Banana in the asphalt

Last night leaving my best friend’s house after a night of delicious foodings and Kinect: Dance Central, I had to question my mommy-ness yes, once again. My son Tye, whom I usually have to remind to bring a jacket, remembers on this of all nights. It had to be 30 degrees below zero as we are leaving the condominiums, in the Marina. Or so it felt like 30 degrees below. I underestimate my dear California weather and as we hit the door to the parking structure, wind chill nearly knocks me over. I come bearing an artsy grey short-sleeved crochet cardigan, slight cleavage in my undershirt, black knee high-boots, a ponytail, and tight black leggings. Geared up for dance—mind you. I now contemplate asking my 11-year-old son for his jacket, am I a bad mother?

“Tye, don’t you wanna let mommy wear your jacket-real quick?”

“Yea, mom, here.” As he hands me his jacket, my cheeks feel the crisp of the air.

Now comes the guilt.

“Nahh, never mind. It’s cool; I was jus’ playin,’” I say to him after feeling so bad having to ask him for his jacket.

To appease, distract, and to counteract the cold, I begin shouting out ridiculously nonsensical commentary, again, as loud as I could, as we walk through the parking lot. It was that cold in a way that makes you want to curse and do things you never thought of.

“It’s like a worm in a basket- cold!!” I scream in the echo of the parking lot. My son looks at me strange smiling. I brrrrr and complain on. I, like others are under the false impression that if you complain about something that it’s going to get better. We walk along the structure. There’s a slight descent of pavement.

“It’s like the sun on a Monday- cold!!!” Again I scream—in my rambunctious voice- my son now beaming with joy.

“It’s like a–” my foot twists in some wretched twirl stuck in the decline of the slope and a crack. I lose my bearings in a break dance meets Soulja Boi’s Supahman dat hoe,’ and I crumble to the ground.

The first thing I can think of is “if only I hadn’t disobeyed the gods – forgetting my jacket, complaining about it… …” I realize in the pause for reaction after falling, that the second you understand that you are going asunder and there is not even one thing you can do about it – and you know nothing, the world goes in a surprisingly slow-motion.

I look up to my son in such laughter. I can tell that he is attempting to point at me, but his laughter is so heavy that he cannot pull his arm up high enough.

“It’s like a banana in the asphalt- cold!!!” My son screeches at the top of his lungs in pure laughter. I am now more embarrassed than any other moment. In the laugh he says again…

“The Gods shouldn’t have done you like that!” as he holds his stomach. Face now as ‘ready-red’ as mine.

I stand to my feet. The whole way home in the car I blamed Tye for “stepping on a crack trynna break his mother’s back.” Apparently there was a running joke of “the cherry that broke the camel’s back,” and my “cold and broke-legged-ness” as well. There was even mention of “you thought you were bad, now you’re worse.”

Come to think of it, it really is as clandestine as a “banana in the asphalt,” and funnily so– some divine something or other made that one of my best night’s in a while. I mean when is the last time you can actually say in your adult life, that you’ve taken a fall in a moment where you least expected it? Does it even happen to you? Today I am buying a better space heater for my complaining, and sitting here with my ankle—happily throbbing.

Arguing, I mean articulating myself…

I don’t love arguments. I love intelligent nonchalant debates of opinion. Yea, I love arguing. {Insert ah well face} Sometimes it’s just to prove how much better I might be at articulating my perspective, and if I lose–I want to try again.

The moment when I render someone speechless–win!

But here’s the thing and if I may quote Edward Gibbon “I never make the mistake of arguing with people whose opinions I have no respect.” Such is true. Last night, there was an argument. I rarely lose those fun ones I don’t see coming—and usually they’re my favorite, but I was defeated. In spirit, in wit, and in perspective. I was unable to get my antagonist to understand or acknowledge any wrongdoing whatsoever, when I was more than willing to profess the cracks in my own fault line.

It reminded me of when I was a child, maybe 11, I can’t remember how old. I was trying to show my mom this puzzle-brainteaser thingamabobjiggy that I’d figured out all on my own. I was off on a tangent doing it just fine and then when I wanted to brag to show her that I’d finally cracked the code and she’d created an absolute genius, I couldn’t do it. This particular time, I kept trying… trying so much that I burst into tears of sheer disgust with myself. Of course as most mothers she said

“O honey, you did it once, you’ll do it again,”

I stomped off full of fiery redness because (to me) she didn’t believe me! She didn’t believe I’d done it. There is nothing more angersome (yea, I just made up that word) than trying to tell someone something that you’re not sure they believe. This was what made me irate about my argument last night—which in turn, caused me to lose.

