Saturday, March 25, 2017

Mad hatter matter & ....me

And so I find myself


      .... like Alice through the looking glass

and fallen into the mad hatter's garden party

His text was to tell me that he was on his way over.....

I feel like I must have tripped over .....the live wire fantastic. Because I don't understand what is happening here at all, but it feels like ....I have already read this somewhere. In a book. All covered in dust. And you find it in the public library, that was built and dedicated to....

only I am Cinderella grown up because they never found my slipper

He shows up to apologize --is he madder than a mad hatter? There is something I am so drawn to about him. It is like he stepped off my page or came out from my ear while I was redreaming. He's physical-- when he enters a room he commands his space that way athletes do. He is big, but he has a model's face. He looks like a young Viking prince, and it is so strange, because it feels like I knew him once. I meet people in my life often who trigger a vague memory of something that came from my dream waking mind. I remember people. There are stronger parts of these memories in connections to certain things. All my lovers have been familiar; wait....not all, no, but the important ones were.

None of them made sense to me. The attraction is a force that seems to recall guides to me or vice versa. I always want to run away. I never want these. They suck me dry like soul eating vampires.

and then I am tagged as the dragon lady

I am so tired....




We have been together over 24 hours straight..... now.... the last person in the world I would ever expect myself to have broken my nun-code for.

So I am self-conscious, yes? And he thinks this is something to tease me about.

Wicked brat ....and he only gets away with this because he's so cute.

Bloody hell,

Eliot.

No. no. Nothing has happened! Nothing, really. I don't need to chastise myself, so.... hmmm, so, here's the thing.... he comes over. Did I write before that it is the middle of the night? My place is not prepared for ....

I am not very keen on his being personally aware of my financial reality. (Keen? That is his word! Why am I saying this now?) ....I saw a funny thing I want now on e-Bay; it's a pendant necklace with this inscription : you're too close.

They call it 'Emo' ? Was I really born in the wrong generation or am I just really immortal?

At least just faery.

So Eliot makes fun of me, he brings over chocolate ice cream from 7/11 because I mentioned it's my favorite. He buys me four of them and some other odd choices that are more to his own delight. He wants to tell me about himself and when he discovers that I have no tv and no computer, he goes to get his tablet to watch movies with me.

"I think I should be afraid of you," I tell him, but I eat the ice cream. He has actually taken over my kitchen and makes me a hot fudge Sunday because he got whipped cream and other things. It is impossible to turn this down, I have priorities, of course, about chocolate, I mean.

The whole time I watch him I am thinking: if he were ugly and my age would he be in my apartment fixing me a bowl of ice cream? The answer is in the question.

"So why do you think this, my lady? I have only been completely honorable .... ok, except that I know I did not tell you straight off that my step father knew your mother."

I laugh. Only, it sounds shockingly like a giggle because I am saying,
"so, that would mean that we're almost like cousins."

"No, it means exactly the opposite, little nutter, and, it means we don't have to worry about going through the formalities of acquaintance initiation.... we are essentially....." (I have mentioned he has the flare for drama?) "from the same circles."

"Hmmm, how do I know you are who you say you are?"

.... he has big guileless, almost child-like eyes.... they are the kind that can haunt your heart after he has broken it. He knows it too, he knows his power. But Eliot; he needs and begs description; like his aristocratic golden beauty: the slant of the Norman bones beneath wide arctic blue eyes that follow the slant but is behooved by the personality traits he relies on as his best secret weapon; his prerogative to be crass if he's up to it.... because just as easily he flips the switch and turns to charm in one blink. Charm is a very powerful tool.

So he feeds me ice cream while making fun of my cats now,
"I am afraid of him because I think he might mistake me for a meal, or parts of me."

I don't know.... how to respond so I say,
"Why did you become interested in all of this; me; etc ...."

"Because he told me about everything and.... about you...."

I am waiting for the rest. But nothing comes. Instead, he is just looking at me. Starring at me. He is looking at me the way I saw him look at me at the shop that day.

