Tag Archives: sex

Today is March 28, 2015. I am now 51, alive and well.

There she was in the library. About four. Wearing a red tutu with little shoes that had lace socks frothing over the top. Her brown hair hanging straight down from her center part. She says to her mother, “I want a real movie.” I think, “what does that mean? No more Toy Story? No more Shrek?”

How do we lose our innocence? And what does that even mean? Is it when we are exposed to sex and violence? When good does not always win out over evil? I was about seven when I walked in on my parents having sex. I thought my father was killing my mother based on the fact of my mother’s moans. I ran away across the house, hiding in my closet. When the closet is not hiding monsters, it always seems like the safest place to be. I can’t remember if either of them came to find me. I am certain I emerged for dinner and was pleasantly surprised to see mother tossing a salad with tomatoes and avocado.

Still around seven-years-old, my parents took me and my younger sisters to a drive in theater to watch Death Wish. Death Wish has a violent rape scene within the first fifteen minutes of the movie. I remember feeling shame for my father for making such a bad choice in movies. Shame–maybe that’s what stole my innocence like that first paper cut…paper no longer just something to write on.

I don’t know if the little girl got her “real movie.” I do know how real Pinnochio is. Hopefully, the little girl will learn that things are not always as they seem. Good is not always good, and bad is not always bad and hopefully any confusion works itself out like a tortoise with its head out, waddling its way on a muddy sidewalk. Smell the mud. The mud is real. What better to enliven the senses than earth? Earth always has a way of being innocent and not innocent in the same breath. Allow the sun to harden the mud, the mud to crack, and then be washed away by a hose, leaving the sidewalk friendly. It really does all come out in the wash. I remember the froth of the lace socks. That is innocence.

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Today is February 8, 2015. I am alive and well.

excerpt from my book, Mind Without a Home

A steady breeze of smoke carries Rose to a small table in front of the stage, a leaf carved into the top. Rose puts her cigarette out on its vein.

Rose was close enough to Paul to smell his sweet, an odd mixture of alcohol and mint. Paul winks and drums charm. Rose vibrates from his gaze. Later, they will make love in the alley, Rose’s small size thrown up against graffiti, her slender legs wrapped around Paul. Their baby, Frankie, Would be conceived here.

Paul had drummed with the best in his youth. His gentle spirit and large hands beat sweet cream into rhythm that buried itself into the souls of audiences. He was sought after and he sought the high  applause  gave him. When this high was not enough, he moved on to find laughter and contentment in a battle of whisky.

He told me that drunkenness was like having a million women gently stroke his face, tickle his face, love his face.

When he saw Rose, he wanted her. His mama said “to always leave the ones alone who cast spells; don’t let your heart leap on a first glance. This kind to woman will eat you up.” Paul thinks “What does mama know? She jumped in front of a bus two years ago”. Paul didn’t make this up. Mama’s as dead as the goose that came to Christmas.

(names have been changed)