Forgot to tie my shoes
And now I’m trippin’ over you
Love is long overdue
Reciprocation is the rule
Baby, please don’t make me rue
The day we oned the two
Don’t make me feel like a fool
I’m not even tryna be cool
Reciprocation is the only rule
Long as the sky is blue
Oh please don’t ask me how I’ve been
Don’t make me play pretend
I spend all my time fake happy
Fake it until you make it
I’ll fake it until I can’t take it
I’ll even shower with my mask on
You’ll never catch me truly naked
Me and Mephistocles
My grandmother dying was probably the worst day of my life. She was always more like a mother to me. While my actual mom was more concerned with men and drugs of all sorts, my grandma stayed behind and picked up the slack. She never made me feel like I was any type of burden or inconvenience. Maybe she was my best friend when I think about it in hindsight. Or maybe she was just an excellent Abuela.
Most people have one set name that they call their grandparents. Like Dad’s mom is Grandma, Mom’s mom is Abuela or Dad’s mom is Nanna and Mom’s mom is Mawmaw. My mom’s mom, my only grandparent at all, didn’t go for any of that though. She figured there would be no confusion since she was the only one around anyway. She could never decide on what she wanted to be called because she never thought she’d get here. She never wanted to be a mom and my mom didn’t either. She wasn’t supposed to ever have to decide. So we decided together when I was 3 that we’d just call her everything.
When she died my mom was high. I was in the hospital, at my mawmaws bedside. Reading to her from her favorite book, the Bible. She asked me to do that. She looked so frail and spoke so soft and felt so weak, I had a feeling it was a last request. Otherwise, I would never have been caught reading a bible. Especially not in public. I’m no a believer even in the slightest. Still, I sat there, uncomfortably cold with my dying grandmother reading the book of Psalms while my mom was across town in a bando shooting up crack.
How do I know this ? Because she was texting and calling me incessantly. Promising she would be here. That she didn’t want to disappoint her mom. As if she hasn’t been doing that for the last 30 years. In the midst of those promises, she was also promising that this was her last time shooting up. She’s tired of it. She’s so tired of this life and she’s going to make a change. She made a bargain with God and her mom was going to make it and she was going to get clean and she was going to find my dad and they’d work it out and we’d be one big happy family. That’s what she was saying. And I was ignoring her. And reading the bible to her mom.
She died that night.
And that night my mom was in her house, rummaging through everything with reckless abandon. With her “friends” taking everything they thought they may be able to sell or trade for drugs. Which was everything, I fear. When I made it to my grandmothers 3 days later, nothing was left but this cactus. Hanging out in the middle of the floor and surrounded by trash. Clearly moved from its original location. So I took it. That’s all I touched. All I took. The first thing I saw. As a memento.
I guess life is just sad like that sometimes but it’s hard not to wonder exactly why.
Journal Entry:
I’m constantly trying to make sense of everything but I never feel like I’m getting any closer. And I can’t tell if anything about the dreams is helping or hurting. I mean there is no real concrete evidence that our dreams tell us anything at all, right ? Not that things without tangible proof aren’t real. I know things are real that we simply can’t see like the wind or God. But we can see the effect of them right ? At least what we believe to be the effects. We see tornados. We see miracles. If we recognize them. Maybe I don’t even know what I’m talking about at all. Well here’s how last nights dream went:
I was sitting at a table in what seemed to be the middle of the forest. There aren’t any forests around me in real life so I’m not entirely sure where in the world I was in the dream. I had a feeling of confusion deep inside me but everyone else was pretty relaxed so I didn’t want to make a scene. Everything was cottage core. I had on a floral pink, yellow and white dress. The flowers looked like daisies and sunflowers both. I didn’t particularly like the pattern. It had a frilly collar and frills at the edges of the sleeves. The sleeves came to my elbow. The bottom hem came just below my knees. A respectable length and appropriate for the weather. It was pretty uncomfortable. I had on frilly white socks and black kitten heels. This is something I never would have picked out for myself in real life in a thousand years. That’s how I know for sure it’s a dream.
I have a habit of trying to remind myself while dreaming that it’s definitely a dream that I’m experiencing. Blame it on the movie Inception.
I move my eyes from what I have on to the table in front of me. There were several of what appeared to be maidservants scrambling around. They were setting up for what appeared to be a feast. I looked around for signage. My first thought was that it was a birthday party. I had no idea whose birthday it could have been. But the dishes being placed on the table reminded me of Thanksgiving. I saw stuffing, a whole turkey, pineapple glazed ham, smashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, greens, greens beans and buttered rolls so far. The most peculiar thing is that I couldn’t smell any of it. I didn’t feel sick at all. I think the food just had no smell. Then I noticed it had no color. Then I looked down at my outfit again and noticed it had no color either. I began to panic.