He has his head tilted to one side slightly and he looks with a funny twinkle in his eyes. He dazzles; when he smiles a certain way, he has dimples, and when he wants to use them, he does. They are not possible to resist and I am sure he has practiced this trick all his life. Only, what does he say? Do you know what he says?

"I always wondered what you would be like.... you're so beautiful.... do you know that? Look who your father was, I knew you would be....you  know, Beth, you don't look your age."

Well....

I say,
"I don't understand what you are talking about, Eliot. What do you know? I mean, about me? I thought you.... wait--I'm confused...."

Thursday, March 23, 2017

I receive a text. It is the middle of the night.

It is from Eliot

Of course--I decide to not read it

I lay here wondering .... what time it is.... how long I have been laying here staring at the inside of my lids

pretending to sleep

for the cats

....sake

So I don't read it.... and I don't think about it

at all

but, you know....

it is the middle of the night-- so.... instead I have nothing to stop my thoughts.... so now I am.... thinking

Why is he texting me in the middle of the night?

We had had a conversation earlier-- before he dropped the name like a bomb in my lap

it was a conversation about Chris, so he tells me-- he says, "had he really been the right one for you; the right fella; the right 'gent'," and here he emphasizes this with his fingers, in exaggerated inflection of voice, facial expression and finger gestures (because he has a flare for drama, it seems), reminding me too much of a footballer hailing himself for his own efforts, "for, my lady.... he would have been aware of the importance it was that you have uncovered a lot of your memories...."

Because now.... before too-- I had thought it weird that he should become so quick to know ....

to pick up... about me-- we clicked too fast

he was too quick to sense things.... and I did feel suspicious

what is this?

you know?

another con --boy? Decoy, conboy

What else must it be?! It must be.... exactly this....

so I have been wondering, now, thinking, because I had already been wary; I've only been duped by everyone, after all!

why, exactly, is this total stranger suddenly so interested in me?

The day at my shop when I first saw him! He stares at me-- he watches me-- it is weird. It is. Especially as he is such a good looking young guy. Why would a gorgeous, and obviously well educated young man be looking at me at the gym? It makes no sense at all because .... why!? so, leave me alone, please, go away.... !!! I don't want this. I do not want this

I do not need this,

 not now since I have finally found peace inside, so.....

but.... it is this thought that won't let go.... That name he said; I think about this now ....

he tells me he knew ....my father's editor.... because, yes, I do.... know that name, yes.... from those quiet recesses of my memories and conversations dog-eared in my archived, previous dictionaries; those old, yellowed pages, you see

.....my mother told me but no one else ever would know or remember, his name has never come up in any search engine nor has he ever been mentioned or indexed on the pages of books  .... never any knowledge had been known of what became of this close associate to my famous father, so.... to hear him say this name all these years later, why?

but he could easily be ....using this --it could be he found something-- only why? What has he to do with American politics or, history-- he is from the other side of the pond so, his purpose???? Or is it to just dig up old bones but, to .... what? what ends? does anyone care anymore-- to sell it to a publisher or is it personal? Legal? 

And even this.... I don't need this....

 ....who cares, it will be bad news ....any way you may look at it--

And finally, I am sick of being made into

another person's chess pawn ..... but still, why? I am unable to stop my mind.... Unless for notoriety? I .... can.... see that

But-- maybe .... I should 

 .... I mean, what if he knows something? Something I need to answer part of the riddle.... the riddle of identity-- I tell myself I can read it in the morning as it will still be there....

only now I have to see

I can't wait-- I have to know what he has said.... what time is it?








Wednesday, March 22, 2017

Eliot; a shocking conversation

The realization comes as a surprise to me when I find random thoughts remind me--

it is only possible for me to take care of me when the crises of everyone is not in my lap

..... and this only happened after ..... I left my last address

"Yet you love your husband?" Eliot asks me over coffee

I look at him

But I'm not looking at him.....

