Waking Up: writings from my memoir (#2)

Here's a rough excerpt from the memoir I've been writing. It's my misogi project that inspired my first big-ass calendar habit of writing daily. Still working on it, but I wanted to share where I am in the process.

The idea is to create a historical reference and guidepost for those who come along in my bloodline. When I ask my elders about this one or that, the oral history is gapped. Our family history—my great-grandmother in her 20s and 30s—is unknown. Beyond that, everything is lost.

May this be the first link in a long chain of legacy. May we always know where we come from.

This is my first memory.

HOME

There's a party going on. Don't know what for, could just be Sunday, but it's a whole bunch of people and food. It's my first memory, but I know it happens all the time. I'm two, maybe three.

Without warning, a light flips on deep inside me. A short-circuited switch that frizzles and pops, throwing sparks, illuminating life. Color floods in. Sound. Energy. Knowing.

Before this, everything was gray. I moved through the world on autopilot, my body dependent on care. If I had left this world before the spark, it wouldn't have mattered. No longing. No remembering. I would've just floated into the next life without a care.

But now:

I am awake.

I stand under the archway between the living room and dining room. Bodies everywhere. I wasn't this sharp before the light. Before, I moved through the white house with black trim with an internal GPS, like a bee knows its hive, no thought, just knowing the way.

Now I see and know them. Most of them. Dark skin, light skin. Tall, stout, hefty, slender. They circle the long wooden table, side-talking but guarding their place in line, scooping generous spoonfuls onto plastic plates. The long wooden table is covered: spaghetti, fried chicken, BBQ meatballs, potato salad, and mac and cheese. The freezer chest against the wall can barely hold all the desserts stacked on top: coconut cake, German chocolate, chocolate pie, pecan pie, lemon meringue, peach cobbler. Plastic flutes filled with gumdrops and jelly beans for the children.

People buzz past me like I'm a traffic cone. Careful not to knock me over, but they don't know what just happened. They don't know I just woke up.

The women—Auntie This, Auntie That, all in matching button-down dresses with frilly collars and white pantyhose and Mary Janes—crowd the tiny kitchen. Spoons scrape hot pans. "Put some Lawry's in them greens," someone says. I know that voice. It's Granny.

I move toward her, but chairs block the way. Cousin Frank. Cousin Bobby. Uncle DeWayne. Cousin-Uncle Somebody. Drinking beers, homemade tea, Kool-Aid. Seated stiff in folding chairs and dining chairs, semi-circled around the TV.

No way through. I look for safety.

Teddy, my giant white bear with a red ribbon around the neck, leans face down in the corner of the sage-green couch, faded and dusty since they took the plastic off. I run. Sink into its arms.

My body melts into teddy's embrace. An auntie sitting next to me leans in to baby talk. Piled-high plate balanced on her knee. Nose to nose. Her hot breath and high-pitched squeals make my stomach turn. I bury my face into teddy.

She pokes my belly, and I peek up, offering a polite get-out-of-my-face smile before diving back into teddy. Someone pulls her away. Thank God. I wait. One breath. Two...

I hear big kids talking outside. I peek up, stand on tiptoe on teddy, trying not to sink into the cushion. The big kids sit on the front stoop. Karessa on the bottom step, arms waving like a preacher at a summer revival. The others perch on the top step, mouths open, caught. A captive congregation.

A warm feeling rises in me. I know her. I like her.

Another auntie plops onto the couch and the whole room jolts. I'm thrown to the edge, and teddy is buried under her. I grab for teddy, try to pull him free, but she leans my way. I give up, quick. Look for somewhere else.

The crowd around the table has broken into little clusters. Standing. Sitting. Filling every corner. No music, but voices hum like bees.

I search for my great-grandmother. Find her in the archway between kitchen and dining room, directing traffic. "Hand me that knife," she says, her voice tenor and melodic.

I lock eyes on her and run. Oooh, I can't wait to wrap my whole self around her leg.

Three steps and I'm in the air, legs kicking.

Uncle DeWayne's got me. Karessa's daddy. I know him. His bergamot scent. His silk shirt. His warmth.

"Hey, niecy!" His voice is deep, smooth, and soft. I land on his lap. He taps his knee gently.

I know him.

I'm safe.

I curl into the crook of his arm and sleep. Happy Friday.✨ I've included a Spotify playlist to catch a vibe.💫

See you next week. 🥂

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4PaVXSTiIUK20IrfVOISPx?si=TBvg4WRETKa2sxamnDcKsg