Families in Public

Are anxiety-provoking. Not because of the inherent chaos – the toddler that loses a shoe that’s run over by a backing-up Ford Explorer, or the carseat that fails to buckle properly while the grocery cart rolls to a halt in the middle of the parking lot – but because of how absent such events are from grown-up memory.

Homes are degrees of broken. Breaking gradually, relationships might stall or stop as new families erupt and generate a gravity-like pull to the center, the nucleus. Or, as in my case, scarring fireworks might clip off supposedly-unconditional bonds.

Breakfasting this morning with a girl I mentor, she told me how upset she is when she hears her friends or her boyfriend conversing easily with parents and relatives. I told her I relate. Kind questions about my family and how well they are doing can trigger envy, resentment, rage, sadness and self-hatred in me.

I don’t remember the warm parts of the chaos of childhood, at least not accurately. Subsequent events overshadow them.

I think of talks with my mother in the car. How we sat together, sometimes unspeaking, with sun flashing between the trees and remnants of snow on the ground. Of how she would put out her arm to shield me from sudden stops when I sat in the passenger seat.

But the undercurrent violence wins. “I will not see you again.” “I will not want to.” Images in my memory bear these lines like watermarks.

Most often, I think of how my mother once left my younger brother in a department store. Of how she swore as she turned the car around. And the memories don’t make me want to look back.

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Emotional Clean-up Crew

Wake to the pain. It is fresh as light, new in the moments its causes remain forgotten.

You reach down to touch the sensation. You guess at its location. You find feet and hands instead – realizing the whole instrument.

When it hits you, it will sound the alarm. Your body will sing into sweat and grief and rage at abandonment.

First, reach deeper to feel the wound. Sit up in bed. What will answer it? Will you need an army? Will you need a new lover? Will art open you?

Go to the places he went with you. Smell the roses out of your memory. Place them on the ground.

Go to his hometown which you will not recognize. His perspective to dissipates to air, to gray city.  He is unknown.

The morning generates a morning and a new day. Tender, the pain is wrapped and held. Tender, it dissipates. Memory loosens. Find yourself in air.