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“Don’t Even Fucken Trip”
He opens the door for her
and she walks in.
She stands by his bed
and looks at him.
“Don’t even fucken trip,
we do big thangs,” he says
as he snaps his fingers.
She looks around
and notices the pictures.
Pictures of various women
who have been before her.
He notices this and says to her,
“Don’t even fucken trip,
I’m gonna have you pose for me too!”
She laughs, but knows he’s right.
He pulls out his camera
and she does as he instructs of her…
“Tilt the head to the left,”…
“Right leg up,”…
“Arms above head,”…
She follows his directions, faithfully.
He runs out of film
and changes the role.
She walks over to him
and grabs what’s in between his legs.
She laughs and says,
“Don’t even fucken trip,
I only do big thangs!”
She puts on her clothes
and leaves
just as quickly as she had come.
“Memories”
“Pass me my pills,” he often asked.
“Give me a bath,” he would plead.
“Can you change my diaper,” he begged, full of
embarrassment.
My father wasn’t always this weak. There was a time when he
seemed to be bigger than
life, unstoppable even. We would stay up and wrestle all
night. Wake up at dawn, before
my mother, so that it would just be the two of us, and head
out for an early father-
daughter breakfast. We would often drive around the city in
his truck – just the two of
us. “We only need each other” he would happily say. And I
believed him too.
There are a lot of memories that I have of my childhood that
I will always treasure.
Watching him roll up a joint and taking a hit, the fumes
engulfing the lungs of a then, 5
years old child. Seeing him on one of his “trips” and eating
the grass from our backyard.
Being held hostage in my home because he thought my mother
was going to leave him.
My mother and I would wait until he fell asleep before we
snuck out the back door. We
would find safety with whatever relative was awakened by the
late night phone rings.
There are a lot of memories that I wish I could erase from
my mind.
Perhaps the bad memories were a sign - the beginning of the
end. I didn’t quite know
what he had or why he had it. It was so easy for him to give
up! He said he couldn’t live
that way. He knew the pills would help, but still refused to
take them. If only he had
possessed half of the strength that he had tried to instill
in me.
Yes…by the age of six I had many memories – one’s that I
treasure and one’s that I wish
I could forget.
The Strength of a Woman
As the phone rang, chills began to gallop down my spine…
The same way it does when you watch a scary movie and you
know they shouldn’t open
that one door.
But I dismissed the chills and answered.
She was crying a black ocean of fear and sorrow.
She told me that the illness had spread throughout her body,
like a dark plague.
She told me that she had to carry the strength the strength
of 50 men just to get out of bed in the morning.
She felt as if each day was a gunshot to her head.
She maintained her smile, as bright as a laugh.
She had her same sense of humor that made everyone laugh
until their sides burned like
the radiant sun.
Some say she had the strength of a gladiator in the arena,
triumphant over all.
But I say…
she had the strength of a woman.
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