Just then, a small child ran up to me. This little girl seemed to be wearing the exact thing that I was. We even had our hair styled the same. I noticed that I didn’t pay attention to my hair until this moment. But from the top of her head to the bottom of her heels we were dressed exactly the same. Part of me knew that she was supposed to be a younger version of me. Yes, definitely a dream. Because in real life, we don’t meet younger versions of ourselves in the flesh. Anyway, she starts calling me Katara. “Katara, Katara ! They’re waiting for you inside !”
Before I can process what exactly is going on I notice that my body has a mind of its own and my legs are up from the chair that I was in and marching through the woods. Following this little girl who seems to be me. And I guess our name is Katara. And I have the thought that I’m not sure why I even trust her. Because what if she’s not me and this was all a trick. And just then it starts to gradually get darker around us and more cold. And there is color now but only hues of blue and purple. And each variation of the colors feels more menacing. And I’m able to see my breath now because it’s so cold. I wish I’d brought my sweater.
“How much farther is it ?” I ask little maybe me. “Not much !” I yell back. I don’t trust it. I think about going back to where we were. I notice I’m hungry. Starving even. “I know yous hungry,” she said right on cue, “but we can’t go back. All of that food was poison. See, we tried to be careful but they found out. And they don’t take kindly to killin’ kids so they gots to create an accident instead. They poisoned the food and theys was gonna say you had a allergy nobody knewed about.” Then I thought to ask…”What year is it ? Where are we exactly ?”
At this, the little me turned around angrily and grew and grew and grew until she was towering over me. She didn’t look like me anymore. She looked like my mother. And she smelled like my mother. The smell of burning cardboard, cigarettes and miscellaneous chemicals. I got scared. Before she could speak, I turned around and ran. I ran as fast as I could. Little me, although I was still skeptical, was worth trying to trust. But my mother was an addict. There wasn’t a single realm, or dream or reality that I would ever trust her in. I heard her behind me, calling me Katara and telling me to come back. A reminder that this is a dream. That’s not my name so this is definitely a dream.
I make my way back to where I first sat and they were setting up for the feast. By this time, guests were filling into the seats and almost all of the food had been placed. I also see all of the plates, cutlery and cups. I see huge jugs of wine as well. Something told me it was not going to be a great experience. But I convinced myself that it had to be better than whatever my monster of a maybe mom was attempting to lead me too. As I looked for a seat a few people exchanged pleasantries with me. A few every held their arms out to hug me. It’s clear that they remember much more than I do. That, or they’re just friendlier.
That’s when I notice that there are name tags that have appeared since I was over here initially. I’m guessing I should look for the name Katara. I look carefully, trying to ignore people’s niceness while I focus. A few people ask if I need help looking for my name and I respectfully decline. Something is telling me that my name isn’t actually on any of these and if that’s right, I want to find out alone. If that’s right, it also would feel like proof that no one is trying to poison me like mom said. How could they expect to poison me if they didn’t even expect me to eat ?
The table felt like it was at least one mile long. It sat about 110 people. No one was at the very end. So there seemed to be no leader or matriarch or patriarch. Which had me wondering again what exactly this was all for. And why it was outside. And in the middle of the forest. I have to keep reminding myself that this is definitely a dream so that I don’t panic.
Why is it that dreams feel so damn real sometimes ? On the bright side, I woke up in the safest space possible. In my own home, which I keep wildly secure and with my best friend, who is also wildly secure. We never made it to the room and fell asleep in the living room. Right on the couch and in front of the tv. Dusty was still sleep. I was starting to forget the rest of my dream. Maybe it wasn’t worth writing down anyway. Maybe I crave adventure because I don’t have much of a life so I just make my dreams more than they really are.
Most of my dreams include one of my parents and one of my grandparents at least. Maybe dreams are really just a way to process the things we try to avoid while we’re awake. Maybe it’s our higher selves being willing to do the dirty work for us while we’re not lucid enough to contest it. I don’t know. I’m not really an expert in anything. Now that I hear Dusty waking up, I guess I’ll pick back up on this train of thought another time.
“Hey, you.” Dusty says groggily as he lifts his head with his eyes closed. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten that you didn’t watch any of that movie at all. You fell asleep on me almost immediately. And now look at you, awake before me and writing your own move.” He gestured towards my journal which I realized I hadn’t closed yet. I wonder how good his vision is and just hope he didn’t have the kind that allowed him to have read even a single word on this page. That would be so embarrassing. And the thing is, he knows me well enough to know I would think that was very embarrassing so he wouldn’t even tell me that he read it. It would be his own secret within my secret.
“Happy good morning loser ! Of course you’ll never forget. You’re the best grudge holder I’ve ever known.” He flashes me a smile. “Teeth, face, run, breakfast ?” he asks.
“Let’s skip the run.”
“Let’s do the run first.”
“You know I don’t want to go outside.”
“Which is exactly why I’m trying to get you outside. I just want whatever is best for you.”
“What if I told you that what’s best for me is me skipping the run but that I’ll be here with breakfast ready when you get back ?”
