Book of Flawz II
Remembered Touch Recalling Feel
I must admit I still feel some type of way about cutting my wrist open. It's like a remembered touch with a recalling feel. It’s like my arm still remembers it so maybe I should say that we both still feel some type of way about it.
If that makes any sense? Hope you can see where I'm coming from.
I never thought I would do such a thing as attempt suicide. Just like I never thought that our mother could have no love for her baby boy who worship the ground she walked on. That's my mother how could I not?
Let me put this into perspective. Lend me your ear for a minute please.
I was born at 5:55 PM. My mother told me that she would crave Mexican food the whole time she was pregnant with me. That was me. To this day she still goes to her favorite Mexican restaurant called “Tina’s” when she goes back to California to visit. The same place I would always order taquitos from every time she allowed me to accompany her there. She went there faithfully as I ordered my taquitos with the same faith. They never let me down. I would ask for whoever was at the counter to thank the goddess who took the time to put that delicious, shredded beef in that roll tortilla just for my taste buds to be happy to be my taste buds. And they supplied ketchup too! Thank you Tina. And it just so happens that my favorite singer is named Tina also. The late great Tina Marie. I thought the planets were aligned at the exact moment we pulled into that parking spot. Every time. Still do. But I knew the tooth fairy wasn't real. That's just ridiculous.
But anyway.
Tina was. I remember arguing my mother down that the lady that sung “Square Biz” couldn't possibly be a white lady. The song “Ooh La La La” too. Mama please, that is not a white lady singing "Square Biz."
Until my mother showed me the album cover with the track list and that B. E. A. Utiful white lady on the cover of it. I thought she must have been standing in front of the black lady who sung all the songs. Never did see the sister standing behind her (there was no black lady standing behind her). But I was in love with the white lady who sang directly from her soul to mine. Not to mention the Mexican goddess who took the time to take my taste buds into consideration when she put that shredded beef into that fried tortilla, supplied the ketchup, and was named Tina also. If black is beautiful then so is white and every other color in the spectrum. Like a rainbow. Just like a rainbow. Yeah, that's where the planets get aligned for sure. Right there at Tina’s. But there ain't no such thing as a tooth fairy. Mama please, a flying dentist?
Like I said before… my mother said she craved nothing but Mexican food when she was pregnant with me. Favorite food is Mexican food obviously. I love it. My mother introduced me to it. Another reason why I worship the ground she walked on. I would be the only one in our family who would go to the grocery store with her when she went grocery shopping. Anybody else who went with her for the first time would never do it again. It was always a minimum of two hours when my mom went grocery shopping. Always. For me I enjoyed it because that was our quality mother and son time. I would calculate the cost and keep her informed about how much she was spending. She would call me her human calculator. Before we went, she would tell me not to let her go over $200. She would also tell me not to even think about asking for some candy when we got to the register. She would threaten to beat the shit out of me if I did. And believe me she would. I made that fatal mistake once but never again.
She caught me by surprise. When I asked that once and final time she smiled and said ‘Sure. What would you like?” I chose some peanut M&Ms. She bought them like everything was fine. I gratefully thanked her. I was so happy. When we got into the car, she transformed into “Lady Lucifer”. She beat the Fuck out of me in that car, hitting me once with every word. “Don’t. You. Ever. In. Your. Life. Ever. Again. Ask. Me. To. Buy. You. Anything. In. Front. Of. The. Fucking. Cashier. Ever. Again. Ever. Ever. That was 24 hits for 24 words.
I was traumatized right then and there. I was eight years old. I hurt physically for days and emotionally for years. I didn't even see it coming. But believe me I never asked again. Ever. But I would still go to the store with her because it was the only time, we spent time together. Let me show you how God began to fill in the void in my life from the loss of my family. I mentioned this in “Decent Amongst” Chapter 5 of book one.
The cashier noticed that I never asked for anything. She thought I was so cute. I would get the bags, push the cart, was well mannered, quiet, blushed every time she winked at me, but never asked for candy. All the other kids did but me. She asked why one day why. I froze. She saw the look on my face and immediately apologized. I was terrified. My whole demeanor changed instantly. I didn't know what to do. Before I knew it I was crying. She apologized like ten times and gave me a hug. She held me for the longest time and kept talking to my mother and apologizing for making me cry. She didn't mean to. She felt so bad she just wouldn't let go of me. Eventually I cheered up.
When we got to the car I was so embarrassed. It pissed me off too. I didn't say a word the whole ride home. And my mom could see it on my face. A couple of days later I went to the store by myself to get something for my mom. When the cashier saw me she pulled me to the side. She apologized and ask me if my mom was hurting me and if I needed some help. I said yeah and I appreciate you asking but there's nothing you can do. I just have to wait til I get bigger and when I do she will not be able to hurt me anymore, if she don't kill me before then. I'll never forget that. But my mom didn't stop hitting me until I was about 33 years old. She slapped me 10 times in a row. I pushed her back and told her if she ever hit me again, I’ll break both her fucking arms. She never hit me again.
Took me long enough.