I don't see him

I see, instead, judge and jury of those people in my life who have never seen past their own biased narrowed views

I could not buy clothes for myself.... until I left

Yet I have less money now than before, less food, am close to starving, but I'm not, I'm balanced on the razor's edge of falling off that precipice

..... by the grace of....

aloud I do not say this-- I'm far away, and when I look at him now I see blue eyes..... and find I don't even care what he thinks

He says,

"I feel like I want to know everything about you."

"Why?"

This is the moment that I see.... it is almost like a mask dropping

I look at his eyes and the expression, I look at his other facial features. He has the kind of face that to me looks like something out of Norse mythology; he is fair, pale brows and lashes; his eyes are without guile; they large and slant up, almost too beautiful, I think.

It isn't a mask dropping, it's a curtain, I think, but it isn't dropping, it is drawing open, as on a stage as a scene unfolds. So I look now and it is a sudden dawning--

"What is it?" I ask now, "I get the strong impression that this is not casual curiosity--there is more to why you want to know me, isn't there?"

I see his face color deeply,
"have you ever heard of the name Paul Kline?"

I reveal nothing, I can do this without anything showing.... I wait

I dare

I hold my breath

Either this is a dream or....

I'm waking up

to find I've lived my whole life asleep in a nightmare 

Tuesday, March 14, 2017

I saw him again; Mad dogs and Englishmen

Yes I have seen him again

But I have been thinking about these other things and to write first these things .... what has been going through my thoughts before I write how this happens....

Well I guess all the evidence points favorably to me as far as my husband and the claims he had once made about me. He always blamed our financial disasters as all being my fault. My last crisis he saved me from recently about my car --he created. I was going to get rid of it and he convinced me to dump my paychecks into fixing it and he told me at the time ! he would back me for whatever I'd need to make rent.

Obvious set up.

So, I'd not have chosen that way. I always prioritize roof over head as first. I will starve before no roof. After that the priorities fall in line of most necessary and in the real world that is communication. Without a connection to the world pulse you are roadkill and never to be heard from again and no one would notice. So a smart phone, this is how I think. I have no more computer so ....the best smart phone out there becomes priority. After that I can be a modern day Kerouac. Hit the road on my Dutch vanity table as a hover board.

Meanwhile, he still is drinking like a crazy Irishman, because that is exactly what he is. I know he is crazy. I always knew that. I entered into that relationship knowing this. But he has those lucky charms that can really ....hypnotize you.

Then blame you.

I took the blame all the time. Of course I did. I was trained by my abusive parent to accept punishment as a natural part of my diet. It seems I felt something was not right unless someone was punishing me.

I stop the spinning

here to get off.... watch it spin away

that is not really me. I never needed anybody; certainly not any of them.... but I wanted to be needed more

to be needed

I think to be needed you have to first experience what it feels like to have your needs met by someone, only you have to let them-- but it always turns out to be the wrong people that are let

   it is like hanging in mid air. About to fall. But time is frozen. Like a Matrix movie.

this is not me at all

I have worked hard and survived on my own. I am proud of that. All the females I know tell me that they could not do what I do ....without their  husbands --yet, they turn away with a superior sneer, in fear of catching my frightening misfortunes believing that I somehow brought on all of mine

No, I did not

But I refuse to fall down

without a fight.... I will keep fighting till the end.

I don't know where this comes from. As little children, my sister was not like this. She was older but I was braver. I was never afraid until it was over. I was born with whiplash instincts which the shrinks call ADHD. Maybe you just have to. Or maybe that's why I made it.

Or maybe my mother shaking me so much did jangle my brain chemistry as the DSMV may cite. But who cares. I am. This. And it's something like Spider-Man. The worst part is living in a cave and being misunderstood . And not being needed, know needed, rage at wanting need, or needing needs, or needing to need or needing to want to need or to want.....

