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Sunday, January 6, 2008

Fluffy Coat

We had nothing. My mother was a bi-polar, non-working drunk who forgot to cook, pay the bills and raise her daughter: all with equal ease.
Mom moved us back to Zapata from Bridgeport, Texas after selling all our furniture (including the beds) in order to pay first and last months rent at hell-hole number something. Of course, at age 9 I didn't care so much about finances, as the family and friends I'd be returning to in my old home-town. Especially, my cousin Roxy.
Roxy was the girl who had everything. She was the "parents bought her Sega, cogarts, snowcones and new clothes" girl. My cousin could throw a fit and leave the room without a trace of swelling, blood, or tears. She was my superstar, dance-team, one year older than myself, Idol.
In retrospect, the economic chasm between my cousin and I seems entirely obvious. But then, I only knew these things as those left unquestioned, a part of life you learn to steer through best you can. To me, my auntie and all the family were a blessing I took part in during dinner and long weekends out of school. Needless to say, this family was compassionate and welcoming; a great contrast to my mother, most often found sedated, back at home.
So, this summer I returned with high expectations of a great reunion, hours of foraging through the "montes" and late nights of girlish gossip to catch up. Sadly, none of this materialized that summer.


to be continued

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