A Valkyrie appeared and lay her sword upon my breast
I rise again to a staircase leading far into the clouds above me. A grand set of golden doors unfold to a great dining hall where Odin welcomes me home.
“Come feast with us, my son.”
Valhalla
Saturday, March 19, 2022
"See you in Valhalla", I croaked.
A Valkyrie appeared and lay her sword upon my breast
I rise again to a staircase leading far into the clouds above me. A grand set of golden doors unfold to a great dining hall where Odin welcomes me home.
“Come feast with us, my son.”
A Valkyrie appeared and lay her sword upon my breast
I rise again to a staircase leading far into the clouds above me. A grand set of golden doors unfold to a great dining hall where Odin welcomes me home.
“Come feast with us, my son.”
Saturday, July 18, 2020
Kids, I have a story to tell you. Now, It's not some sappy love story about how your father and I first met or even an underdog story like how you're grandma knocked-out cancer on 4 different accounts. Although, that one is one for the books.
No, kids, this is a horror story about the Great Pandemic of 2020. The year started off just like any other, you're father and I ordered a pizza from our favorite little Italian fast food joint, "Papa John's" (spoken in a true Italian accent for dramatic effect). Now, not to confuse you with our favorite Italian dine-in, Gorozzos (spoken in a true Italian accent for dramatic effect), or our favorite Non-Italian but serves quirky Pizza dine-in, Grinders (spoken normally); because let's be honest their Bengal Tiger Za RULES! As I was saying, your father and I had just settled down and were looking forward to bringing in the new year from the comfort of our living room, when suddenly we felt the weight of our eyelids casually droop... And kids, to be totally honest we didn't wake up until the next morning.
Okay, so we missed the huzzah, but I imagine had we not fallen asleep that night would have gone something like this...
Me: I'm bored and hungry.
Alex: WE JUST ATE!
Me: WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS YELLING?!
Alex: BECAUSE YOU EAT EVERYTHING IN THE HOUSE!
Me: Wanna go to Hy-vee?
Alex: Yeah, let's go.
Your father and I bring home a grocery bag full of Salt &Vinegar chips, diet coke, and sour gummy worms to satiate us over the next few hours until Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin' Eve count-down begins.
Me: Dick looks good this year.
Alex: I'm pretty sure he died.
Me: Then who's that guy? (pointing to some guy in the corner of the screen)
Alex: That's definitely not Dick Clark.
Me: RIP Dick, RIP
Ryan Seacrest (Off-screen): Live from Times Square, the count down begins! 10. 9. 8. 7. 6. 5. 4. 3. 2. 1.
HAPPY NEW YEAR, TO YOU AND YOURS! HUZZAH!
Everyone (off-screen): HUZZAH!
Alex and I (together): PIZ-ZAH! (as we gingerly cheers the tips of our pizza slices)
Meanwhile, in China, law enforcement is stun-gunning and ticketing pedestrians in the streets for leaving their homes.
But here's what really happened, the next morning your father and I woke up still hazy from the Papa John's (spoken in a true Italian accent for dramatic effect) we consumed the night before, but with Oreo's defiant roar ringing through our ears we quickly got up and dressed and made our way to our local Hy-vee to pick up my favorite coffee and his favorite cat food. The two T must-haves to keep mama and kitty from going bat shit crazy on your father. As we're checking out, the morning trades caught my eye. As I recall, every magazine cover was riddled with Flappers, Bootleggers, Gangsters, and Suffragists. Every paper and tabloid in stores and on stands between January 1 to Feb 15 had some sort of wild, ney, promiscuous call-back to the Roaring Twenties. Kids, those trades filled US consumers with such inspiration and excitement, excitement to birth a new '20s, one with promise and desire to revive the greatest history from our past while benchmarking the horizons of our future. But by the end of February, all that hype came to a crashing halt.
More on that later.
Monday, May 27, 2019
Chapter Four: Morning Routine
I'm not the most punctual worker, just an honest one. Now for the shocker: There wasn't a day of that internship I was ever late.
