mapping a legend

 

The first time I visited England I was six. It was a family summer vacation. My mother’s husband (aka ‘Hitler’) bragged about our summer holidays but it was part of his work; he sold travel ad space to travel agents so, this was homework to an obsessed shallow man. He imagined himself to be Onassis one day so he was all about the bling before that was a word 

I had lived the first year of my life on the island of Jamaica because my mother left her husband ….there was question of whose I was ….for good reason; but the story held ….after the one year away from America living at her best friend’s holiday resort hotel. 

They used to tell me their wild stories. I heard about the two gorgeous blonds dazzling the jet setters; movie stars, authors, billionaires, you name it. My mother was not wasting her time on just anyone and her best friend? Let’s call her Barbie for this; she was the equal in looks to my mother so, I imagine they were a force to contend with. My mother was very charming. And she was smart. Too smart for her own good in those days. 

Anyway…. that is how we lived that odd life we did and how and why money got blown away ….gosh could they do it up …. my mother had to have the best 

I’d watch it all from the walk in closet floor through a crack in my mother’s walk in closet; my secret room ….I heard more than she knew 

Anyway ….

I never felt I fit there. In that family. They were all crazy. My sister who molested her sister, the dad who whipped the daughter with his Baly belt “which one, sweetie….” no he called me something else —one was bastard 

My mind often took off and I saw things nobody else did 

they thought it was odd how it came true and I was always right  

But the moment we landed at  Heathrow Airport ….the voices all around, the manners ….then once out in the open windowed drive…. the scent on the air….I’d been here before….I turned to look for things I knew….the slope of the land and ….the color of the horses