The girls fell upon me giggling and out of breath after sharing whispers of secret comforts- just moments ago thought to be theirs alone. They’d link arms and twirl themselves into far flung corners of bedrooms transformed into magical kingdoms by cleverly placed sheets and quilts. Or, perhaps caves fashioned by upside-down chairs- entry allowed to only the fearless.
Her secrets long since shared aloud; through tears and trembling fingers- and onward through life she goes. How did time shield us from truths we didn’t really want to feel? Like a scab we knew we’d pick at until it bled- it was there but covered- kind of safe from prying fingers and eyes, but so ready to bleed.
That same blessed time delivers her safely now- facing life with proper posture and an open smile. Her Majesty stepping fearless from her cave.
He’s filled with shame for having a disease- it could’ve been prevented he says; as if this makes perfect sense and I’m a bit dense for not nodding my head in agreement. I can’t think too deeply these days when he’s back in my life.
Things hurt when they shouldn’t- like a quiet morning that is no longer my own or trying to explain what his doctor meant when he wrote, “appears older than stated age.”
He smiles and laughs a lot- and this is good until my heart breaks at his toothless grin. I’m shown how excessive my life is simply by watching how little a person really needs.
Small, simple things that are made extravagant by conversations not tethered- floating from one idea, concept, fleeting thought that has nothing to do with… what were we talking about? It’s as tiring as toddlerhood and that makes me sad. Sadder still is how happy I am he found an apartment and will be moving to his own place in two days.
A song played repeatedly on this Bahamian island for the last 6 weeks is what consumes my brain this morning. Can’t get the tune, the words, out of my head. Perhaps the whole world knows this song but here’s the only place I’ve ever heard it.
I believe it’s called Crazy Family. The tune- very catchy. The lyrics-an entire novel:
A young man meets a local woman, falls in love with her.
Asks his father’s advise about marrying her.
“No, boy. No. That woman is you sister but your Mama don’t know”
The young man is fitful, angry, doesn’t know where to turn; decides to talk to his mother.
His heart breaking, he explains how deeply he loves this woman and what his father has told him.
His mother replies,
“Go, boy. Go. Your daddy ain’t your daddy but your daddy don’t know.”
When do thoughts
words or ideas
that you have
become part of who you are
to be shared again?
This is the week. In three days I’m back to work. Anticipation, relief, apprehension and a dusting of fear. Can I really do it? A wise woman once told me, “Lay your fear to rest and things will flow as they should.”
So, I could try that; set my fear aside. But then what would I cling to? It’s like one of my crutches- always at the ready. Here, take me- no limping allowed remember? The endless ruminations are exhausting. What would I do with all the energy I expend on worrying if I suddenly was to stop?
And now they tell me, “Sure, you can walk a bit without the crutch. If you find yourself limping however, use the crutch.”
So I concentrate really hard on having a normal gait- relax the shoulders, swing the arms just a bit, feet apart. Damn, this feels complicated. If a normal length stride hurts, you’re not ready yet. I guess it should be a given- if walking feels like multitasking I’m not ready yet.