Mama

My arms reached up towards the moonlight, yet not a single person could hear my muffled screams from beneath the ocean blue. I was alone just as I was all my life. I began sinking lower down into the unknown of the dark abyss. That was the first and last time I ever felt sorry for myself.  The rippled water devoured me whole that day. My tears indistinct, blending with the flow of the tides, moving to and fro eventually washed ashore along with my remains.

I was seven when I first attempted to swim. My mama took me by the hand, and led me into the Pacific Public Pool. I remember kids diving off boards, splashing around and having fun with their friends. The swimming was remarkable, some moved like fish under the clear liquid, and others were able to stay afloat just by using the strength of their legs. I even saw a couple kids floating on their backs somehow above the water, which was a miracle to me. I never understood how it came so easily to them, but mama was there and she would be sure to teach me. We walked into the shallow end first making our way deeper and deeper until we reached 7ft. Mama had me on her back, she pulled me around front and dropped me. I splashed and splashed, “kick your legs”, she’d yell. My legs seemed heavier than usual, I was able to move them but at a much slower pace. I gasped for air, trying to cling to her as best I could. Mama lifted me up and pushed me back into the water, only this time there was a much larger distance between us. She never wanted me to give up, she’d make me try and try and try again until I learned how to do something right. And when I did something wrong, mama never punished me, she’d just always say, “you’re better than that, Kale” and that was punishment enough.

Mama yelled “move your arms, kick your legs”, “Faster”, “Faster”. I wanted her to know I was trying but my effort was exhausted. I started to sink to the bottom of the pool, before I went down I made sure to grab as much air as I could, I knew it would be a while before mama helped. She wanted me to do things on my own, she always thought of me as being overly dependent.

About a minute went by before a woman picked me up off the floor and carried me to the edge of the pool. She yelled at mama for showing bad parenting skills, but mama knew what she was doing. I was sure she wouldn't have let me drown.  

At age nine Mama noticed a difference in my walk, “pick up your legs, boy”, she’d yell as she’d watch me walk down the street on my way to school. The truth is, physical exercise was always difficult for me, but the older I got the more challenging it became. I always ended up with a bad grade in P.E., the teacher would write next to the letter, “ doesn't try hard enough”. I knew I was slower than all the other kids, but I still felt like I was putting out the same effort.

I was ten when the doctors diagnosed me with Muscular Dystrophy. Which I guess is “a disorder that causes a person’s muscles to deteriorate overtime”, the doctor explained. Mama wasn't happy when she found out, she refused to believe that her son was “a freak”, she’d say. The day they told us she looked me straight in the eye and said, “Don’t think this means you’re gonna get any special treatment, ‘cuz it don’t”, I was happy knowing that. I didn't want her to think of me as broken, because to me I was still functional, I just wanted her love and that was all that mattered.

Mama told me I had to prove myself to her, she’d say, “If you want my love, you have to try harder”. I knew what that meant. She wanted a normal son, a son that could be independent, successful at all sports.

I was twelve when I set off toward the ocean. It wasn't a far walk to the beach, eight miles tops. My problem was walking, it took me nearly twice as long as the average person, and walking too much exhausted me. I had to take several breaks along the way.

When I got there it was dark, night had fallen. The water was never as cold in the winter for some reason, I never understood it. My feet sunk in the sand as the liquid grabbed at my ankles. I stood there remembering mama’s words, “try harder, it’s that simple”, I tore off my shirt and gradually walked into the ocean, fearing my mother’s hatred more than the creatures at my feet that I couldn't see. I walked further until I reached a current much stronger than myself. It pulled me deeper, away from shore and left me there. I struggled to reach the surface, but I couldn't find it.

My arms reached up towards the moonlight, yet not a single person could hear my muffled screams from beneath the ocean blue. I was alone just as I was all my life. I began sinking lower down into the unknown of the dark abyss. That was the first and last time I ever felt sorry for myself.  The rippled water devoured me whole that day. My tears indistinct, blending with the flow of the tides, moving to and fro eventually washed ashore along with my remains. Saddest of all, I never got to be the son that mama wanted.