Visit
I went to visit my friend today. She is in the hospital again. She says that it was an accident, another terrible misunderstanding. She wants to go home. She cried in my arms and begged me to help her. A nurse came and pulled her sobbing, clinging form off of me. I left the daisies that I had brought with me on the chair I had just vacated as he strongly removed her from the room. I watched through the reinforced glass as she was escorted to her room. I glanced to the chair with the crumpled daisies, they had been ruined in her desperate embrace. I abandoned them then: her and the darn daisies. I turned slowly on my heel forgetting it all. I enjoyed the way that my skirt twirled out ever so gently. I twirled again as I crossed to the door. It reminded me of the summer I was a princess...The summer after I had turned seven I declared myself a princess and insisted that everyone else follow suit. I took The Queen of Hearts (Alice in Wonderland), Snow White, and (my favorite) Princess Aurora as my role models. All of that summer is a blur like sunshine beams dancing down on the grassy yard that was my kingdom. I remember the laughter, and the magic wand, my princess crown, my beautiful dresses, and the twirling. Oh, how very much I loved to twirl. I would spin and spin throwing my head back, hair and ribbons trailing behind me, skirt full and soft, till I could stand no more and I would crumple into a somersaulting heap of giggles and delight as the ground beneath me rolled and the sky above me roller-costered up-down-and around-looping-back, till finally it all slowed and the clouds returned to the sky and the earth rested peacefully underneath me.
...Strong arms stopped the twirling and silently moved me into another room. Slumping me into the plush chair. So controlling. Sometimes I understand why I am here. Other times I feel the injustice of it all. Who wouldn't remember the good times of past summers? It's not like I live in the past, I simply remember and continue to enjoy the simple pleasures of an occasional twirl... if the skirt is just right. It's the littlest things that can be pleasurable to me. The littlest things add lifetimes to your days.
I love the way that my brown shoes tap out a song with each step that I take. I wear them to the quietest places, like libraries, and art galleries, and empty hallways so that I can walk slowly and deliberately and hear their perfect melody with each step. I get lost in the music of it.
I love to walk through the warm summer rains.
I make wishes on snowflakes.
I paint love notes on sidewalks.
I feed butterflies with sugar water.
I write music with wind.
I use dandelions for rouge.
I braid flowers into chains.
I dance bare foot in grass.
I high dive into quarries.
I explore the dark caverns.
I name the clouds.
I whisper to children.
I swallow the moon.
I swim through turquoise pools.
I bask in sunshine.
I twirl through shopping malls.
I skip through school.
I hum during mass.
I bowl for kids' sake.
I donate blood.
I build Habitat for Humanity homes.
I bake for my neighbors.
I deliver flowers to the sick. My eyes sought out to crumpled daisies she had brought me. Finding the room to be vacant of them, I jumped up for fear that the chair that I had crumpled into had been the chair where I had left them. True to form, I had sat on them. I tenderly picked up their broken stems and tried to embrace their droopy heads.
"Shhhh. There, there now. Don't worry, Mommy will take care of you"
The daisies were instantly forgotten as memories of my son flooded my mind. I will never forget that perfect day, eleven years ago, when I held him in my arms for the very first time. After 21 hours of labor I was quite certain that nothing in the world could be worth all of the pain. I had never been so wrong in all of my life. He was so perfect. As the nurse handed me the blue bundle I forgot everything in my world, all of the pain, all of the joys, all that I knew: he was captivating. It was during this moment that I knew that no matter what the cost to myself I would do everything to be the best mommy I could be. I would get help. I wanted only the best for him. But what mother doesn't want the best for her son?
I worried about him now. He was perfect in my eyes but the eyes of the world seem to think that beauty is all in the eye of the beholder: they that behold him now don't see past the skin deep qualities. I hate a world that judges by the color of one's skin. I hate a world that wants him to choose between the check boxes on the form ... White (Non-Hispanic)...Hispanic...Black...Pacific Islander... Asian...What good could come of it? Why must he choose between the heritage that I gave to him and the skin color of his father? Or....No, he wasn't really given a chance to even choose between...people look at his beautiful complexion and judge for him, my eyes may cause them a moment's hesitation, but then they shake their heads determined that skin color is supreme, he is no longer forced to choose... He is assigned a check box. I hate it, he is just as much a part of me. I hate it and I cannot even know the torment that he faces. I do not know the troubles he faces at school. I worry about him now. I hope that he is embraced and loved for who he is, and not labeled in a glance. I hope that he is accepted and proud of his father and his father's father and back and back and back, for they are an amazing family, a heritage to be proud of, to be celebrated. I hate that my own fair skin has empowered me to forget, ignore, or disregard the differences of my son and others like him. For it is part of white privilege to choose to either ignore or acknowledge that a "white privilege" even exists. I do. It does.
