Monday, August 23, 2004

Epiphany

They want to go to Perkin's. She comes up the stairs and asks me in her slight slur if I want to go. Playing a game of Starcraft, the game suddenly crashes. I hold down the button on the computer until it shuts down. I decide I'll go.

She's in the driver's seat, and I sit in the back. I tell her she shouldn't be driving. She says I can drive. I run in the house and grab my wallet, in case I'll need my driver's license.

I put the car in reverse, we back out of the driveway. We go to Perkin's.

We sit down and the waiter comes. What would we like to drink? The waiter looks tired. I can understand, I worked 10 hours today. I feel bad for her, for having to work. I'm polite and say I'll have some water please.

She gets an iced tea, my grandma gets water and decaf coffee.

I stare off away. Grandma says I act like I'm embarrassed to be around them. I say I am, with my mom drunk and all. My mom says she isn't drunk, I say she's somewhere near there.

My mom says see? he disrespects me. I tell her I'm not disrespecting her, I'm just telling her how I feel. Grandma says I'm not disrespecting her.

She brings our drinks. I drink down my water.

The waiter comes and asks what we want. My grandma says she wants some breakfast. She begins making substitutions for the items which have carbs. She yammers on, you can barely hear what she's saying. I say she basically wants everything that's carbs turned to meat or something not having carbs.

I tell my mom I'm not disrespecting her. She can stop drinking. Stop smoking. She can make the changes if she wants to. I say I'm tired of her going out each night.

She shakes her head. She's too sensitive. She gives me that look like I hate her.

We go on about it.

The waiter comes with our food. All I got was cheese sticks. I eat them and talk more.

When we're done, the waiter takes our things, grandma's paying.

She gave birth to me. I didn't ask to be born. She made sacrifices for me. I didn't ask for those sacrifices to be made.

I tell her, she's the one that made the choice to weigh herself down with the responsibilities of me. I say the reason I was born was because she had intercourse with my father Tom Smith, and it impregnated her, and I was born. I didn't ask to be born. I had no choice. It was her choice, and his.

I say this is about now. She begins talking about how she worked two jobs coming off the divorce with my dad. She would save up the tips each day she got so she could get me a happy meal. She lived for me. Tears're in her eyes. Her red eyes. She would have to borrow diapers from the other workers, and pay them back.

I say I understand the sacrifices she made. But this is about now.

She says I don't understand her perspective. She says I'm seeing it my own way.

I say, tell me a valid reason that it's okay to go out and drink. That it's okay to smoke.

She is silent. I say, see? you're silent. She says she would say something but it wouldn't do anything.

I think she should just tell me. I tell her if she won't tell me her perspective then there really isn't anything to her perspective, is there?

She says my stepdad, she treats her like a child. Tells her she can't go there can't do this. I say he's treated me like this for a long time, you get used to it.

She says I'm blaming her for everything.

Grandma says it's true. Dad's the one who's been cooking for us. Dad's the one who's been staying home with us, while she's out. Dad's the one that's provided for us - who works so hard for us, so we have money and food on the table. Dad's the one that does things with us. Dad does the cleaning. Dad does the laundry. Dad teaches us how to act better. If it weren't for him I wouldn't be able to make it in the real world, he taught me the real world is hard and trying, as much as I've hated the way he treats me sometimes.

Tears in her eyes. My brother starts crying. I sit up in my chair.

She says one day I'll realize it. She gets up and walks out.

I tell grandma let's get the hell out of here. I walk outside and grab the key in my pocket.

It is still wet outside from the rain. It is over. It is dry, not a drop in the sky, but water still lays on the ground, you can see it, reflecting. You can smell it, smells damp.

She's sitting at the booth up by the main entrance. I start the car and drive up, sit there.

She's got a cig in between her fingers, puffing away.

My grandma had said, it was no one's fault the way things are. It is just 13 years accumulating, finally coming out.

I think it over while I wait for them. I say aloud to myself, get in the fucking car.

It is no one's fault. It's just the way things are. This is how it is.

My brother's by the side of the car. He's crying, loudly. My grandma tells him get in the car, he's 13 and doing this. He gets in, my grandma gets in, my mom gets in.

I say, it's not your fault to my mom. I say it's just the way things are. It's how it is. There's nothing you can do about it.

I begin driving off.

While we're driving, I keep saying my mom's not completely to blame. Because she isn't.

Then I tell her it's still not right that she smokes and goes out drinking-

Grandma covers my mouth.

-Every night.

It's still not right that she-

She covers my mouth.

-Smokes.

We're almost home. I say, mom instead of smoking write a poem.

My grandma scoffs at what I just said.

I say, it's what I do. I say, I mean, not a poem. Something that helps.

I say, something better.

Something better than drinking, my grandma says.

Yes, I say, that's it.

The next time you want to go drinking, do something else. The next time you want to smoke, do something else. What about your crafts you used to do?

She says, strain in her voice, but I already tried that, it didn't work.

She sounds so negative.

I say, look what I'm doing. It's what I do. It's working for me. Do you think it's easy to go to work every day? Do you think it was easy for you to go to work for me every day?

She says it's different.

I say, but I mean it. You can do something more positive. That doesn't have a negative byproduct but a positive one.

If you write a poem, it stays there forever, you have it forever. If you smoke it goes into your lungs, it blackens your lungs, it stays there forever. With the poem it will let you remember your pain and realize this poem is your feelings forever on paper, it is a testament to the fact you can understand your pain and because of that you can fight it. With smoking your life gets shorter, but the pain doesn't go away, the nicotine only temporarily stymies it.

There's a positive byproduct when you write a poem, it helps you out and it stays there forever and it doesn't hurt you.

Intead of drinking, go for a walk, those help me. Listen to music, that helps me. Do something, do anything, as long as it's positive.

We pull in the driveway. My mind is reeling. I say, I just gave you an epiphany. She laughs at the world. Epiphany!

I say, an epiphany is a startling realization. That's what I gave you.

We walk in, she says, but I still don't understand why you won't hug me and tell me it's all right, that is what would help.

I say that's not the way I am. She walks into the bathroom, and shuts the door. I speak to her behind it, I had what I was going to say in mind.

I say, my epiphany was how I hugged you.

I think, that's really true. What I said was like wrapping my arms all around her, but even more. It was using words, my expression. From what I'd said to her, if you read between the words I had said to her and for her, it was love, stark and naked and openly seen, if you wanted it to be there.

Why would I waste words if I hated her? Why would I tell her all I had told her if it didn't matter? Why wold I have?

She laughs at what I said. I tell her it's true.

She still doesn't seem to understand.

I walk away and feel that I really gave her something. And it was something I already had, something I owned for a long time.

It was not really an epiphany, because it was not a realization. It was just using what I already used but using it in a different way.
Comments (4)