Friday, April 3, 2009
Friday, April 3, 2009
I DO REMEMBER
Do I remember? Ooooh, Yes I do. I remember what you said when you found out that ate at someone’s house. With your thumb and the finger pressed on it twisting my ear. You said,”Don’t ever eat at people’s houses apart from your house, you hear me”? You enforced it. I nodded my head to indicate saying “yes”. Since I felt pain, even talking seemed harder.
I remember when you took me to the hospital when I had a stomach ache. A black fat doctor said, “She has tapeworms and so I recommend her taking this medicine. By taking one pill everyday after lunch, she will be all set in a matter of days. The pills are sweet and, with a girl like her, be careful that she doesn’t treat them as candy”.
You made sure that you followed the fat black doctor’s instructions not to put the pills in a place where I could reach them. Without knowing, I went and got them anyway. In addition, I chewed about half the amount of pills from the vial. As we all know what goes in some how it must go out...and so it did.
Was it the pills that came out? Of course no. Something much worse came as the result. I remember screaming “MOM” when I was doing number two in the bathroom. Live,long, healthy tapeworms were dropping from you know where. Some of them too fat to pass through easily and so they needed a little pull.
What did Mom do? Well nothing, other than put on a pair of gloves and give a hand to the fat tapeworms that were stuck in my behind. She too was shocked and disappointed at herself for putting that vial of pills in a place that I could reach. I think she was thankful for her little trouble that happened knowing that worse could have happened when a person is overdosed.
Were Mom and I close? Well, it depends. I mean, I loved my Mom. Don’t get me wrong, but I would rather finish the cooking game with kids from my neighborhood before I come to say “Hi Mom” when she comes home from work. I didn’t see her last night because she came home late and I hadn’t seen her the following morning because she left too early. But...a bag of popcorn always changes the odds around. She would come home from work with a bag of popcorn in her hand and when I see it I had no choice but to say, “Goodbye” and “Don’t follow me home because I won’t share my popcorn with you. If you would rather watch me eat, then you’re welcome” I would say to my friends. Without being asked I will say. “Hi Mom”. After she responds “Hi” back, I extend my hand straight ,in a sign that says, “May I have some popcorn please”? She will make me go to the kitchen and grab a bowl. Other bowls will fall off from the cabinet but will I care? No..Why? Because I am in a hurry. Friendship doesn’t matter anymore, it’s only Mom and I enjoying some salty popcorn on the front porch of our house. then she will tell me to not go far because supper will be ready very soon.
Yes I remember. I have to remember. Mom is no longer with me and I am seventeen years old. I am writing about how it was twelve years ago. I remember the life of a short chubby girl. She had very short rough black hair. She had puffy cheeks like she had stuffed some pudding in them. She had a big fat belly button that made almost every shirt she wore seem to look a little small for her in the front. She belonged to a tall, light colored skinned lady that referred to herself as Mom. A lady with a little opening in her front teeth as she smiles. She had dimples on each cheek and a few freckles on her nose. Now this girl lives life without Mom; a girl who is about 5’2” tall. She has long black hair that is long enough to touch her shoulders. Her cheeks are a little bit more slim. Her belly button is very small, sinking into her stomach. Since the days are drooling like honey from a lazy spoon and Mom is no longer here, I have no choice but to remember that little girl’s life because it’s the only treasure that her Mom has left her with.