I think I will call and see if the teacher in my son's fifth grade classroom is planning on celebrating the Cinco De Mayo. Maybe I would volunteer to bring in treats. I picked up the phone but it was dead. Reminding myself of that perfect day eleven years ago when I swore to be the best mother that I could be I decided to go to the front desk to ask for some assistance. I looked for my brown shoes, it was after all a long and empty hallway and I had on the perfect dress for twirling. I could not find them. Frustrated to tears, I threw myself across the mattress. I allowed myself to sob for a moment. I rolled over onto my back and painted the white-on-white-on-white decor back onto the room surrounding me. All of the vibrant colors washed away slowly. I had to scrub the windows extra hard. But finally I had collected all of the colors back into my mood ring for safe keeping. It would never do to leave the colors up when I left my room. The nurse was likely to get mad. I think that he spends a lot of time keeping things white.
I opened my door and walked to the front desk.
"Excuse me"
Amidst all of the hustle and bustle they didn't take notice of my silent request. I sighed, but after all it is to be expected, I am quite ordinary, why would they take notice of me?
Clearing my throat loudly, I began again... "Excuse ME!"
Glancing up from their busy routines they see me for the first time.
"I would like to make a call and the phone in my room is dead."
"How did you get out here?" a frantic receptionist asked.
"Never mind that now, may I use this phone?"
Firmly, she repeated her question signaling a silent alarm that sent red lights spiraling down the hall.
"I walked out my door and down the hall, like any civilized human being would, now do you think that that is crazy too?"
"Trisha, your door is locked, you couldn't have come through it," taking my arm and turning me around we walked back to my door. The nurse with the controlling arms met us there. The nervous phone Nazi checked the door knob. Locked tight. She sighed a sigh of relief and then her eyes flew open as she realized that I was securely locked OUT of my room. I smirked on the inside, I loved to torture them like this. They deserved it for all of the trouble that they cause me. Nurse calmly takes a key from his neck and unlocks the room. The door swings widely open. I was satisfied with my decision to remove the colors before I left. All was as it should be. We walked in together. Nurse checked the window, the bars were back firmly in place. More internal smirking, they would never figure it out, this secret was mine.
I questioned them again innocently enough, "Now about that phone call?"
"And just who would you like to be calling?" Nurse retorted, as the nervous receptionist stalked out.
"My son, no no no no no, I don't want you to get into all of that again, just wait that wasn't what I meant to say, I know that you don't want me to call him anymore...Just give me a second to get it right in my head, I didn't want to call him, nope, I wanted to call his teacher! That's right! I wanted to see if I could bring in the treats on Tuesday...."
"We have been through this before, if you ever want to start getting better you have to stop with all of this."
"But I don't want to call him, tonight, that was an accident, a terrible misunderstanding...I wanted to talk to his teacher to see..."
"You know that you don't have a son."
"I know."
"You just made him up"
"I know. But I want to get better."
"Why?"
"For him, I want to be a good mother."
"But you're not a mother if you don't have a son."
"But then why am I here?"
"Why, to get better of course."
"But to get better for whom if I haven't a son?"
"For yourself."
Sighing, "This is all so confusing, you saying that I haven't got a son when I know perfectly well that I remember having him. I love him. I worry about him. And now all I want to do is bring his class a treat on Tuesday but you won't let me call."
"Trisha, how old are you?"
"23"
"And how old is your son?"
"11"
"And how is it that you came to have a son when you were twelve?"
"I know that it doesn't make any sense here, that's because you live time differently than I do, you don't enjoy the little things, that would have given you lifetimes to live every day."
"Well, you haven't got a son here to call."
"I know, he is in the Elsewhere. Although it is very much the same, just with different time. I don't suppose you have that number do you?"
"No" He led me to the bed and I sat down heavily, my shoulders sinking.
"Well could I have my phone fixed so that I can place the call when I get it right in my mind again."
"No you aren't allowed a phone."
"Yes, that's right I remember now, too many calls to requests visits and daisies, you know how much I enjoy them." I slid my legs under the blankets and lay down on the pillow.
"Yes, you enjoy daisies." He pulled the comforter up to my chin and headed towards the door.
I sat bolt upright in bed. "I had a visit today from my friend, she brought me the flowers in the chair, do see if you can find them a vase, I crushed them when I hugged her, I was so glad to see her. They are right there on the chair, be careful, they are so very fragile." I pointed towards the blooms.
"This mess?"
"Yes, right there on the chair."
"But these aren't daisies, just torn up newspapers."
"Oh" I lay back down.
Tossing my blooms into the garbage his silhouette in the door frame I begged one more question, "And the brown shoes? Are they gone too?"
"There are no shoes here, too uncomfortable and noisy, just your slippers, so that you don't make a racket in the hallway."
"right, we wouldn't want to disturb." I muttered under my breath.
The door closed and I heard the locks click. Twice. Three times.
I smiled, my OCD was rubbing off on him too.
I sobbed myself to sleep saying goodbye to my son. This lifetime-day was over.
I think that tomorrow I shall visit my friend in the hospital. I remember something about an accident.
posted by Trisha @ 9:29 PM