I saw him again.....

the English guy. I was coming off of the treadmill at my gym and nearly walked into something and he was standing there

It is a kind of meditation for me. That's why I don't like conversation at the gym. And my injuries are obstacles during my work outs. Left ankle, right knee, both hands and upper spine-- so I focus or I will never get through the work out. And I have to go.... people give in to their injuries but that's self hindering to do. This is your canoe; you patch it, you polish it, you oil it, you shine it, you don't let it crack. It was hard but I got my muscles back and they are better now than before and I think it has to do with the inner asylum and the peace within

My husband thinks bad thoughts of me but his perspectives are skewed with hard liqueur, pot, beer, and mania or depression.... his memory is poor about real events or things he's said or done. I used to feel crazy. Like in my wacky family again. I see how people are drawn to their own demons again and again

Until you become conscious of it-- you are doomed to repeat

so I think about this all the time while working out... and I am sure it was behind how I was just lost in thought and  which is why--

I stumble into him-- or, no, actually, I feel his hands come out of nowhere to anchor me

.....and then I am caught from I guess disaster

they are not like periwinkle at all.... no I am wrong-- I thought they were the last time,

they are different today, because they seem more like they are both the bright sky actually, and the shades beneath the clouds

they shift like holograms from storms ....to clear --in one flash....

and it is too late to retract. To take it back. To pretend. He catches me staring into his eyes..... & what it is that one reveals in such a moment before you should have dropped the veil.

As I have said about beautiful men: they are used to women fawning over them, and he is confident, & relaxed, in this position; it is more than obvious.

and this is unexpected so

of course I hate surprise moments

being surprised

Taken off guard

But then, made worse now because he says my name! How does he know my name? I must have said this out loud, I realize.

"Because I always hear them say your name when you come in," he answers with that easy confidence, some English men have. Should I be looking for his princess?

"You go to my gym?" I ask,surprising myself too, as I had not meant to say that, it just pops out. But futile as I'm stating the obvious.

By way of answer he says,

"Eliot," extending his hand to me, but only now letting go of my waist (yet again!). But he leaves behind his touch. I still can feel it for a long time after

I am starting to wonder about the alarms

I look around

but I don't actually see what I am looking at

I expect things to be normal when I look back at him.... that glitch in the Matrix, perhaps, the wrong loop .... oasis....

I feel my face burning because I have felt his eyes sweep up and down me more than once.

You know.... I am at the gym.... ! quite warmed up too, .... and suspecting disheveled and showing more body than winter has allowed in several months which is awkward,

..... the last time he saw me I at least had the shop counter and the shield of the uniform apron bearing the name of the shop with a pretty bow..... between us.... I think this now.... as muscle jocks walk past, trying to remember what I decided to work out in.... (what am I wearing? Only more aware of him and what he is wearing.... how he looks.... but instead I am just smiling at him now--and noticing he looks crisp even if sweaty in a light weight white cotton t-shirt with the shape of the state printed on it in navy blue that he bought at my shop that day.)

He says,

"I found out you work next door."

I piece the facts together to deduce his course.... but say,

"so you decided to bring your girlfriend in there?"

His face actually reddens now! He has that English skin. You can see right through it! only he is .... charming actually

He is adorable, he reminds me of someone too.... when he smiles now, I see he has beautiful dimples that compliment his features like the sparkles that light his eyes

"She's not my girlfriend I will have you know.... far from it!" and his smile--what does it mean?

"Sorry, wife."

He is bright red but shaking his head,
"no, definitely not that! I assure you."

I shrug

He says, needlessly wanting to explained himself,
"We were on our way to a wedding reception because we were both in the wedding party. She needed a last minute gift so I thought.... good excuse to meet you, to be blunt."

I think it is his bluntness that causes me to say yes when he says,
"Are you busy, perhaps---now?--err--fancy joining me for a drink? Or is there somewhere else you have to be? Or..... Some ....one?"

So....

       we are at the Hideout. Of course, where else? As it is across the road from the treadmills.

"You live here?" I ask as we walk in together but he is signally me to follow him --as the music drowns out the rest of things for awhile.

So I wonder what the point of this is then.... why are we here? if we cannot talk?

I soak in queries of.... Why did he want to know  about me and come in to meet me? ....He is a beautiful man and there is no doubt he knows it too.

I am supposed to be flattered....? perhaps, it's a ruse.