Morning two came all too soon. BEEP BEEP BEEP sounds my alarm. I look over at the time, 4:30am. "Can't wait to do this four days a week", I grouched.
I wanted so badly to hit the snooze button, but I wasn't about to be late on my second day of this god-forsaken internship.
I forced myself out of bed and into my gym clothes. I slowly made my way out the door, to the lower-level apartment workout center.
The gym has always been my happy place. And thankfully, I had it all to myself that morning. Then again, I did wake up before the roosters...
I slowly started the treadmill in hopes that it would spark some energy in me. By the time I got off, I looked like I'd just been walked through a powerwash. Soaked from head to toe in sweat.
After throwing around some weights and a quick ab circuit I made my way back to the condo for a short shower and some much-appreciated coffee.
Before I knew it, it was 6am and I already in my Escape heading North toward The Beasts' domain. Due to traffic, I wouldn't arrive until 9, but I banked on that time to mentally prepare myself for the long, grueling hours ahead.
Thursday, August 9, 2018
--BACK TO THE BEAST--
Chapter Three: Intern Bible
He was a two-headed monster. A hairy beast with eyes dark as dark comes. I shudder to think about the number of souls he'd devoured before me. I was only one of those innocents. I entered his domain with my head in the clouds and my heart in his hands. I hadn't yet figured out that he held the key to my happiness.
However, he shortly informed me, if I was to do good at my job he'd refer me to the contacts he knew, that is, once the twelve-week internship was up.
...and there were the chains. Not so subtle, blatantly obvious, in fact.
I was to do whatever he asked of me for the next twelve weeks or I'd leave this internship with broken dreams. As far as I was concerned he was top of the Hollywood pyramid. If one word got out about me I'd be known in this business. I just had to make sure the word was good.
I began the first week taking orders from a very thick manual typed out by previous interns. The manual listed out all job tasks describing how to approach by day, by hour, and of course, by scenario.
This document was cleverly labeled, "Intern Bible".
I like to think that reading it, digesting every word and reverting back to it in times of trouble truly saved my life. I'm not quite sure if its' original author enjoyed dark humor or was just scared shitless of messing up. Nonetheless, the Bible served a purpose.
The script actually had many authors. You see, as one intern moved out another moved in, following the sacred scroll ever so carefully until a new scenario would arise, not given to the previous intern. And therefore, unknowing of proper procedure, the poor soldier whose mysterious task sat undocumented, would approach his battle head-on.
But he never stood a chance, for the beast showed no mercy.
In turn, the broken soldier would update the Bible and publish, relinquishing his duties for the next in line. And so the routine continued. The more passing, the more updating, the thicker the Bible became. By the time it was passed to me, I was outweighed.
Chapter Three: Intern Bible
He was a two-headed monster. A hairy beast with eyes dark as dark comes. I shudder to think about the number of souls he'd devoured before me. I was only one of those innocents. I entered his domain with my head in the clouds and my heart in his hands. I hadn't yet figured out that he held the key to my happiness.
However, he shortly informed me, if I was to do good at my job he'd refer me to the contacts he knew, that is, once the twelve-week internship was up.
...and there were the chains. Not so subtle, blatantly obvious, in fact.
I was to do whatever he asked of me for the next twelve weeks or I'd leave this internship with broken dreams. As far as I was concerned he was top of the Hollywood pyramid. If one word got out about me I'd be known in this business. I just had to make sure the word was good.
I began the first week taking orders from a very thick manual typed out by previous interns. The manual listed out all job tasks describing how to approach by day, by hour, and of course, by scenario.
This document was cleverly labeled, "Intern Bible".
I like to think that reading it, digesting every word and reverting back to it in times of trouble truly saved my life. I'm not quite sure if its' original author enjoyed dark humor or was just scared shitless of messing up. Nonetheless, the Bible served a purpose.
The script actually had many authors. You see, as one intern moved out another moved in, following the sacred scroll ever so carefully until a new scenario would arise, not given to the previous intern. And therefore, unknowing of proper procedure, the poor soldier whose mysterious task sat undocumented, would approach his battle head-on.
