Category: Creative Non-Fiction

Woodstock Aftermath

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TRIGGER WARNING

She could feel the judgment as people passed her outside her apartment building. Hair disheveled, loose short shorts, breasts swinging in a shirt, and belly peaking out. “I thought it was finally safe. I thought the time had come. We had waited so long because we understood why Mom always kept us apart.” She thought to herself as she felt the anger coming off her father, who passed her like garbage on the side of the street.

It was a great weekend. She hadn’t experienced such familial love as at her first time in Woodstock. Her friend invited her to a tradition she thought only existed on television. Close to a camping experience; she ate a sno-cone for the first time, bathed in a river, watched boys and men do stereotypical manly things.

She was always awkward and selfish, yet til this day they seemed to love her. She came home to have a heart-to-heart with her dad, a conversation she only dreamed of. He was always her favorite parent, partially because he wasn’t there, and it was something to aspire to. Her mother was the anxious type, doing everything in her power to keep her little one safe.

The two of them, daughter and father, sat on the couch. Her father opened up about being in love with a man and showing him off to the family. She loved that he was finally unafraid to be open. To her, to the family, to himself. She opened up about the first girl, actually the first person, to admit to liking her. Usually, she was only the butt of a joke. How she wasn’t even sure of her sexuality, because nothing was truly sexy. Only aesthetically pleasing.

This conversation was only reserved for the letters they used to write each other. Usually, it was him in recovery, writing the letters of apology. This is why, when her mom died, she still didn’t live with him. She waited until college, after freshman year. The first time that they had ever lived together, the first time he would actually get to see her. First time she spent longer than a few hours during the summer on a Sabbath with him. It all came to this beautiful conversation on the couch, where they talked til the sun came up.

Her goal was to finally clean her room. A task that has plagued her whole life. She started the task, creating piles in her room and outside of it. Till she finally got too tired and took a short nap. A nap that only lasted forty-five minutes. She awoke to her father in her doorframe, a completely different person. Through gritted teeth, he said, “Where is he? I saw you two through the window, fucking.” She looked around at the chaos of the room. You couldn’t hide a grown man here. There were only two other grown men besides her father who could be here. One was gay, and the other she had been calling uncle; neither was here.

“What are you talking about, daddy?”

“I saw the two of you through the window. I saw you two fucking. Why are you trying to lie? You must think I’m stupid.”

“We just talked all night about how I’ve never been with anyone. Why would I choose now, when I was just sleeping, to sleep with Uncle?”

“I saw it. Get your shit and get the fuck out of my house. In fact, just get out of my sight.”

All she did was get a MetroCard and her cell phone, running down the stairs to the front of the apartment building. Lucky for her, there was someone to run to who wasn’t too far away. She had work later that day. First thing she would do was sleep; she only had four hours before she needed to go to work.

The person she ran to drove back to the house. She went in to get the only money she had to her name and a little bit of clothes. She’d hope her father was still out. After packing a little bag, getting her books, her laptop, and her money. She felt it. Anger hot at her back, he appeared out of nowhere. Silent, seething.

“Why are you back in my house?”

“I needed to get money and some clothes.”

The house was trashed. He had cut up the couches with a knife. Taken the paintings off the wall and ruined them. Upset that she was back in his house and still trying to lie. He picked up the nearest thing and launched it at her. If you asked him today, he swears up and down it wasn’t at her head. She’ll tell you that it was a twenty-five-pound metal dumbbell flying past her ear into the wall behind her. Bawling her eyes out, she makes sure she has all her money, as much as she can physically carry, and starts her ten-hour shift.

Her phone ran off the hook while at work. When she had a chance, she called one of the many people who were calling. They informed her that he dad had been taken to the hospital. That the police were called, and tried to ask her what was going on. She just said how the two of them had a heart-to-heart, then she woke up with him upset.

“Your father had a three-day binge while you were upsate. They called the cops when he started threatening to kill himself and threw the couch out on the fire escape. You need to bring your father some clothes and things to the hospital.”

She doesn’t even know how she got there after her shift. She said goodbye to her coworkers and exited the building. She came to in the hospital lobby, terrified. There were people in beds in the hallway. She prayed she could get to a nurse to ask questions before accidentally running up on her father. She got a nurse’s attention and asked for her father by name. The nurse’s eyes go wide with knowing. Her dad’s hallucinations were the talk of the hospital floor.

“It isn’t safe for you to see him at the moment. He is still very upset but subdued. You can leave me his stuff.”

They let her peek around the corner to see her father strapped down to a hospital bed, rapid eye movement fluttering his eyelids.

She couldn’t believe that just twenty-four hours ago, she felt like she was in Paradise. She returned to her savior’s home, not even sure how she got there. Now she would need to hurry and find herself an apartment, preferably before junior year started. If only she could go back to Woodstock.