Yes, because he is, well, too gorgeous for his own good and.... The worst kind. Not for any good. Not mine. Yes. The most dangerous

"You know I am too old for you, don't you?" I ask this. I have to blow it up as soon as possible, after all. I have to

Should go now too....

I don't understand why men my own age never approach me but the young ones seem almost superstitiously curious. Part of the persona of being an anomaly must include magnetism for the fanatical.

"Why would you say that?" and he has to put his head up close to me to say this in order for me to hear him, so he puts his mouth near my ear and then he says it in my ear. And causes a shudder.

He then draws away to look into my eyes waiting. He is daring me, it is like--this.... he says,

"I have already admitted to you how I've been curious about you enough to ask about you, do you think I was concerned about what your age was?"

"Did they tell you?"

The dimples are out and he is shaking his head,
"no..... I was too busy remembering how much I enjoy the rear view of you on the treadmill, to be blunt yet once more."

"You like older women....?"

He shakes his head with a shrug,
"never dated an older woman before, this would be a first but I cannot say that I have not fantasized about it...."

I think my mouth did drop for a second because it seems so not like something I would expect someone..... like him to say

He gives me this dirty look and a wink,
"no? Never had a crush on a school friend's dad?"

No..... actually. But a teacher.... old enough to be my dad had happened both ways

"Well...." only I decide to drink what he has put in front of me. It turns out it's a whiskey sour. He has in his other hand a margarita with salt and lime,
"I got you both because I was not sure which you would like."

I laugh. He must be kidding.

But then I see he has a tall Guinness for himself that has occupied his interest. I look at him as he checks his phone. He puts it away and looks at me,

"It was work calling...." he shrugs carelessly.

"So you do live here? What is work?"

"Oh-- I am.... it's only for a few months though--or so.... perhaps longer, depending...." he shrugs and looks at me again a bit sheepishly. What does that mean? I wonder.....

"I am not at liberty to talk about my project, it's top secret, copyright and legal issues....." (he says 'isssss-yous') I watch his mouth. He has such a pretty kind, so neatly shaped but not feminine, it is wide and sensual and pronounced by the shape of his teeth. He has David Bowie teeth, I think.... drawn to them in order to imagine how I might draw them. It is hard for me not to stare because I am an artist. I can't help it; I must appreciate beauty for the gift it is.

"You don't have to tell me," I say even though I am annoyed.

"What happened to you, if I may ask?" He says now

Now the tables are turned, touché.

"What?"

"I admire how you push yourself .... I've seen you. I know it hurts but yet you go....." he says

I don't answer

"Your ankle....." he says.... and he looks now at my hands.

Yes. My hands.... but I have removed the splints.... here, inside. I did it when he went for the drinks. But now he takes one of my hands and looks; he runs his finger tips over my knuckles gently,
"Your hands are so delicate.... and pretty...." he says my name and looks into my eyes before looking down at my hands,"your fingers ....are so beautiful," he says

"Not anymore...." I disagree but ....I imagine it is because of the proof.... that I don't pull away.

"So your hands and your left ankle--"

"Right knee, spine...." I take a deep sip of the margarita now, it is a distraction-- I want to change the subject; deflect

"Top secret," I feel the buzz of alcohol and forget about formality for  the next few seconds or so

"I guess it is that I admire your strength..... I mean that sincerely. And so I decided I wanted to know more about you. So..... Are you seeing anyone or --are you married?"

"I am married but we have been separated these last three years. I have not even seen him. He left the state after I moved out."

"Why did you go, if it's all right to ask?"

"I thought English men never discuss emotions?"

He smiles showing dimples,
"It's changing, the younger generations are more liberal with the changing that goes with globalization. Ahhh, I'm not all a pretty face, that's what you are thinking! I see it in your eyes. I don't go with the snobbery of elitism, and my line of work requires an open mind."

"But you won't tell me your line of work," I say

He smiles,
"I will. In due time. I'd rather see what happens when ......you turn into a pumpkin...."

