i sought refuge in the back of a rundown playground. orange and purple monkey bars turning the insides of fingers soft red, and faces a delicate blue from hanging upside down for too long. 2017 was the year everything changed. following a confession down a busy street on dashain, you made me promise not to say anything. i learned then to keep secrets and guard them with shame; knowing that the day would come, when you’d blindside and lie. “it’s her fault,” you told my sister, as you carried all your **** out the door. my mother at the top of the staircase, overhearing your utterance–– it’s typical of you to place blame everywhere else besides yourself. you instilled a lie that would create 3 years worth of resentment, anger, and pointed fingers. the truth was you didn’t know how to talk, and while you told me you had done “all you could to make her happy, it just didn’t work out”–– there’s more that permeates below cryptic explanations. i learned how to villainize quickly, internalizing every detail you spewed out during friday night outings. when i walked beside you in silence, your body and voice strained with tension, “why don’t you ever say anything to me?”, maybe i have nothing to say. or maybe because deep down i knew that to speak truthfully to you would result in defensive explanations; “oh no you just don’t understand. you think you do, but you really don’t.” cool. i learned how to shut the **** up and disassociate. each time an email entered your mailbox, and the accusations began, so did you. dumping all your emotional baggage onto the table, my mozzarella sticks falling to the floor; and the pita bread and hummus shoved into my mouth to keep me from responding and providing comfort to you. i learned about repression, what it means to bite your tongue, and turn a blind eye. not because i wanted to, but to maintain the peace. what a load of *******. you condemned my tears; and it was then that i learned that pain and hurt are inconvenient. and when your amante came to stay for a month and a half, you opened arms and welcomed her tears willingly. i guess age warrants greater emotional respect and support. i learned quick that tender tongue does not run in your bloodline, so i looked elsewhere for verbal consultation.
in the back of a rundown playground is where you’d find me, across a pubescent girl with thick, black frames, soft eyes, and verbal delicacy. we exchanged stories spoken through runny noses and silent tears, dreading to take the 4pm bus home knowing what would await. the eight hour school day offered an array of distractions far from the shitshow that permeated our homes. we interlocked hands and vowed to be there for another; at the time you were enraged by a pain that gripped at your throat most days. i felt selfish to speak out, so i didn’t. instead i made room for you each weekend, anxiety in my stomach, bracing myself for whatever revelation or frustration you contained all week to ooze out over a glass of whiskey. and as i write this, years after these unfolding events, i wince, at your reaction, as you negate these observations and feelings of mine. i’m learning to claim entitlement over my pain, you nor anyone else can spell it out for me. and like all the rest, you will sit in discomfort and swallow each moment with me. you will feel what it feels to walk through the past five years, and feel every emotion that kept us interconnected and separated. for the first time, you will learn how to listen openly. i don’t write to antagonize, but to recount the years you missed of me; with the hopes you’ll understand me more than you did before.
i hope you make it through to the very end.
-c.alejandra