interesting rambles and tons of memories. in Musings

“why do you want to go back home to the ghetto with your mom?” Alex said.

“BECAUSE I FUCKIN’ NEED TO!” I said drunkenly. “Babe, but you have a nice place and she lives so far away” he said grabbing my hand as he drove down the FDR. “Let’s take you home” he said as he kissed my hand.

My mind raced— Before I could afford Louboutins and have a Birkin bag—I was living in the fucking slums, buying Newport 100’s and nickel bags of weed. Before I was able to buy an apartment with you, and be a partner at a boutique salon in Flatiron, I was broke as fuck and dyed my H&M clothing black to look neat, now I’m decked out in labels. The fuck you mean why I want to go home to my mother? Before she lives where she lives, I would struggle so fucking hard and cry myself to sleep thinking I had abandoned her and now where she lives is deducted from my credit card each FIRST of the month, and she buys food with the credit card I made her under my account. What the fuck do you mean why I want to see her? what the fuck do you mean why the fuck I want to go to the ghetto? Nigga, because I came from there…Because my fucking sweat, blood and tears is the place she lives in… because I killed myself to give my mom HALF of the life she gave me…

I got out of his car— granted I’m in the ghetto of Harlem and I look like a fucking rich faggot.... I’m wearing all black, a long sheer duster, a pair of spikey loafers, a nude birkin bag and gold necklaces dangling off on neck, diamonds sparkling on my fingers, and Alex ran to me and as I tripped over my duster he grabbed me and shoved me to the door of my mother’s building. He ran back to turn off the ignition on his beamer and a crackhead came over to me and asked me for money. “No! He doesn’t have anything” Alex said as he grabbed my wrist.

I snatched my wrist from his hand and dug in my bag and gave the crackhead a 20$ bill.

Alex dragged me into my mom’s building. “You’re fucking wrecked!” he said as he put his arm around my waist. “Why the fuck are you here? You fucking abuser!” I said as I climbed the stairs. “Leave me the fuck alone” I said flailing my arms.

He grabbed my bag and held it in his arms. I opened the door to my mother’s apartment and I see her making food, furiously. “Baby! I didn’t expect you so soon!” she said as she wrapped her arms around me and laid her head on my chest “I’m just making food now”

“Thanks Mami” I said as I kissed her hair. “I’m not hungry” I said.

She pulled off of my chest as I grabbed my bag out of Alex’s arms. “Why the fuck is he here Andres?!” She said furiously. “Mami, stop!” I whimpered. “He’s here stop, please stop” I said as I threw my bag on the kitchen counter and pulled Alex next to me. “Andres Felipe Maldonado–“she said gritting her teeth “I said why is he fucking here?” her hazel eyes dilated in anger “I will not tolerate him or accept him here, you understand me?!” she said as she backed away from me angrily… “Mami!” I said as I moved closer to her. “Mami, he drove me here to you, you don’t have to like him or understand, but he’s paying a large sum of alimony monthly and I love him, you don’t have to get it Mami, just ignore him with me and be cool” I said in Spanish. “Baby, I’m not going to accept someone who beat you, drugged you, made my child feel worthless! No matter what you say” she retorted in Spanish. “If you respect me as your mother, parent, and friend, you need to tell him to leave” she said in such an angry Spanish tone. “Mami, please?!” I said holding on to her. “Tell that scumbag to fucking leave my house and my fucking sight now, or I’m just going to the room and we will have a talk about the reasons I don’t ever want to see him in my house or near you again!” she said in Spanish. “Mami—” I said. “Mami—Fucking God damn nothing!” she said as she pushed away from me.”You might forgive him because you have a fucking beautiful, but weak heart” she said as she jabbed her pointer finger on my chest “but I will never, ever forgive him seeing you almost dead in a bathtub, bruised everywhere” she said in Spanish seething. “Tell him now to fucking leave, because I’m seconds away from digging my nails into his face and stabbing him” she said as her eyes turned from hazel to Olive as she turned to see a butcher knife laying on the kitchen counter. “I will kill him right here and go to jail for the rest of my life Andres Felipe!” she said as her eyes welled with tears “I know you papito, you have such a kind heart and you forgive very easy, but that’s something that comes from your grandmother—I don’t forgive that good for nothing son of a bitch” she said as her face turned red.