“You know what…deal. You cook. I’ll run. Then I’ll eat while you run.” He laughs and playfully pushes my shoulder then heads to the back room to change into his running gear. I guess I am making breakfast today !
Whenever Dusty and I hang out we have little – traditions, I guess. One of them is that whenever we ride home from work together we ask each other what’s been the highlight of our last 7 days. We used to say “of the week so far,” but on Monday’s that didn’t make much sense.
“So what’s been the highlight of your last 7 days, Terri ?” he asks with a smile as wide as the state of Tennessee.
“Man I know I’m the one that came up with this game but I feel like I never have a good answer.”
“You always have a good answer.” He put extra emphasis on the word always. I know he believes what he’s saying so I won’t call him a liar. We’ll just have to agree to disagree and get on with it. “Soooooo,” his eyebrow is raised in anticipation of my answer.
“Well I saw a pretty good documentary a couple nights ago. I had a bottle of red wine and a pizza to myself while I watched it. That was nice.”
“See ! Always a good answer.”
“A pretty boring answer.”
“Boring can still be good.” He’s still smiling. He’s always smiling. He’s so optimistic, cheery and just overall positive. Maybe I envy that a little. I guess they say opposites attract for a reason. All the reasons I’m attracted to him – in a magnet way, not a romance way – are all the reasons that he should probably stay away from me.
“Whatever, what was your highlight Dustaroo ?”
“The highlight of my last 7 days is when you had your documentary, wine and pizza.” Now he’s laughing and I’m trying not to laugh. Faking rage is another thing I like to do. One of our unofficial traditions. In these games, if he laughs first, I pretend to be annoyed or enraged and then he tries to make me laugh too. So he reaches over and tickles me. I keep nerves of steel for all of 3 seconds before I’m laughing and yelling for him to stop. I keep thinking to myself that this is nice. We’re still the same two dopey kids we were when we were 5, despite what life’s been doing to us lately. Mostly to me. “Really though,” he starts back, “the highlight of my last 7 days was probably Thursday when I got my bonus. I went ahead and put some money away because I’m thinking of doing a backpacking trip. I haven’t decided if it’ll be a solo trip or a group thing but I’m pretty excited.”
“A backpacking trip ? Where ? When ? When were you going to tell me ?”
“Well it’s very much in the idea phase so there wasn’t a reason to really mention it yet.”
“Oh so best friends need reasons to tell each other things now ?”
“Shut up, you know what I mean.”
“It was serious enough for you to put away part of your precious bonus for it.”
“I was going to save some money either way. Just wasn’t sure for what.”
“Where are you thinking of going ?”
“That… I’m not sure yet.” By this time, we’re pulling up to my apartment. 111 Oneston Street.
“Wanna come in for a bit ?” I knew he’d say yes. He always does. As a matter of fact, he was getting out of the car already. “I don’t really have anything to do but,” I let my voice trail off. He’s been here a million times but I still get nervous every single time he comes over. It honestly has more to do with the fact that I’m just an anxious person than anything he’s doing.
As I’m settling in, Dusty walks into the kitchen and starts opening cupboards. “I can never remember where the glasses are.” He finally finds them before I can respond and just that fast he’s pouring us two glasses of wine.
I plop on the couch and turn on the tv. “Wanna find another documentary ?” I ask. It’s what we do almost every time he comes over so the question was mostly rhetorical. Of course, we’re going to watch a documentary. Now, this is the highlight of my last 7 days. I always forget that I actually do enjoy human interaction. Sometimes. And mostly just from him. Still. This is nice. As I flip through I start to read the titles and give some commentary.
“Wait, go back up,” he says urgently. I didn’t catch the title but some cover art caught my eye. It looked a little spooky and I think that’s what I’m in the mood for.”
“A spooky documentary is what you’re in the mood for or you wish we would watch a scary movie instead of a documentary for once ?”
“Honesty zone ?”
“Honest zone.”
“Why not both ? I’d watch a spooky documentary or a scary movie this fine evening with my soon to be tipsy best friend.” He loves it when I drink. He says when I’m tipsy it’s more of the real me. Who he thinks I’d be if it wasn’t for all of the anxiety. I haven’t decided how I feel about that assessment yet. No rush to really unpack that either.
“You know what Dustaroo… let’s watch a scary movie this time.” I smile and he smiles. Then we clink our glasses and chug our wine as he finds a scary movie.
Since I genuinely do not want to see this shit (I am strictly a documentary girlie) I let the wine wash over me and take my mind elsewhere. The lights are low. We have a candle lit. I’m in my favorite oversized sweatshirt and I have my fluffiest throw blanket. All I’m really missing is a pillow but if I really need something, his arm or leg will do. Maybe I’ll just fall asleep. I honestly can almost never tell. Before I completely drift off I remember hearing him ask me if I was tired. “Of course I’m tired. I’m always tired, best friend.”
AppetizerWritez 