But he never stood a chance, for the beast showed no mercy.
In turn, the broken soldier would update the Bible and publish, relinquishing his duties for the next in line. And so the routine continued. The more passing, the more updating, the thicker the Bible became. By the time it was passed to me, I was outweighed.
Sure, when I saw the manuscript I wanted to bolt, but another part of me was convinced it was just a twisted joke. It wasn't.
Wednesday, May 9, 2018
Chapter Two: BEACH BUM
Aliso Viejo, where the views are breathtaking and the ocean extends just a few miles up the road. I ran there often for both torture and leisure. It was a two for one deal; I get my exercise out of the way early, then get to enjoy the elements of Laguna Beach.
As you've probably witnessed, there are certain beaches where the water faintly loses color and becomes a dull, murky substance. Certain beaches where washed-up seaweed may just as well be an invitation for gnats and other unwelcome pests. Certain beaches where the tides are so strong they leave millions of shells spanning the beach surface, leaving visitors angry and injured.
Laguna is not that kind of beach. Its' ocean is always a deep blue and the palm trees, a pigmented green. Oooh, the sand, I could write endless poems solely about the sand. Its' texture is silky and its' color, a milky beige; almost frappuccino-like. Though, never cold. No. You see, the sun sits at the perfect distance, heating the sand to a suitable temperature for barefoot walks along the coast.
In fact, it's rumored that Laguna is situated in the goldy lock zone of beaches. The water, the sand, the climate, everything... not too hot, not too cold, but just right to sustain long visits and maintain regular traffic. Sure, I may have started that rumor myself but I'm not wrong.
Did I mention the dolphins? You'll see them in pairs leaping out of the water at sunrise and sunset each day, like clockwork. I have mixed feelings about it all. To be honest, it's enchanting yet kind-of twilight-zone(y).
As you can imagine, I spent most of my days laying on that poetic sand, daydreaming, reading, writing, and more often than not, people watching.
At nightfall, I was always reluctant to leave my Paradise, but there was always tomorrow. And, in light my adieus, I was genuinely happy to make my way home to my two loving aunts who housed, parented and fed me daily.
My father's youngest sister, Peggy, had a stable M-F 9-5 job working as an ESL Teacher at MT. SAC; a junior college nearby. Her wife, Young, who struggles with Muscular Dystrophy (for as long as I can remember) didn't work at the time. Instead, she gained her strength through sleep and lots of it. Lincoln and I were their only children. We got along most of the time, except for when his pouting became an exaggeration for attention. For fear of losing I never fought with him over it. Instead, I made sure to be on my best behavior. A single fight with Lincoln could kick me to the beach-side curb. And as lovely as that sounded, I wasn't ready to be homeless. But honestly, Lincoln and I didn't have many tiffs. No, we were just a couple of siblings familiar with one another's boundaries. In short, he really was the best multi-poo brother a girl could ask for.
I'd be lying if I said my aunts loved us equally. Nonetheless, they spoiled us both rotten. While Aunt Young made sure I was getting my micros and macros through nutritious foods, Aunt Peggy made sure I was enjoying the kind of food that will probably one day be my doom. They had mom and dad written all over them. It was like I never even left home.
All side-tracking aside, this is really where the story begins.
Aliso Viejo, where the views are breathtaking and the ocean extends just a few miles up the road. I ran there often for both torture and leisure. It was a two for one deal; I get my exercise out of the way early, then get to enjoy the elements of Laguna Beach.
As you've probably witnessed, there are certain beaches where the water faintly loses color and becomes a dull, murky substance. Certain beaches where washed-up seaweed may just as well be an invitation for gnats and other unwelcome pests. Certain beaches where the tides are so strong they leave millions of shells spanning the beach surface, leaving visitors angry and injured.
Laguna is not that kind of beach. Its' ocean is always a deep blue and the palm trees, a pigmented green. Oooh, the sand, I could write endless poems solely about the sand. Its' texture is silky and its' color, a milky beige; almost frappuccino-like. Though, never cold. No. You see, the sun sits at the perfect distance, heating the sand to a suitable temperature for barefoot walks along the coast.
