COVER -> MY GLASS HOUSE
IN FLIGHT (Over the Atlantic Ocean) - 5 June , 2001 - The last thing I did on Bermudian soil was cry. I had not planned it that way. I had just told Rudell, my sister-in-law, that I had had a wonderful trip, that it was good to spend some time with she and my brother, Leon, again, that I was relieved to have fulfilled my obligation to grant my mother's wish to see me, but that I had endured some horrible moments on this trip.
My mother, as his her way, went to great lengths to treat me like a servant during my entire visit. She seems to love demonstrating to other people how compliant and uncomplaining I could be. Step, fetch, roll over, play dead. When Rudell's family arrived yesterday, after having me perform, my mother even went as far as releasing me by exclaiming before them, "All right. Now you are dismissed.".
It would have been humorous if it was not her continual mode of communicating with me for the entire three weeks.
Rudell and I discussed this behavior during our ride to the airport. She tried to explain to me that my mother carried a lot of baggage, that there were so many areas and events of my mother's life that my mother denied and meant to mitigate by retelling history in a new version.
Rudell reminded me of the many beatings of my childhood, and how she and Leon had confronted my mother about how brutally they had beaten me for things I didn't do, for infractions of my younger siblings.
This was difficult for me. I've submerged that part myself. I have learned to tell myself that that part doesn't matter, it's all the other stuff that I need resolvled. Ha-ha!
I guess I had (despite all the evidence) hoped for something better this time. I hoped that she would show some appreciation for my thinking it important to grant what I had taken as her "last" wish. I had come as the penitent, I even apologized to my mother on the day arrived for all the years we had lost because of my hurt and angry refusal to communicate. I was committed not to let the past shape any of what they way I treated her or reacted to her... Clean slate. No recriminations, no anger.
In all the stories my mother recounted, all the gossip, there was never a mention of the years of my childhood when I still lived with my family. She did once refer to my paternal grandmother, once, but that was it. In my mother's recollections of her life, shared with me alone and with others, I noticed, the years from my own birth until I left home were never mentioned.
She very often referred to me in the third person while I was seated in the same vehicle or in the same room, as if I were not there even then.
Her characterizations of me where consistent throughout; ugly, old, crazy, godless, stupid, foolish.
When I did not respond, visibly, to the ritual of my torture, my brother or sister-in-law sometimes would. Example:
MY MOTHER: Bhai, come here and get me the yellow bowl up in the cabinet.ROD: Yes, Ma'am. (I open the cabinet and reach up to where there are three yellow bowls.)
MY MOTHER: NOT THAT ONE, STUPID! The big green bowl is what I want!
ROD: Yes, Ma'am. (I retrieve the green bowl.)
RUDELL: Momma, why are you calling Rod stupid? You told him to get a yellow bowl, I heard you!
MY MOTHER: (Silence.)
(Rudell and I exchange glances.)
"Leon has never understood why they treated you that way," Rudell has confided to me. "It must have been something that was going on between your mother and father at the time, but they've always taken it out on you..."
(ASIDE: Some of you have probably noted that I always refer to this woman formally, as "my mother," rather than the Momma, Mom, etc. that most people normally use. Take that for what it means.)
On our way to the airport, Rudell asked me about a particular element of my parents' relationship when I was child. I had to confess to her that I wouldn't know, that I have submerged large portions of my childhood -- entire stretches of years. I remember very little of the details of my childhood prior to age 10, what I know (with the exception of a few horrific individual instances) I have reconstructed from other people's stories. I admitted to Rudell that when not hiding in a closet (ages 6 - 8) when people would visit our family, to avoid having my parents make me perform, I lived in a fantasy world. Those few times I ventured out of my fantasy world, of imaginary friends, an imaginary future, "adventures" in the ancient world fully peopled with historical figures, animals, events --- when I was not in my fantasy world, I was always very afraid. I was especially afraid of my parents. I didn't want to know too much about them at all...
Now that is done. Bermuda and history are behind me and I am on a plane as I type this to you. I am flying back to the States just long enough to take a flight to London and the unknown. I shall visit Fliss, Kevin, Sue in Britain, maybe dash over to Scotland or Ireland, then push on to Belgrade. I have met my familial obligation, so I am free to go as far as it takes, to risk as much as is left, to strike forth with nothing left to lose...
I'm riding on a sling-shot on this oddyssey. Bermuda to Baltimore on USAir (my Mom's ticket,) BWI to Penn Station New York City on AmTrak (my meagre dime forward into The Dream,) stop at 11 Madison Plaza (below the Credit Suisse offices at 11 Madison Avenue) to have two quick martinis with my programmer friend LARS KEFFERSTAN before the Tel Aviv car service picks me up to go to JFK where I take a British Airways flight to London. (OH SHIT! THE FLIGHT IS DELAYED OVER AN HOUR! FLISS WILL HAVE TO WAIT! I need a Scotch --- near an outlet to recharge my laptop...)
I have left the middle of the Atlantic Ocean to fly back across it. There is something wrong with this picture.
British Airways does not offer its discount flights from Bermuda. Lars is used to travelling First Class; he gets me a great car service that will eat my money. But he did spring for the Kettle One martinis. That is something.
Oh cool. There's an electrical outlet in the airport bar, where I can suck Pall Malls, too... And wait to fly away into The Dream.
Paladin
My mother would tell me about people we'd meet who didn't remember me, for whom I was a veritable stranger, though we had met during my childhood.
"I'm a stranger wherever I go, Mom," I said, "to everyone I meet."
So now I'm the stranger in London...
As I type this, on Saturday afternoon, Felicity is preparing for the party she is throwing tonight as I have arrived in the UK, from the US, as has her cousin, Laila, and Laila's boyfriend, Garreth, from South Africa. I have been debating during the entire time I was working on this edition if I should conclude with Fliss's party.
SUNDAY EVENING, THE TRAIN FROM BRIGHTON: I thought that was a good idea. It would provide balance, but I had too good a time at the party and then had to dash off to Sussex and the Brighton coast. Like Dover, Sussex is a place of chalk hills. Brighton, the seaside city made so popular by George III's Prince Regent, is where I went to dinner with KEVIN and Margaret CAREY, Fliss and Kevin's co-worker Rosario. Rosario had visited the Czech Republic and could tell me more about Eastern Europe; she thinks I shall like what I find in Belgrade.
I made a tape of some of the proceedings at Felicity's party which I'd meant to transcribe and include here. So I shall save that recounting for later. Felicity threatened to write her own recount of what happened and what I am like, but I warned her that I cannot be judged in my own domain.
THINGS I LOVE THIS WEEK
1. The welcoming nature of Felicity Ussher's hospitality, considering that we have been "virtual" friends these many years.2. Having successfully broken The G21 Curse of never meeting "my" writers face-to-face.
3. Receiving wonderful e-mails that have become more like letters, and less like the usual clipped notes, from friends back in the States.
4. Getting back to being able to say "Things I Love This Week."
5. Meeting Kevin and Margaret Carey, two other middle-aged radicals, merrily ensconced in an otherwise Tory village in the charming English countryside. (Yes, I loved Brighton.)
Thanks for coming back this week.
"Work like you don't need the money,
"Love like you've never been hurt,
"Dance like no one is watching..."
Rod
Our Editor does listen!