Sunday, March 12, 2017

This is truly mortifying.....




After my most recent experience with a British-man, it reminded me of my original reason of why I don't like British men. They are by definition, chauvinists. That is their number one defining quality. Why would I like being with this sort of chap? I would antagonize him all day either by mistake or on purpose! What the bloody hell was I thinking??? Oh dear me.

So, then what happens? It has been so strange here with the outage and the winds. Something wild in the heavens is brewing. I believe it, actually. Only, I .... I realize someone is watching me. It was the other day at work. I am doing the usual that we do at the shop, I am putting away overpriced items, etc, but there is a box; it is heavy, you see. But once I could lift seventy five pound boxes. Now I fall over if a seventy five pound box knocks against me. Which is what happens but up until then my skill at trying to draw attention away from my broken hands is going moderately well.

So, I see him watching me.... The whole time. From the moment he walks in ....and from this first time he .... sees me ... I feel this-- I can feel his eyes on me. But every time I look at him, he looks away. Which is fine. Preferable, really. I hate being stared at like this! I cannot understand what is the purpose of it! To disarm? I understand the Chinese attitude about this, quite frankly.

I am aware he is handsome. Of course! Which makes me repel from force of habit. Because, actually, he is gorgeous. All my life I have found that those are the most cruel of their gender. How could it not be otherwise? They are used to being fawned over by everyone and can snap their fingers and make women beg. So they are the ones who don't give but expect everything.

By now this bores me

So it makes sense, yes? Why gorgeous men repel me; Pavlov's Conditioning.

I have learned not even to look so as not to get snared in. I say to myself: ahhhh, hot guy at three o'clock; make no eye contact and stay aware of proximity.....

But the phone rings, I forget.... so I have to go look for a garden, gazing ball but --he is right there!

I somehow careen into the seventy five pound box or vise versa, it happens so fast, the sequence of events are a blur, but, for the first time I see his face.... and I was not prepared because I forget on my way to the caller on the phone

I start to fall down with the very large gazing ball!!!!

Bloody hell

How embarrassing..... so mortifying, really, actually.....

Only it is his fault I am falling-- you see? Why must he be staring? I mentioned that he is there with a woman? No, I have missed this I see.... she is not nice.... immediately I don't like her. She is rude and stuck up and this is how I know they're British because I hear all her negative comments about us.

So, I am uncomfortable, you know-- but what happens, he catches me! I don't remember how but he suddenly is behind me and he catches me and the big glass ball as I'm dropping it. It was .... high drama. I am not exaggerating. My co-worker had gone in the back, she does not see any of this! But the woman he's with does!

There is nothing impersonal about being touched. Especially when you consider where he caught me; around my waist and hips; quite personal.... actually

And embarrassing

I can be grateful though that my co-worker has missed all of this

I skip over .... the most devastating part

I am not in the right frame of mind to write about this....



Monday, March 6, 2017

damage done; dod o hyd i mi, yr wyf yn meiddio chi

Hiding. Having to. For so long. The dictionary started there, of course. It was my only way, like Alice in Wonderland. I had to find a wormhole through to walk between truth and their mythology.

She found my diary. I saw her tearing it up. Do you know what she read?

I can't spell it out

So instead I make a code. I tell everything. But it's for me only to reassure me that I was really there experiencing what I saw.

I knew a shame that day. I won't ever forget the look in her eyes as she raged at me. I felt shame. For being truthful to myself.


I have wondered often why I don't remember some parts at all. There were the memories my mother denied that I was obediently restricted to or else.... but what about mine? After daddy whipped me.... where was my mind....?

After she did her things too

and my evil sister

....where are those parts?

The first real time that I split away

it was the day mommy and .....he who shall remain nameless..... when they told me I didn't belong in that family

I think it might have done something to me

you see, that was when I disassociated. The psychology term anyway. I saw them but I couldn't move or speak. I was frozen. I heard only some of what they said. Not enough to understand their questions. I had no thoughts at all, I was frozen inside. I think I was protecting myself. I think I knew the pain would destroy me. Emotional and physical. Daddy really did hurt me that day. My grandmother came. She always arrived in calamity so I knew it was bad. She looked afraid.