In fact, it's rumored that Laguna is situated in the goldy lock zone of beaches. The water, the sand, the climate, everything... not too hot, not too cold, but just right to sustain long visits and maintain regular traffic. Sure, I may have started that rumor myself but I'm not wrong.
Did I mention the dolphins? You'll see them in pairs leaping out of the water at sunrise and sunset each day, like clockwork. I have mixed feelings about it all. To be honest, it's enchanting yet kind-of twilight-zone(y).
As you can imagine, I spent most of my days laying on that poetic sand, daydreaming, reading, writing, and more often than not, people watching.
At nightfall, I was always reluctant to leave my Paradise, but there was always tomorrow. And, in light my adieus, I was genuinely happy to make my way home to my two loving aunts who housed, parented and fed me daily.
My father's youngest sister, Peggy, had a stable M-F 9-5 job working as an ESL Teacher at MT. SAC; a junior college nearby. Her wife, Young, who struggles with Muscular Dystrophy (for as long as I can remember) didn't work at the time. Instead, she gained her strength through sleep and lots of it. Lincoln and I were their only children. We got along most of the time, except for when his pouting became an exaggeration for attention. For fear of losing I never fought with him over it. Instead, I made sure to be on my best behavior. A single fight with Lincoln could kick me to the beach-side curb. And as lovely as that sounded, I wasn't ready to be homeless. But honestly, Lincoln and I didn't have many tiffs. No, we were just a couple of siblings familiar with one another's boundaries. In short, he really was the best multi-poo brother a girl could ask for.
I'd be lying if I said my aunts loved us equally. Nonetheless, they spoiled us both rotten. While Aunt Young made sure I was getting my micros and macros through nutritious foods, Aunt Peggy made sure I was enjoying the kind of food that will probably one day be my doom. They had mom and dad written all over them. It was like I never even left home.
All side-tracking aside, this is really where the story begins.
Saturday, February 17, 2018
Chapter One: Traveling to Oz
Once upon a time... (yes, it begins as a fairy-tale)
I was a young girl intrigued by fantasy and surrealism. My interest lied in film writing and it's adaptation to the screen. At 20 years of age, I decided I wasn't going to live my whole life dreaming about Oz, I had to put my words into action in order for things to become reality. It was time I hit the yellow brick road to find my destiny... So, I packed my car full of belongings and left Kansas in the rear view. With stars in my eyes and the Hollywood sign in mind, I made my way to Los Angeles. Filled with opportunity, I knew this city would lead me into the film business one way or another.
It took numerous applications and various interviews before landing my first internship. As it turns out, it's pretty easy to find an unpaid internship in a big city. Free labor... easy to find, hard to land. You see, EVERYONE in LA is chasing the same thing (movies/TV). So you can imagine, when I got this break I was ecstatic.
And so began my training as a "developmental intern". The title sounded so official. How could I not be thrilled? I trusted having this internship under my belt would open doors for me.
It would pay off, figuratively, of course.
Job Description: Work for a renowned producer! Read scripts, discuss budget, audience, plot, character, dialog...yada yada.
It all sounded so perfect.
It wasn't until a week later that I realized I had signed my life to Satan.
He had me working 9-5 four days a week. Did I mention this was unpaid?
And, when I say 9-5, I really mean 6-8. The drive to work should be taken into consideration here. I was living in AlisoViejo at the time traveling north on the 105 to get to Belaire. And of course, SoCal traffic is a bitch.
The drive without traffic: 45 mins
The drive with traffic: 3 hours (I kid you not)
Most Days I'd try my luck in the carpool lane to shave off a half hour or so, that way I could enjoy the trades and a coffee on Rhodeo before having my confidence ripped to shreds by an egotistic asshole.
When I look back on the situation I think, "damn, I had it made". I mean, what's so bad about being an intern in Beverly Hills? It's the job and setting most film grads would kill for. I worked out of a Mansion in Belaire for Christ sake!