It made me want to scream. But because I’m a poised, self-respecting, peachy- bright colored and fascinated with myself type of individual… I could not let that happen. I proceeded to tell my opponent that everything spoken was in fact a truism, and that I had no fight left. Really, I have a lot of fight left–but just as most lawyers don’t take on cases they don’t think they can win, I felt there was no belief or possibility of understanding left.  Everything in my argumentative history proved that the words spoken from that point forward would only be misinterpretations.

That was what actually caused me to scream in my ruffle pillow with the covers over my head. Poise gone. And then my eleven year old walked in with a yellow teacup, steaming hot. I read the string of the tea. Calm.

It’s supposed to get easier right?

It’s supposed to get easier right? After it gets harder. Ah. Hiatus. The kind where you talk to yourself and swear off everyone. I’m back. No bigger understanding or gig. No greater outlook or resolution. Just writing. Reading. Learning. Every day I learn something new about myself. Today, I ran over a steep curb and scratched the right side of my car. I learned I shouldn’t drive with too much on my mind, or I learned that curbs should move. Anyway.

I started to remember something about someone who made a bigger impact on my life than I ever realized he did. That is, until now.  This will be one of those “you never know what you have ‘til it’s gone,” with a twist stories. I won’t tell you what November it was because my memory won’t tell me, so there have you, but it was a November. I was dating by far one of my favorite people and I was pretty young. I remember being really happy about it all at once, sort of overwhelmed. The newness, the gentle pressure that that newness has. I was going over for Thanksgiving dinner and I had no idea what to expect. This was exciting because we had a lot in common, we laughed a lot. He liked to drink which was most of the fun times I vividly remember now, although I was tipsy and acting “overly cute.” I could slap the me I was then.

The first time we went to an upscale dinner together was with my co-workers. Yay for me and this gorgeous man of mine, I thought as I’d been raving about him for so long to all of my colleagues. I had it so bad I’d even put his picture (one he didn’t know I had because I’d found it on his MySpace back when MySpace was more popular than Facebook) as my screen saver at work. Gosh, he was beautiful. Funny, win-me-over witty.  He preferred holding hands over the kissing too much– like men usually do. I liked that. We could get along with or without television, and the best thing about him was I liked the “me” I was when I was with him. I did no complaining because I was so busy being happy in the seconds. A person’s demeanor and attitude can rub off on you so quickly. So very quickly.

This guy had smooth to touch skin,  beautiful dark curly hair, and either had a bottle of an alcoholic beverage to his mouth, or his middle finger stuck up. What? I wasn’t that good of a girl always. Anywho. The dinner was great… he held conversation, he looked happy even if he wasn’t, and nothing embarrassing happened. Like I said great. But to this day the one thing I remember most was the way he smelled and what he wore. First, the man smelled like heaven. Heaven, heavenly things that skip on clouds and some type of weak your knees to need crutches,  yes the man smelled so good I had to beg myself not to act a damn fool. Yes. And two, he was well dressed. I’d had dreams of my Husband wearing linen. Why? I don’t know because I’m a “Restoration Hardware” –“Real Simple” –  “Banana Republic” typea girl. And because, well, because linen is the ultimate relaxed-beachy, let’s walk around the sunset a bit and talk about your goals type of wear. Whatever, it gets me gooey. And he wore an off-white button down with a pocket. He was, without a doubt, my dream guy in this outfit.

By the time dinner was over I had fallen in love about eighty-one times. He spoke when spoken to, unlike me jabbering off at the mouth any chance I could. He threw in a few impressive words and things he’d experienced, and he even gave me his light overcoat to keep warm as we were leaving. By the next time we ate a formal dinner, that November, I noticed a complete change. This setting was actually the real him. He was comfortable, not complacent like what I always fear, but comfortable. We were eating at his Uncle’s house, which was huge and decorated, and Thanksgiving was fancy enough. I liked his family an awful lot.

What I realized was that somewhere in the getting to know you process– dynamics change. Personalities change,  the things you love about a person—it all changes. What’s important is not if you love a person, but do you love the way a person changes and adapts? Do you love who a person becomes when they don’t know anyone is looking? Do you like someone who has only one specific goal all day? Laughter and drunkenness. Practicality was not my friend and I later found that the very things I loved about him were the very things I despised later. Ugh, and his breath. Too much alcohol gives you a “swallowed skunk” smell, directly after brushing your teeth-even.

What I’m saying is that the perfect picture turned out to be just an imperfect idea. I wished we could’ve remained friends. Unfortunately, I began to feel him pull back and went into save-face mode which is colloquial for childish—“you don’t call me I won’t call you…” and then, silence ate us up like a magic trick. That and the fact that I suspected he was dating another girl whose name happened to be Leilani. What were the odds? Quite high for me actually.

There is no perfect love that you hear people talk about. The only thing that a person can work to get better at is a reaction. A reaction to everything that happens. Because even if it lasts or if it doesn’t… the only thing you’ll remember is your partner’s reactions. Make them good ones. I sure haven’t.