I did try to snap out of it. I remember wondering why I was stuck inside

Later I found out I missed six weeks of school

I don't know what happened to that time

I remember things like this

After that there were strange things about me. After i 'came back' from frozen, it seemed a part of me stayed frozen and another part stayed faraway. Without my choice, whenever something bad was going to happen, I'd escape and I watched myself do things I didn't feel. It was the only way. It was never my choice, it just happened somehow and I couldn't control it. I know this is what gets in my way now.... another aspect as to why I am this anomaly. I am a super hero, or so I used to pretend.... I liked comic books

.....with handsome heroes

....hoping maybe one could solve my riddle.....

electra....

           the maze of morass

 frozen ;

a champion to cast

from myths/mists of past

dod o hyd i mi, yr wyf yn meiddio chi

Saturday, March 4, 2017

Memoirs of madness; broken codes

People don't understand the confusion over identity

It's hard to describe from the inside but

When your memories are wrapped up in a gauze of denials that I was told to believe or else.... I get lost

I know what happened. How is it even possible to forget the fear of my 'dad' that I had? The memory of his belt. The memory of the pain. The memory of the agony inside me

The rejection and the horror of being physically hurt by a family member who was supposed to protect not harm. It was horror to endure. Day after day his rejection of me and the fear of pain he inflicted several times a week. I often ran before he caught me. I knew when to run. I knew his every mood. I figured him out to outsmart him. So I'd inch to the door of the kitchen and get a head start. It didn't matter what I said because all I had to do was just stand there silent. And I would be told that was bad. I was getting on his nerves not like Trudy Beauty, the one who made me call her 'god'....

I believed all the time that this was insane. They were. I knew this. But who would listen to me at five years old? I attempted to. I had gone to my grandparents

I remember a lot of drama back then. I remember the fighting. The cups flying over my head and breaking at my feet. Cups flying. My mom was a good hurler. But his slaps were like a meat cleaver. They hurt for days later. They reminded me all day long.... of his abhorrence of me. He treated me like shit.

Identity?

First they give you a name. But they didn't know what to call me. First or last name. I had no name for the first week of my life. Baby Doe. Doe a deer.

Identity.

I look in the mirror. I search for a clue. Please tell me. Who am I?

It tells me I am. I already was. I have always been. And shall always be.

But this is not enough.

I think it is the forces inside that won't subdue. I don't drive it. It drives me. You see? The dreams haunt me all the time. It forces me to remember things I was forced to forget

They told me together. He was on the phone. She was showing me his picture. And I wouldn't believe it. It was too terrible to me what she was saying. I could not comprehend. It was madness to me. It was a kind of ultimate rejection. I was being sent away.... like I heard the black ladies say on the bus. They laughed at me but then treated me like their royal princess because they knew. They loved and hated me. Too. I came into this world with pre-made enemies at my sides. I belong no where. I am an anomaly. Back then I was. It's acceptable now. It wasn't then.

Only I didn't understand. I was five. Where do babies come from?

So when she said "that isn't your real father, he is.... " pointing to his picture inside her huge beautiful turquoise leather jewelry box. Filled with real stuff. Diamonds, emeralds, ....rocks

So there was his picture, which I knew was always there because I knew him. She had a campaign button of him too stuck inside. I loved him too and more than my 'dad' but I was emotionally attached to my mother to an extreme. I felt I was being sent away because I was not as good as my sister who got to stay in the real family.

Maybe I should have gone

Maybe he would have lived longer. Maybe I could have made him better. I would have been his only daughter because he only had sons. But it answered the riddle. Of why I didn't look like anybody. Because when I looked at his picture that time as they told me.... I saw my face in his so embarrassingly obviously. It was right there. The shapes of the bones in the face.... always so different from my sister and mother too because nobody had bones like that in their face. I felt uncomfortable with being different. They stared at me. I couldn't blend. At school too.