But, this wasn't just an internship, this was a learning process, as well as a reality check (yep, not in Kansas anymore). I like to think The Devil Wears Prada was loosely based off of my own horror story. Except instead of the overbearing fashionista, I was working for the overbearing award-winning film "master". And master he was, as I was undoubtedly his slave.
To be continued...
Once upon a time... (yes, it begins as a fairy-tale)
I was a young girl intrigued by fantasy and surrealism. My interest lied in film writing and it's adaptation to the screen. At 20 years of age, I decided I wasn't going to live my whole life dreaming about Oz, I had to put my words into action in order for things to become reality. It was time I hit the yellow brick road to find my destiny... So, I packed my car full of belongings and left Kansas in the rear view. With stars in my eyes and the Hollywood sign in mind, I made my way to Los Angeles. Filled with opportunity, I knew this city would lead me into the film business one way or another.
It took numerous applications and various interviews before landing my first internship. As it turns out, it's pretty easy to find an unpaid internship in a big city. Free labor... easy to find, hard to land. You see, EVERYONE in LA is chasing the same thing (movies/TV). So you can imagine, when I got this break I was ecstatic.
And so began my training as a "developmental intern". The title sounded so official. How could I not be thrilled? I trusted having this internship under my belt would open doors for me.
It would pay off, figuratively, of course.
Job Description: Work for a renowned producer! Read scripts, discuss budget, audience, plot, character, dialog...yada yada.
It all sounded so perfect.
It wasn't until a week later that I realized I had signed my life to Satan.
He had me working 9-5 four days a week. Did I mention this was unpaid?
And, when I say 9-5, I really mean 6-8. The drive to work should be taken into consideration here. I was living in AlisoViejo at the time traveling north on the 105 to get to Belaire. And of course, SoCal traffic is a bitch.
The drive without traffic: 45 mins
The drive with traffic: 3 hours (I kid you not)
Most Days I'd try my luck in the carpool lane to shave off a half hour or so, that way I could enjoy the trades and a coffee on Rhodeo before having my confidence ripped to shreds by an egotistic asshole.
When I look back on the situation I think, "damn, I had it made". I mean, what's so bad about being an intern in Beverly Hills? It's the job and setting most film grads would kill for. I worked out of a Mansion in Belaire for Christ sake!
But, this wasn't just an internship, this was a learning process, as well as a reality check (yep, not in Kansas anymore). I like to think The Devil Wears Prada was loosely based off of my own horror story. Except instead of the overbearing fashionista, I was working for the overbearing award-winning film "master". And master he was, as I was undoubtedly his slave.
To be continued...
Monday, October 30, 2017
This is the story about a boy who sought out to explore the world from above.
Charlie is the adventurous type. He’s only 16 years old and has already embarked on some of the greatest journeys anyone his age has seen. He’s traveled the length of the desert and navigated his way through the African rain forests. He’s trudged through the deep seas and back again, but now he’s seeking his next adventure. Discovering the world is Charlie’s only mission.
Day in and day out you’ll find him gazing up at the clouds above and wondering what else is out there, always pondering what lies beyond the boundaries of Africa. As curiosity fuels his fire, Charlie decides his next adventure will be soaring at altitudes unknown, as this is the only way to find answers.
----------------------------------------There’s one problem with this idea --------------------------------------------
Charlie is much too big to fly. Even for a teenager, he’s overweight, weighing in at ~3000 pounds. Kids, Charlie is a thrill-seeking elephant…
No matter, Charlie is determined and believes there’s got to be a way of getting him off the ground. He puts his thinking cap on, metaphorically of course. He begins to conjure ideas. First, “Propellers!” He starts to picture it, “yikes, too dangerous”. More time passes, “wings?” “Eh, probably not strong enough.”
He conjures up numerous trial and error scenarios but finds the error of fatality in every one. Frustrated, Charlie’s trunk tugs at the grass in front of him.
He knows there is unexplored territory, but how to get to it is the toughest question he’s ever had to answer. Just when Charlie was ready to give up he noticed a small red dot floating higher and higher into the clouds, and that’s when it hit him!
