I somehow always knew things would be just like this someday. There has always been a special bond, magnetism, and inertia building andâŚâŚbudding, so to speak âŚâŚand now the substrate - the shit, mud, rot and blood and tears - has broken down, cooked and converted and will germinate and propel a harvest of fruits of such bounty and sweetness that I may drown in the nectar.
All I have to do is make Her happy. Itâs time to do my part in thisâŚ.thing thatâs coming. That everything has been moving toward. I will be Her faithful lieutenant. Itâs more than just duty, itâs destiny. Itâs both. Nothing will obstruct or impede me from fulfilling and carrying out Her wishes and orders.
If it werenât for Her, Iâd be dead or rotting away in a cell in solitary confinement perhaps. But my angel has much bigger plans and purposes for me. She held me as a brand new, pink skinned babe when Mother was checked out and staring at wallpaper for hours on end. She yoked the neighborhood hooligans up by their collars clear off their feet when they decided to drop firecrackers down my pants, to my horror, when I was five or six. Never did see them around again after that.
What was a six year old doing wandering through the alleys of the city alone- wading through broken glass, spent rubbers, piss puddles, discarded blow baggies, miscreants and general filth? Getting ready for today, I suppose. You might say I take the trash out for Her. Recycling isnât always an option here, you know. Space must be made. The ground must be cleared to make way for the fertile gardens I will work that will bear the sweet fruits for Her table. If it doesnât serve Her or Her interests, motivations and fancies - then it has no place in our world and must be destroyed or cast out.
I used to love going in Her room at that age. There were times She invited me in and read me a story or played me some music and that was really wonderful. But more often than not -especially as time progressed and She spent less and less time at that house - I wandered in when no one was around. I was invisible everywhere else. Either that or an annoyance or nuisance. But when I entered that room - it was more like a temple or halfway ethereal space for me - I could dream. I felt calm. I felt safe. Her smell lingered there, seeing Her things on the wall, echoes of the laughter of Her friends Iâd seen and heard days prior. Most always in leather adorned with assorted buckles or zippers. The big hair. Big smiles. Loud electric guitar music.
One day while mother was sweeping a clean floor for hours on end - I was wandering around and daydreaming in Her room, I went snooping through the closet. I liked to touch and smell and look at all the fun leather, clothes and wigs. Mostly I liked the smell of the leather. Something caught my eye in a dark corner. A turquoise and pink tackle box? She didnât go fishing. That I knew. I brought it out and set it on the floor in front of me on my knees and opened the latch.
It was FULL of cash. Twenties, hundreds, fiftiesâŚ.. I think it was then I knew I would follow Her. I would look to Her. I would model on Her. She was getting what She wanted and I would learn from Her. Why couldnât She be my mommy instead of the dead one scrubbing the counter?
Wasnât long after that we moved away and she stayed behind. But by that point she had already left or was rarely home at all anyhow. It wasnât until years later that I found out why.