I told Alex to leave and wait for me in the car. As my mother ripped into him, he looked down to his feet. “Okay Andy” he said as he kept his head lowered, “I’m sorry Mrs. Maldonado” he whispered to my mother as he walked out of my mother’s apartment defeated.

My mom became from the jolly ‘making food for her baby’ happy, to this extremely vicious, protector. I’ve never in my life have seen my mother that blank-faced… I’ve never seen her eyes change colors so quickly and ravenously.

When he left she grabbed my bag and dug into it to find my cigarettes.
She pulled one out and lit it on the stove. “I don’t get it Andres” she said inhaling the Marlboro light. “You know I don’t say this to anyone because I’m very honest papito” she said exhaling. “But you’re so handsome, you’re so successful, and it’s not because you’re my son—but because I’ve seen it!” she said as she sat down “You make men, women, children’s head turn!” she said holding my hand “And I’ll be honest, I think you’re really handsome, but you have a big nose, you dress a little weird—but ever since you were little people have always looked at you and said ‘your son is really, really gorgeous’ and I would say ‘oh thank you, god bless him’ and I see that you are attractive, but I’ve never been that blind mother to think that you were god’s gift to man” she said as she pulled me on to her lap.

“But maybe I’m blind, because I just see you as my Andres,,my snot nosed brat and I’ve always looked at you like ‘yeah, my son from birth to adult is gorgeous’ but I also see all your faults and your ugliness” she said holding me on her lap. “But what I’ve always seen as your ugliness is that you just give and give and forgive” she said as she pulled my chin to face her “I think that you are handsome, but it’s not that you’re ugly, but it’s just that this forgiving, it’s okay if you hurt me trait of yours, is your god damn ugly trait” she said as she pinched my chin hard to her face.

“Mami!” I said with tears in my eyes “If I never forgave, I wouldn’t love you and take care of you, because I lived in a shelter because you didn’t accept me as gay” I said “And I’m not trying to disrespect you because you’re my idol, my queen, my life, but I could never harbor bad feelings for you because I grew up and gave you a second chance and I had to forgive you, not for you…but for my own happiness” I said as she wiped the tears off of my eyes.

“I know…” she whispered… “that’s why you’ve always been handsome and ugly to me” she said as she kissed my chin where the tears dripped off “I don’t know if it’s good or bad, I just know that its one of your ugliest traits” she said as she held me “you’re ugly to me not because you aren’t physically attractive, but because, I don’t know what I did wrong or maybe what I did right, you just don’t care about yourself and allow anyone, everyone to beat you down and you just get up and ask for more” she said as she hugged me.

“Please don’t think that your mami doesn’t think you’re fucking gorgeous” she said as she stood up and held my hand. “I just think you’re ugliest trait is that you’re such a dupe, you’re so stupid and you love everyone else, but yourself…always, even as a kid” she said as she pursed her lips frowning. “You’d let kids play in your sand when you were building castles, and then help them” she paused “and it’s not because you thought they were better or because you thought you were wrong” she said as she turned off the fire on the stove “it was just because you were happy if someone shined, even if you had to push them to shine” she said as she leaned against the stove…“That was my experience with you as my son, they would envy you because you were always a cute kid, but you were beautiful cause you were always so nice, and thats what made you ugly to me” she said as she dug in my bag and found another cigarette.

“Don’t get me wrong papito, you dress weird but you’ve always carried yourself beautifully and you’re the only child after your sister that I’ve ever looked at physically and thought ‘damn, my son is fucking stunning’ I don’t think that of Ana or Danny… everyone who comes to my house has something to say about your pictures” she said as she pursed her lips to a frame behind me.

A picture of me in 7th grade.

“I mean look at you in 7th grade… look at Ana and Danny in 7th grade” she said as she pointed to pictures on a table “You never went through an awkward stage, you were always handsome, even with braces” she said as she wrapped her arm around my waist “I mean look at those pictures! I love Ana and Danny, but they grew up to be cute, you were always cute, even though according to your journals you never thought you were attractive!” she cackled.