“Of course, balloons!” With the right amount maybe even an elephant could fly. After some long, hard calculating and a massive headache, Charlie concluded it would take ~96,000 balloons to carry him off. That’s 32 balloons per pound!
Since he’d made loads friends on his journeys he believed gathering the balloons would be a piece of cake. In fact, he knew a tribe of monkeys that would be up for the challenge. He trusted they’d be able to barrow the balloons from a nearby village without being seen.
Sure enough, the next day his friends came to him with the balloons he requested. Monkey by monkey they begin tying the balloons around his massive torso. Charlie could feel himself getting lighter. Suddenly, his feet weren’t touching the ground anymore. His monkey friends jumped up and down with loud cheer and chatter. As he floated higher and higher above the treetops, he could see Great Plains all through the distance.
Charlie sounded his trunk, thanking all those below.
…Kids, that day Charlie felt on top of the world, conquering what no elephant had dared to conquer before.
…Kids, that day Charlie felt on top of the world, conquering what no elephant had dared to conquer before.
Sunday, October 30, 2016
There was a boy. They called him Jack. He was young and fearful of all things Halloween. He had never before experienced the tricks or the treats. But, he had heard whispers, rumors and stories around the day. Like all the others on his block, Jack sat on his porch Hallows Eve awaiting the horror to come. That night, Jack didn’t sleep a wink, he was too preoccupied searching the skies for witches and ghosts, the streets for ghouls and goblins, and constantly looking over his shoulder for anything that might spook him.
When morning rose, Jack decided it was safe to sleep till night fall again. He knew nothing would hurt him during the day. That evening, Jack sat on his stoop awaiting the menace, this time holding a candle. Around 6:30, he started seeing some hustle in the streets. It looked like people dressed in costumes. Jack was bewildered, for there was nothing scary about this. He saw kids dressed as Disney princesses, superheroes, even condiments. Sure, he saw a few unsettling costumes here and there, but knowing there was a kid behind each pleading for free candy was comfort enough. So, then what was so scary about Halloween after all?
Wednesday, January 27, 2016
A boy sat quietly on a park bench, marked alongside a walking path. He spoke no words, just watched as two teens strolled by hand in hand. A few yards behind them was a middle-aged couple, softly bickering about something irrelevant. The boy tried to listen in but was too distracted by a cumbersome man walking his dog. He could tell they shared a special bond, since, wherever the dog tugged the man followed. Not far behind were two men walking particularly close, the boy thought. They stopped in their tracks, shared a gaze and quick kiss on the lips before continuing down the path. The boy sat there wondering if he was meant to witness these moments. As his eyes followed the two men he noticed an elderly couple sitting on a park bench just down the path a ways. Just like him, they watched and observed the chemistry in the park that day.
The boy thought to himself, believing our eyes were made to witness interaction between beings. Perhaps our eyes teach us how to love, he concluded.
The boy thought to himself, believing our eyes were made to witness interaction between beings. Perhaps our eyes teach us how to love, he concluded.
Wednesday, December 2, 2015
My legs tensed up as I tried to maneuver around the jagged rock, fearing that one wrong step could be my last. It was a 300ft drop, but I wouldn’t back down. I had already come so far. Turning away now would be a travesty. I needed to reach the top for my own sake. I needed to know I could climb this mountain and overcome it. I was determined this wasn’t going to be my death, but instead liberate me. Driven by dignity, I tightened my grip on the edge and moved forward with caution. My hands and feet would lead me to my redemption, I was sure. As my heart screamed through my chest my speed remained steady.
With relentless motivation I could finally see the light at the top was near. Reaching for breathe I knew that this was it. I value every moment leading up to that final reach where my hands touched the frozen flat surface and disbelief flooded my face. Struggling for strength, I mustered every ounce I had left and pulled my lifeless body up the side of the wall. A knee touched and I was in the clearing. Slowly, one foot after the other I stood tall. It was a triumph! All of a sudden, an adrenaline rush filled me and every wonderful feeling hit all at once. As I sprightly danced around, my chains diminished. I had felt a prisoner to that mountain all this time and now I was free.
Saturday, February 9, 2013
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.
