I feel the Earth move under my feet. In my garden I dig up a fat nest of ear-worms and I scream out loud and fall, landing hard on my butt. I am horrified, since everyone knows that ear-worms are low-key toxic. I grab a nearby stick and poke the squirmy things. Flashback. I’m inside Mommy’s beat-up Toyota, her radio blasting Carole King. Mommy’s singing along like her whole world is a-tumbling down. It wasn’t long after when she left us.
Wait.
Floods of memories start to play in deep rotation. Alessia Cara, her mournful isolation the soundtrack as I see me sitting on the floor underneath a rebellious cloud of marijuana. Me, the antisocial pessimist, at a party alone, in the corner crying,
“Why am I here here here?”
Quick cut to us. Driving to Miami, riding in your car. Top dropped, singing into the wind with Tracy Chapman. Her like me, escaping a hopeless father. But not you. You weren’t escaping. No, you were enchanted. With me. Back when you believed in my song, my plans. Our friends called you Duke, ‘cause you were regal and charismatic. With your gregarious personality we all figured you were going places, even if your birth name was Larry. That time you fixed me your glorious rice-and-beans and I said: ‘It’s cold here, baby. Let’s drive south and leave this dirty dysfunction in our rearview.’
Thinking about it now...it’s pathetic.
A red hummingbird jets by, then hovers inches from my face, glaring. Oh! Time to refill the bird-feeder. Inside, I wash hands and set to making hummingbird food. Distilled water. White sugar. Boil. I’m on autopilot, humming that catchy tune by Shaggy. Remembering how it was. How I caught you red-handed.
Wait. You say, “It wasn’t me.”
Miami. Throwing back tequila shots, dancing on tabletops with the girls; while our guys huddled at the bar, flashing bank, drinking stout, making plans. The steamy subtropic vibe worked wonders for my complexion--and your careless misogyny. Delusional me; thinking it was all about us. Creeping you; toasting bros before hoes.
Carefully I fill the bird-feeder, open the back door, step onto my patio. I hang the feeder on the shepherd’s hook and watch the birds enjoy. Kind of like I enjoy this backyard of mine. During lockdown I ripped out the lawn, creating instead a garden of native plants and flowers for the pollinators. It’s my sanctuary, although behind the sounds of nature I sometimes hear the clamoring of traffic.
Beep-beep. Here comes a different memory. I see a Tessie...and there’s my Bestie! She’s behind the wheel asking: “Why you let Duke gaslight you? Box his shit and put it to the left.”
Wait. Give me a sec. Cuz thinking about it now...it’s heartbreaking.
She’s my bestfriend, who taught me how to pose, take a flawless selfie and all different kinds of bad-bitch shit. Like Sawtelle and Doja Cat be singing. But that was ’til Bestie got pregnant and suddenly it was her husband doing the gaslighting. Him, with power couple goals. Him, drippin’ with finesse. Him, talking ‘bout how men need to be men and he wasn’t having the mother of his children out running the streets dressed like that ‘cause that’s why bitches get raped. Ouch! #Metoo.
So I created a little distance. Because I was starting to imagine a different way that life could be for a woman. People change. Right? But Bestie announced I was having an identity crisis. “You’ve gotten too woo-woo,” she said.
Wait.
I touch hands to chest. It feels achy. I don’t want these wormy beats up in my ear no more. That way lies too much bitterness. And even though we haven’t spoke for a minute...I still hold Bestie in my heart. Yeah, things have changed, but like it or not-- change is inevitable. It’s alchemy.
It’s like when I make compost for my garden. The magic spell being:
Browns + Greens + Sun + Water = Black Gold.
Ancient books of magic will say alchemy is about transforming base metal into gold. But figuratively, it also describes a process of spiritual transformation. Life teaches that the interaction of our sparkling souls with the grinding, grueling and often ghastly elements of life will always be transformative. And so it is for me and you... and Bestie, too. We’re all an organic experiment.
No wait...
Actually our lives are a quantum experiment, and thinking about it now...it’s evolutionary.
She is beyond magic. Wow!
Love the fast-moving rhythm of her mind coasting over a terrain of memories, emotions, and signs of the times! Lovely writing.