“MOM! YOU READ MY JOURNALS!” I exclaimed. “I sure did!” she said crossing her arms “I didn’t know you in your teens, all of my fault, ignorance and homophobia!” she said as she pulled my arm over her head and nestled into my armpit “What I see as ugly, and as a fault, I also see as what I’m always scared of with you” she said. “I can’t believe you read my journals!”I sighed angrily. “You’re so handsome, even when I didn’t know you were gay, girls would flock to me… and now that you’re gay, I see boys flocking to you” She said as she walked me to the living room. “You know why Andres Felipe?!” She said “Cause you don’t know why!” she said laughing. “I raised you to be so humble that you have no idea and maybe NOW you have an inkling of a clue, you just don’t know how attractive you are to anyone!” she said smiling at me as she patted the seat next to her down for me to sit next to her. “Even my mother before she passed and met you, you remember your Abuela and how crazy she was about you?—She told me ‘you’re biggest trouble as a mother with him is going to be that he’ll live in the shadows, barely understanding his true potential—it’s something you can never get him out of—you don’t need to understand him, just love him and nurture how “Humilde y generoso” he is” Mom said… I don’t know how to translate those two words because in English they lose there meanings completely but translated it’s just “humble and generous” but in English they don’t have the same kind of weight and meaning it does in Spanish.

Also, my mother told me that my grandmother was insanely in love with me, which was strange because she wasn’t very close to any of her other grandchildren, even Danny or Ana (my siblings)… and my Grandmother had 23 children and she never treated any of those grandchildren the way she treated me, which makes sense now as an adult why all my cousins hated the fuck out of me even though I was a loner ,they would throw dirt on me, when they would play with me I was always, always the odd man out, they always made me “it” or the “goose” or they would make it so I would always lose… and my grandmother would just walk over to me and grab my hand and take me with her to cook or clean, she also took me—I remember vividly— to the back of her farm and I remember my mom begging my grandmother to stop… but she disregarded her…

Grandma took me to the farm to a cow… she had a machete… She approached the cow and told me “Andrecito, stand back. Pray to God my litte one” in Spanish. She grabbed the cow, twisted its neck and simultaneously slit it’s throat… I remember blood bursting on to my feet because I wore these fancy New York City sandals…I stood there shocked and scared and watched the cow drop to its knees…

My Grandmother looked at me as the cow’s life force escaped it and she said “To exist in this world, something has to give up it’s life so that we can exist” and I remember crying… I remember being terrified… I remember feeling utter sadness because that cow was the cow I rode and fed grass to and learned how to milk…

That night Grandma made some sort of beef stew and I did not eat… My mother was hysterical “How could you do that to that poor little boy! He’s not from the farms! He’s a city kid!” I was completely stunned and traumatized…

Grandma came to me and I even felt weird about her because I was a city kid, my beef came from packages at C-Town or Fine Fare… I didn’t know that it was a living thing.... Grandma came to me and I felt weird about her, cause to me she was a murderer and she stood next to me and said these exact words “Some animals have to give their life so that other animals can exist, I don’t expect you to understand it now, but when you become a young man—you’ll hear your Abuelas voice” she said as I looked up at her. Her eyes were soft and clear like honey… as she kneeled down to me, she smelled like cilantro and baby shampoo. As she brushed my hair off my forehead she said “be the man that other men don’t know(crece hacer el hombre que los otros hombres ni conocen)” she said. I don’t remember much of that night except that I wasn’t hungry or sleepy, I was scared and anxious… I just remember her scent… cilantro and baby shampoo with a tinge of tobacco and firewood. Somehow, I ate, I didn’t eat the beef stew… I ate sorrillitos that she made for me (which is fried corn meal made into little fat sticks ) with the water or the stock of the beef stew. Thats how my grandmother made me eat that night. I don’t remember much of that day except that cow death, my grossed out-ness of the food and not wanting to eat, my aunts and mother upset and frantic that I didn’t want to eat… and my grandmother meeting me in the dark of the patio as I played with hay as she smelled like cilantro and baby shampoo, which NOW as an adult I understand what she was saying— It’s the law of the land, for something to live, something has to sacrifice it’s life energy— this goes down from the grass the cow eats, to the killing of the cow to provide a life source energy for the humans to live. In our industrialized society, we don’t get to appreciate, understand or be close to the animal that has given it’s life up for us to exist—the cow is a manager’s special at $14.75 with no face and is completely disconnected to our understanding of its existence, we don’t understand that it was a living, walking, feeling being. My grandmother dragged me out to the farm and told me to pray, because she wanted me to be grateful and understand that something is forced to give up it’s life so that I can exist.

