life

NaNoWriMo Day 11

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.

NaNoWriMo Days 6 to 10

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 !

NaNoWriMo Day 4

I see Dusty most when we’re at work. I work there full time and he just picks up shifts here and there as needed on weekends. It’s a customer service call center called Schwifty’s. Our main client right now is a company that provides all of the uniforms for the Air Force base in our region and a few close by.

I started working here during my senior year of high school. I thought it was going to just be a thing that I do while I support myself through college. I was just working part time then. I didn’t plan to retire here or anything crazy but I knew I’d want to eat more than just noodles. I wasn’t sure if that was a myth about college but I wasn’t willing to find out the hard way. So I did stay here all throughout college. I picked up extra hours during winter, spring and summer breaks from school. I worked holidays, opened, closed, weekends and even on my birthday. Because of this, after I got my degree they decided to offer me a full time position. And much to my surprise, I accepted. So I’m still here.

Dusty just started working here last year. We had a few people walk out at once and I asked if my friend could maybe just fill in. Apparently, that’s illegal. But they did put him through the hiring process and pretty much told him that they’ll accept him working whenever he has time until they figure something else out. They never figured out anything else and he just picks up shifts when he has a thing he wants to buy.

Today is one of the days that we get to work together. He’s already there when I walk in. I greet him with a shy smile, per usual. I hate drawing attention to myself even though everyone already knows that we’re best friends and that I’m the one that got him here. I already know it doesn’t make much sense but I just can’t help it. I’m grateful that he doesn’t mind.

We don’t have assigned seats. There are endless rows and columns of cubicles. Each with one desk, one chair, one phone, one computer and one box of tissues. I choose the seat across from his, sitting where we’re able to face each other, in case I feel like talking. I never feel like talking while at work. But I know he’ll want to talk to me and I enjoy making him feel valued, I suppose.

“You look like shit,” he so lovingly points out.

“Gee, thanks. What would I do without you ?”

“You’d be a lot more lame. I can guarantee that.”

Right as I was about to reply, he got a call. Perfect. I actually didn’t know what to say. I really would be a lot more lame without him. I’m okay with the fact that I’m still lame with him too. I’ve always been pretty lame and he’s always been pretty cool. Sometimes that just tricks people into thinking I must be cool too. In a way that’s a secret. A way that they could never discern themselves. So they just trust the proximity of our friendship.

I start settling into my temporary office suite for the day and let my mind wander. I use the term “let” very loosely here. I start wondering if my dad ever worked at a call center. I wonder if he ever had a job at all. Maybe my mom met him at work and they were a normal teenage couple at first and then things just got out of hand. Who knows. Besides them. And maybe my grandma. My grandma. I miss her so much. The dreams I have about her always feel so real. Death is a crazy experience. To witness it in someone else. Maybe there’s a better way to word that. I just can’t get my thoughts completely straight when I start to get anxious. I’m anxious a lot. My words are never right.

Before I know it, Dusty is asking me if I want a ride home. What fucking time is it ? I look at the clock and it’s 5:03 pm. Wow. How does this always happen ?

NaNoWriMo Days 1 and 2

I open my eyes and look at the clock again. Well, not a clock. What is this, 1980 ? I picked my phone up from underneath my pillow and unlocked the screen. 3:33am. Wow. It’s been an entire 12 minutes since I checked my phone last. I guess it’s just wishful thinking to hope that blink was really a good night’s sleep. I try to count my blessings on nights like this though. At least I was in my favorite pajamas. My birthday suit. Yes, I am naked. Bliss. I have my rose gold satin sheets on the bed and the fluffiest chocolate colored blanket you’ve ever seen in your life.

I’ve had this habit – I guess we can call it a habit – since I was a kid. The habit of not falling asleep at a decent time. What is considered a time decent or indecent anyway ? If I did happen to fall asleep, my chances of staying asleep were wildly low. The doctors call it insomnia. I’ve been eating an apple a day since I was 4 years old and for what ? I basically live at Good Samaritan Medical Center. Not like that’s the only lie I live.

So this is when I decide whether or not I will continue to struggle with my sleep or wake up fully and start my day. Or the secret and not so sexy third option – scroll social media. Some people call it doom scrolling or panic scrolling. However, feeling terrible and feeling panic or doom aren’t the same to me. So maybe it’s okay. But what do I know ?

Social media it is ! That’s the conclusion I came to after about 13 milliseconds. When it comes to social media I use it the same way I live my life, in the background. I don’t post much and I don’t have a ton of friends or followers. I prefer to get on and observe. And if we’re being honest… to judge. I like to judge people. Maybe we can talk more about that later. There isn’t much else to do with my mind and it’s a fairly harmless distraction from my real issues.

I open Twitter first. This is my favorite late-night platform. During normal people hours, I prefer Facebook. Tiktok I save for long commutes. Everything else is shit. When I click the app, the first thing I see is a tweet from Dusty, my sort of best friend.

If you ask him, he’d say we are definitely best friends. We’ve known each other since we were maybe 3 years old. His family lived next door to my grandma’s house in Shreveport. I’ve always been shy so I didn’t have much to say seeing him playing in the yard or the greenspace with the other kids. Until one day he just ran over and pushed me down. Flat on my face. And that somehow made us friends. We’ve been inseparable. Well, slightly separable. He, like other normal people, likes to go out and do things. I prefer to stay at home, in the background.

Fortunately for me, that was the only time he ever assaulted me and he’s been a sweetheart ever since. Still at this ripe age of 26, he’s very much a sweetheart. This tweet of his was 9 hours ago, “I can’t wait to have a woman to buy flowers for every day. Buying them for myself isn’t as exciting.” If you didn’t know him personally and weren’t attracted him, you’d probably think he was pandering. But that’s just really how he is. Very much a Pisces. Anyway, I keep scrolling:

“So imma be honest idek how y’all face an entire J by yourself…” says @asiagraye

“nonblack people are so disgusting in this way lol” says @gbennylola

“11-1 11 everything changed” says @Wale

Alright, enough of this. That’s the thing about being restless. Nothing sounds like a good idea necessarily but everything feels like it has potential to be a good idea possibly. If I don’t scroll though, what else can I fill my time with ? I decide to text Dusty, “you awake ?” I wait for 3 minutes before deciding to just turn my phone back off and slide it under my pillow. I get as comfortable as I can. I’m laying on my stomach with my arms folded under my cheek, beneath my other pillow.

I find myself thinking about how my grandma always told me not to sleep with my phone. Also not to place my phone in my bra. Also not to use microwaves or the wifi at restaurants. She said that all of these things would give me cancer. “Are you listening to me Katara ? Goddammit, you kids and these new fangled machines I can’t even get your attention anymore.”

I feel a hint of confusion but also gratitude. My grandma is beautiful. She’s always been beautiful. She even won Miss America in 1962 and 1967. She could have been a super model if she wanted to. She just never wanted to. I noticed I’m still looking down on my phone as I’m thinking this. I feel the sun beating down on my forehead and I’m so thirsty. Grandma hands me a water.