I will graduate from high school the day after tomorrow. I am thrilled. The day after tomorrow also requires that I walk across a stage in my cap and gown (as well as something underneath) and accept my diploma. Shit. I am not thrilled about that. I am only doing it because my mother and grandparents want that. The day, the pictures, possibly me saying something awkward into a microphone (God I hope not), the whole shebang. I hope to be scheduled for an alien abduction that day. Perchance to dream.
I don't really know what to write here anymore. I am at a loss. Some sort of terrible constipation of the brain. The words are all backed up. Do you suppose a mental suppository is in order? Sounds iffy.
When I was eleven...my mother met a man. He was very kind and understanding. He cared. He possessed the seemingly magical ability to right the wrongs of the world. Could bring order to the chaos that swirled frantically within my cluttered mind. Was able to make sense of what I saw as blatant parental injustice, bringing forth logic from where I could only see insane unpredictability.
He came over often to talk. I vaguely recall him watching television with me. Not really watching the screen, of course, because Toonami is more of a child's past time. But he would sit there and talk when the action was low and the dialogue unimportant. Sometimes he would bring salamanders for me, the petless wonder, to observe and ask millions of questions about. Salamanders...a more than interest for me now.
Soon...he was taking me to school. Bringing me home. Getting me into fights over his car. "YOUR DAD DRIVES A FUCKED UP CADILLAC!!!". I may have flung a chair in response to that...I am not really sure. But I enjoyed one aspect of the taunting. Dad. They kept calling him Dad. Saying that he was mine. Something that I was too afraid to utter until he was well out of earshot for fear that I would jinx it. That he would run away.
When I was twelve my mother told me something
For months I worry worry worried about the baby. She probably wouldn't like me. Most people don't like me. My mother hugged me and said that I was right. She wouldn't like me. She would LOVE me. That I would see. My mother said that the baby could hear us. Would learn our voices long before she got here. I did not really know what to say. I put my headphones on her (Mom's) stomach. There. The next best thing. My music. Something that is always constant. She will have good taste from the womb. Haha, my sister, I have corrupted her already!
I have been thirteen for a month. Thirteen sucks. Life sucks. S. drives me home and I ignore him because school was particularly chock full of SUCK and I am full to my eyeballs with FAIL. He says conversation things. I sulk silently. The car...feels weird. It makes my skin crawl but I ignore it. We get to my house and he says goodbye, that he is going to his sister's house to watch his niece. I barely manage to force myself to mutter "Later" before he drives off. "Dad", I whisper. Still superstitious. I want to tell him to stop. I am suddenly compelled to accompany him to a house that I have never been too with a girl whom I have never met. This is rare. A not-in-a-million-fucking-years kind of rare. I ignore it and go inside to watch Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Z, and Sailor Moon.
That night...I am home alone and on the phone. That is what I do. I should be sleeping, but it's still scary here at night even after all these years. A door opens and I panic. Not out of worry for being caught up past my bedtime and on the phone. I have not acquired such fears yet. I think that the house is being robbed again. It can't be mom. She is in the hospital. Complications. I am not worried. I have not learned to worry about relatives yet. They are still immortal. (And Uncle Robert does NOT count because he was a chain smoker and a drunk so THERE!!!!!!) I hear a familiar voice calling my name and become excited. THIS WILL BE THE SINGLE GREATEST NIGHT OF MY LIFE! Sweet baby JESUS, Grandma has driven FOUR HOURS to Mobile and let herself into the house. Mom is not home. I do NOT have to sleep tonight! I turn on the t.v. and greet her cheerfully as she appears in my doorway. She does not look happy to see me.
Me: What are YOU doing here?!
Her: I came to see the baby.
Me: *disappointed* Oh. You're early....What?
Her: Sylvester was taken to the hospital today.
Me: Okay. He probably wants to be there with Mom.
Her: He was TAKEN to the hospital.
Me: Did he ride with her in the ambulance? He couldn't have. She went before he dropped me off. And he had to go see his niece.
Her: He died.
I laugh
Me: *between giggles* That's not funny, Grandma.
Her: *slowly* I'm not joking. He's dead.
Me: THAT ISN'T FUNNY!
She becomes silent.
Me: THAT'S A LIE! YOU'RE LYING! DON'T LIE TO ME I HATE IT WHEN PEOPLE LIE TO ME!!!!!!!!!!!!
Her: I'm sorry.
Me: For lying?
She doesn't say anything.
I don't really remember much of what happened after that. She just seems to disappear. I don't know. I cry. I scream. I consider suicide. I can't remember where she is during all of that. Maybe she was still standing there...at my door. I walk in circles and yell to no one in particular that he HASN'T died because I JUST SAW HIM THIS EVENING. I punch the walls. I punch myself. Bite my arms. And then...I wake up and a week has passed. Mom is packing boxes. Trying to be Superwoman and lifting them when she KNOWS that she shouldn't. She is crying and that is the first time that I get a good look at her. Really look. I don't like what I see. All of this emotion that I don't yet understand. She asks me to help her and I think I scowl. "It's not my fault you got pregnant." She doesn't say anything. I hate myself for saying it but I hate her more. This is her fault. We were fine when we were alone. I was ok with the fact that my father hates me and wanted nothing to do with me. Why did she have to find someone so PERFECT that was just going to DIE like that?! And never get to see the baby that he WANTED SO BADLY. HE WANTED A FAMILY. AND...AND WE WERE HIS FAMILY! AND THEN HE JUST DIES?! He DIES?!! Two weeks!? TWO FUCKING WEEKS????! I hate him the most. He abandoned us. He abandoned me. And the baby? The baby. And now Mom is making this face that makes me sick and she wont stop crying. She NEVER stops crying. AND...AND...She wants to TALK ABOUT IT?! Why the FUCK would you want to talk about it?! He is dead! He is DEAD! SHUT THE FUCK UP I DON'T WANT TO FUCKING THINK ABOUT IT. I want him to have never existed.
We move away. She tries to look happy but she doesn't. I try to be good but I can't. I'm bitter. So very bitter. I love the baby so much. She loves me too. She smiles at me. She laughs. She is only two months but she already knows to hold still when I put my headphones on her so that they don't fall off. She likes my music. In my world, that translates to liking me. She likes me. But I hate her. I hate her. I hate her. She has his SMILE. I hate her. I love her. I hate her. I love her. Her smile...her perfect little smile. It makes me want to vomit. Sometimes...I want to throw her. But I don't because...I love her more than I hate her. She cries so much. She hurts. Is it really colic or does she KNOW? Can she feel the hole that Mom and I (mostly Mom. so fucking painstakingly MOM) are trying to patch up? Why does she love me? WHY does she love me when it is MY fault that our family was ripped apart before it even began???
I wouldn't talk to him. I KNEW that something was wrong and I wouldn't say anything.
Sylvester had epilepsy. And I knew that. Sometimes, when he forgot to take his medicine he would start to act a bit funny. I knew that too. Still...I let him drive away. He made it there...only to have a seizure and fall. On his face. Where he would soon suffocate. His niece...she was so scared. She did not know what to do. Could not think to call 911. She called my mom. My mom who did not become hysterical. My mom who calmly told her to call 911 as she lay in her hospital bed. The EMTs tried...they really did. But he was gone. They took him to the hospital. Her hospital. I don't know if she saw him. I don't want to know. I'd like to think that she didn't.
That baby is now six years old. She is very very smart. She has his smile...and his bad eyes. She also loves Maroon 5. Good taste from the womb.
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