Fight Stories

 Fight Stories

A short trip down for a memorial

For my childhood friend’s daughter.

Decided to make a stop,

To see my mom

On my way to the airport…..

She asked me if I could help her put a chain around her neck.

As I did this, she looked up and said:

I told Tom, you know what would make this necklace much prettier?”

“A diamond” she says to me. 

I do my normal eye rolling in the back of my eyes.

Then she says, “you know I used to have a necklace with a diamond on it.”

I said, “Oh, really?” (another behind the socket eye roll)

Yeah, she says. I was at the beach, on the sand with my towel, and this girl comes up to me and says, “I saw you showing off your fat ass to my boyfriend. Then, she starts laying into me”. 

My eyes in the back of my sockets stop rolling, instead they squint.

“Mom, I say, were you guys fighting on the beach in your bikinis?”

“Yeah” she says. “And she ripped off my necklace and I lost my diamond”. 

“Oh my gosh”, I think I say. “I never knew that story.” 

“Yeah, she was a fucking bitch”, my mom says. 

Then, I share with her my four fight stories.

And later, at lunch with my sister, after I get her to retell her fight story, my sister shares her fight story. My sister says, “yeah, I put her in an ambulance”. 

We remininsce some more, about how this trait has passed down three generations to my nieces. 

Estrogen, Testosterone and Adrenaline must run strong in our family  ;)

Big Picture

 

Big Picture

I'm trying

to keep my,

jet plane rides, closing eyes,

rental cars and family ties.

Away from open tabs and lesson plans,

Navigating trans,

LA, Orange, and San Diego lines,

Negating adolescent confines

Trying to listen,

To connect,

In front of screens,

buzzing off adds,

frightening fads

judgy hosts,

pathetic roasts.

She's still there.

In all her flare.

Bright orange hair.

Deeply planted chair.

It's hard to speak, hear, or share,

When a TV continues to blare,

Guttfeld, Hannity, Trump and Fox news,

Republican foos

It's not her choice,

All of this noise

She mutters something - 

In there,

Breaking my stare.

I try

to make,

to shake,

this buzz off-

to grasp something, 

anything,

To have a moment.

Awaken myself,

herself,

but it is so hard to breakaway from the trance,

Turn to her, I glance,

maybe remember,

Or, merely be together,

Face to face,

In common space.

There is so much more,

I should, could and would

be doing, 

but I planned for this.

I need to grade, write letters of rec,

plan for my son's college next year,

but I'm sitting here,

on my rear..

Time feels so, so, so,

slippery,

these days,

Changing phase

She is more bent, hardened,

muscles tightened,

mass caving inward.

Her bright orange hair,

is fluffy,

cut in sharpened corners,

around her ears,

brown/black eyeliner,

underlining her blackening eyes.

I try to wake up,

there must be,

something we can do to connect?

A puzzle, a pizza, paper plates,

Baileys and decaffeinated coffee.

Grampie's Joe Biden, LGBTQ+ tirade putters,

he stutters and stammers down the peeling hallway

collapsing into a steady snore

Before he leaves, he changes the channel,

from Guttfeld to a drama,

playing out between a couple,

spiraling away from one another.

She says, "I'm sorry, I'm boring"...

"Getting old sucks"

"Are you sure you don't want some Bailey's? Or something else?"

“No thank you,” I say, 

hug her tight, 

and say,

“Good night.”