The Last Christmas

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We come to a scene in Long Island, NY. A big red house on a small side road of the only highway in or out of the hamptons. A single mother and a teenager from a class you don’t hear much about in this area. The holidays are all about traditions, this small family was surely different. The daughter, Aminah, had no wants other than to live comfortably. Something she knew was overly ambitious. The mother, Denise, was a dreamer who brought her daughter into the world in hopes to change it. With their family of two the tradition of Christmas was simple. Start shopping two weeks before and buy the tree two days before. Nothing else would be done until the twenty-third, starting with finally putting the lights and bulbs on the tree. Then all day Christmas eve the two of them will work until two or three am wrapping all the presents, putting the finishing touches on the tree, and baking at least five dozen cookies for aunts and uncles.

That was their tradition for the past decade, a smooth dance the two of them completed each year. This one would be diffrent though, and the last one the two of them would spend together. Aminah knew this despite her mother trying her best to console her. The whole year Denise had been in and out of the hospital. This was the first month they had been in their own apartment, and together, since March. Aminah had heard whisperings of Denise denying a gift of a kidney from a classmates family memeber. It seemed each day her mother grew sicker, and her biggest fears were coming true. The clock struck ten, and Denise called Aminah into her room.

“I’ll get up in an hour and we can start setting everything up.” Aminah looked at her mother, pale, slightly out of breath because she had missed dialysis for a few days. “It’s fine, mom. I can do it. Just rest and I’ll see you in the morning.”

She tested the different sets of lights, putting up her favorite bulbs and mixing them with the ones they had bought the other day. Tinsel all around the tree, while she chuckled thining about he cute elves from Santa Clause breaking everyone out with it. Lastly, she wrapped her mom’s presents, there would be no cookies this year. She finished everything around five in the morning, checked on her mom before finally going to bed.

Waking up four hours later, Aminah went to her mom’s room for them to open their presents. Denise began to cry as soon as she entered the living room. “You did such a great job, Aminah! The most beautiful tree we’ve had, for sure.” As always, to her surprise, there were about ten extra presents under the tree with her name on it. Aminah still doesn’t know how her mom was able to hide her presents; they would just appear under the tree. When did her mom do it? It had looked like she hadn’t moved since the morning. Most people then watch the parades or Christmas movies, but Aminah was never a fan of these things. So the two of them tuned into the radio and switched from the Oldies station, Delilah, and BLI. Music should never stay in one decade when being listened to.

Aminah started brunch, her signature dish, scrambled eggs with cheese and pancakes. The two sat singing songs, eating, and not talking about the elephant in the room. A beautiful memory, indeed.

Fountain of Youth

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I remember the year that I started to lose faith in systems. I was four or five years old and always teased.  I was fat, but wasn’t afraid of wearing belly shirts. My hair was always a mess, never becoming of a lady. My name was Ladybird regardless. I was always daydreaming about being anywhere, but where my body was at fake attention.

This one particular week was hard, a child in adult business. It started with a fight with one of my classmates, who would hold the gate for leaving time. The girl who felt like the meanest to me bit me to try and win the prize of brown nose. I will forever be stubborn about being useful; it was the only time I was seen outside of my mother. 

The same girl will end up biting me again about six years later for the same reason. What were the two of us to learn?

A pattern, you get hurt for minding others’ business.

On the last day of the week, when all the kids but three left, there was a big, beautiful Jaguar in the parking lot. We played outside, waiting for our parents to take us home. I convinced my friends that we should play with our toy cars on the beautiful, sleek expensive car. We raced  on that beautiful paint job, scratching perfect bold lines all around it. A lady came out and screamed and our parents came out apologizing. I can see then and now why it was wrong. However, I can still feel the satisfaction of that lady understanding what it feels like to lose something valuable. I had only convinced my friends because I had heard her say, “I am sorry but there is nothing we can do. The day care is in violation and must be shut down.” I bet a petty child with great intuition could rule a nation, but, the arrogance will always bring it to ruin.

The Silver Cylinder

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This is my safe place. Since five years old, when I came to this Elementary school, I would take solace in this space. Before school, recess, after school; now a place in my mind I go to. It kept me safe from the wind and cold in winter. In summer, it burned my skin the way that I like, candle wax that I can feel on something other than my hand.

My thoughts race as I watch the kids play on the playground. I am other and feel I can never belong. Why do I want to belong? I think of my parents, aunts, uncles and their responsibilities. Til this day even when I have a lot of responsibility I feel no one thinks me worthy. I didn’t want what they had anyway. There is nothing I want to do other than live, experience all of the things possible to experience. As a child I can understand that money allows you to do that, that some have more than others. Why does that exist when we have all we need around us? What is value when we are only living?

These are questions I was too young to ask, and only asked myself. How does a five year old with no hope answer them? Throughout the rest of my life I go through the motions knowing that I am not meeting the milestones of the world. I just couldn’t understand the reason and felt I had already lost. I breathe in, the enclosed space of the cylinder allows me to feel comfort. Warmth, heat, fire, and safety; the only feelings I can put my finger on. Sadly, to this day I can put my finger on but still don’t understand.

It’s the end of the world. I have no job. I am not living in any place. My body is here, my soul is dead, and I wonder what freedom truly is. I start to scoot out of my cylinder, the sound of my chains echoing throughout. When I was five, I’m sure I pictured myself here, yet I never gave up, only talked about it. Is it time to throw it in?