite handsome, but you need better mugs for your patients. Pay attention to the small details if you want to make an impression or solve a murder.”

“What does she mean by that?"

“I have no idea.”

“How exactly did your mother die?”

---

Adele Evershed was born in Wales and has lived in Hong Kong and Singapore before settling in Connecticut. Her prose and poetry have been published in over a hundred journals and anthologies such as Every Day Fiction, Grey Sparrow Journal, High Shelf, Reflex Fiction, Shot Glass Journal, and Hole in the Head Review. Adele has recently been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net for poetry, the Staunch Prize for flash fiction, and her first poetry chapbook, Turbulence in Small Places, will be published next year by Finishing Line Press.