Because I trusted no one more than her, because I loved no one more than her, my universe was tiny. Even dad wasn't allowed inside without special permission, burocratic paperwork of sorts, and mama's mindful eye making sure he was having the kind of relationship with me that bore her rigid stamp of approval.
Outside my little bubble was fear. Mama pointed out all the traps of life, all the obstacles, the pain. Warnings of how others would betray me how life would be if I trusted the wrong kind of person. Admonishments about sharing feelings with so-called friends--"Never let anyone know how you truly feel...except me. You tell me EVERYTHING." She made sure that anytime I had a decision to make, that I'd imagine all the possible negative outcomes. So that if I wanted to go out to someone's birthday party she'd explain:
Careful they don't put something in your food.
Don't eat any of the desert unless you serve it yourself.
Don't talk to anyone about your family.
If a man touches you, hit him.
If someone hits you, call the police.
Make sure the owner of the house is watching you in case something happens.
Put on your seatbelt on the way there and back or you'll get hit by a car and die.
Have lots of fun.
That's the stinger--have fun in the pit of despair. The impossible dream.
At 18 I left Miami for New York City. I left the bubble, I thought. But of course, after all those years inside it, my senses were dulled. The outside seemed like a loveless, hateful world. It's tough to enjoy life if it seems like every day is a struggle against the evil forces that are out to get you.
About to turn 31, I look at the future and see...hardship, struggle, unhappiness. all the same demons. The overwhelming sense of impending doom. The fear that I--little insignificant Alex--am no match for life. I know it can't be true, that if I just adjust my glasses I might see how the darks mingle with lights. But the fluttering of wings I hear when I imagine tomorrow--is it a flock of angels? Or a plague of wasps?
I just learned last night that mama has a special area near the tool shed, by some mango trees where she goes pee pee if she's farming the passion fruit vines. Rather than walk the 5 minutes it takes to get to the house, she lets loose on the topsoil, the way god intended. Nothing compares to the swealing delight with which she shared this information. She claims the spot is hidden enough that none of her neighbors can see her. I applaud her outdoor wee wee. I mean, guys piss all over the place, women should too. Mark your territories, ladies!
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