Needless to say… My grandmother and I we were inseperable… even after that murder, I loved her to pieces and maybe loved her even more than my own mother. And as I understand it as an adult now, she adored me and nurtured all of my craziness.

I mean it’s all memory lane and I was a 1st grader… I remember taking a shower and she barged in because I didn’t live in a place with no hot water. She stood in the tub with me, she was fully clothed and she would tell me “Hold your breath, I’m pouring water on you” and I remember soaping myself up quickly and shivering and she would tell me to hold my breath. No one could ever bathe me, grandma would have to bathe me.

When she passed away… I was well into the end of 1st grade…

I didn’t really understand death…

I was in the living room where she would sit and sow clothing…but she was in an open coffin…

I remember my mom trying to make me understand death… but I didn’t understand it, because grandma always told me that nothing ever dies, it’s just the body, everything exists outside of us and just like the cow that was killed it’s life existed in me or in general, as an adult now, I understand that in my grandmother’s very rudimentary way wanted me to understand that energy can never be created or destroyed.

I would look at my grandmother’s dead body in the coffin… and to me she wasn’t dead, because I dreamed of her… I would talk to her by myself… I would see her…

And my mother would freak out, when I told her that my grandmother told me something—which was that she had a very bad miscarriage and she almost died because of it, this spirit told me that my mother was 13 at the time and my oldest aunt who helped deliver this miscarriage, she lived past the yellow flowers on a dirt road with a river that had fresh water crabs that she would bring to my grandma. I remember telling my mom that when I was young… and she was completely flabbergasted, because I never went to that aunt’s house and that miscarriage was a complete secret that only the women of the family knew and it was never spoken about.

Shortly after those apparations of my grandmother happened my mother took me to a psychologist. I never told the psychologist anything about that spirit that guarded me, for some reason I knew not to because I would be taken away from my home. The psychologist tried to take me away from my mother… because I was constantly sick… I had chicken pox for the 2nd time....I was anemic, I would bruise and the bruise would expand so much. I was always sick from my stomach, I went to a nutrionist who did accupuncture on me because I was always severely sick… not regular kid sick… like every other week 103.5 fever, vomitting, with congestion, ear aches and doctors would run tests on me and didn’t find anything wrong.

My mother then took me to a Santera (a witch doctor) who said that I was always sick because my spirit was open and although there was something good next to me, it opens other gates that want to absorb me and overtake me, and drain my life source.

A good witch doctor never charges for her services, especially with children… so my mother was only to pay 5-10$ for the remedies the Santera recommended and more often than not, the Santera would just give it to my mother in return my mother had to offer a prayer.

I remember bathing in these herbs and every night being branded with a blue stone that left blue dust on my chest…

I mean I don’t know if it helped…maybe I was just a second hand smoke child, or maybe I was a child that had spirit gates open. I did start becoming less sickly—maybe it was because my mom stopped smoking for a while or maybe it was because the brujeria (witchcraft) was repelling the bad shit that wanted to overtake me, maybe it helped that my mom divorced my father completely and was able to attain government help and I ate better, MAYBE. I don’t know. I can’t rule it out.

Even still ‘til this day…when I broke up with Christopher and I was so down and out… I would see a shadow next to me…because I was so spiritually weak.
I had an outer body experience and I remember seeing my body in my bed and rushing out the window, because I was excited to experience everything…

I remember dreaming that I couldn’t breath anymore, and my spirit rode on the top of a bus, and jumped on the top of cars and I remembering saying “Andy, just keep breathing, I’ll be right there!” and I felt my breathing getting heavier and shallower…
I finally reached my body and laid down on top of it… and I said “Hey! I’m here!” but I couldn’t go back in my body and I looked to the window and that shadow was a man… he was tall and lanky… he walked with his shoulders low causing him a slight hunch…

He said something to me and I just kept trying to wake myself up....

I woke up because my dog jumped on my stomach and growled in my face, when I woke up my dog barked at the window and I freaked out.

I mean just like my mom says… I half believe and I half don’t. I really don’t have proof except for my experience and who’s to say that my experience is valid when I experienced a traumatic event of a break up, but then who’s to say my experience is invalid because I had experienced a traumatic event; the gates of my soul were exposed to anything that it would naturally just fend off and then I was just a vessel for anything seeking a life source weak enough to host it.

who knows.