I Don't Ask For Much

"I don't ask for much." She says that while her and another close family member argue over a photo, over misrepresentation, over identity, over values. The latter will win and the former will fight back tears and everything for the rest of the day will be awkward so hiding away becomes the best option. And nobody wants to litigate or re-litigate old wounds but so many things have been internalized and nobody knows how to say no to a child or a parent or a friend or a boss and in this case we're all just searching for an identity, for 20 something years I was a ghost who rolled over and did whatever anyone ever told me, I had no sense of self. It is a small thing, this photo, but it speaks to something more; giving support doesn't give you rights over someone but the family member who protested the photo receives financial support from the other and struggles with saying 'no' as if it does mean she owes her, as if everything has a transactional basis, relationships are a ledger, if a friend or lover or family member does something nice you have to repay. That is not how things work and quickly becomes a cynical, amoral competition but it's still hard because one person is almost crying now, and I don't know anything, because for 18+ years I was led to water by family, choosing my classes, my clothes, my friends, my food, my values, protest falling on deaf ears, and nobody wants to step on anyone's toes or hurt feelings or drag anyone, surely I have failed and criticism from family members could be pasted on my forehead until it grew out like a horn, but at the same time at some point we have to be ourselves and represent our selves how we wish to be seen. And maybe it's just a photo but it's also a statement and we're all struggling on when to suck it up or when not to, when to say no or not to, when to criticize or not to, life is full of doing things we don't like, but then whose 'don't like' reigns supreme, when is a value worth compromising or not? And it all comes to a screeching and painful, awkward silence when the situation is punctuated by "I don't ask for much." Maybe that's our problem. None of us ever do.

Small Things at Year End

It's 6:17 AM and your alarm goes off in 43 minutes so you check it every 5 minutes or so and pretend to assume that it's much closer to 7 than it is to try to reward your brain with more time before you get up.

You try to hold your steering wheel with your wrists so that you can place your hands close to the heat vents in order to thaw the numbing effect of stepping into a 15 degree car.

You put a jacket on when you go to the basement to do laundry because the basement is perpetually cold in winter and this early in the morning your body is still adjusting to coming out of 4 layers in bed.

You practice a million speeches in your head you're going to give to your family when the holiday gatherings come along and something happens you don't like but in the end you'll be too timid and will simply ask someone to pass the ham.

You convince yourself multiple days that it's either earlier than you think or later than you think because of how dark it is but it really is truly 8am or 5pm.

You'll try to use New Years as a chance to look forward but instead you'll use it as a chance to look back and instead of on small victories it'll be on defeats and regrets.

You'll fear some arbitrary decennial cutoff getting closer whether it's 20 or 30 or 40 or or or...

You'll go to bed after all of this and wake up the next morning and do the same things.

Layers

You could add layer after layer, blanket after blanket, 3, 4, 5 toppings for your cocooned self, trying to hide from the world and the cold in bed but painfully aware that lying down too much will eventually make your back weak and sore. You could try to hide not only from the cold that drifts in through poorly sealed windows and doors but also from the thoughts of another year that passed and brought you 365 days closer to some ephemeral post-peak or maybe a not so ephemeral descent into creaky limbs and bones. Maybe you could look back on the good and try to smile but it's so easy to lie still and gloss over that and focus on the negatives while the cold air accosts you, the water on your face from washing that you didn't fully dry, your feet at the edge of the bed that stick out from under several of the layers, lips chapped and skin on your hands parched no matter how much greasy, oily residue you leave on them from some overpriced artificial eucalyptus product. And with the darkness seemingly permanent and a perpetual state from 5pm to 8am the thoughts can be dark too for much longer, no warmth or light to break through the conflagration of regret or missed resolve or what ifs and whatever else your aging self perpetuates that always feels a bit too old to comfortably say out loud no matter how young you really are. And maybe you grab the blankets from the inside so as to not leave your arms open to the elements and try to scrunch and bundle them up closer and a little sigh will escape and you'll realize that you can only hide under the layers for so long, and that eventually, everything has to come out.

The Family

The Family gathers and smiles and laughs and prays to God and exchanges gifts and food and doesn't just feign interest in each other's existence, it is general interest in well-being, grandmas, aunts, uncles, all wanting to see and share and eat and be merry. It's a cover like many families, like many Americans, like many white people or men, in between the bowls of mashed potatoes one uncle will talk about how 'you can't take the black out of them' as if to say the blackness is a sin itself, its very nature corrupted and criminal. Another will joke about thugs, or chicken and watermelon, and what stings you the most are your cousins and their S/Os, all younger than you, teens and 20s, nodding and laughing along, realizing they were raised that way and they will raise their kids that way and the cycle will continue, another white family feigning ignorance about racism and denying its existence while swapping jokes that violate the very people they say are not in harms way. It's an impenetrable loop and even when you and your one relative who is also aghast speak up, it is 12 against 2, and there is denial, and excuses, and 'life isn't perfect or fair' or 'the world isn't all roses' or 'I didn't even realize/think/know that was bad' and then it's just hopeless, so you excuse yourself from the table and just hope that nobody here will turn down a job application, or defend a state murder, or what have you, but deep down you know they have, and know that they won't change, because they have all been fed this from day 1 to year 60 of their existence, and your anger and frustration just brings out excuses and deflections - 'why didn't you say anything earlier? shame on you' and perhaps there is but I am not the one cracking racist 'jokes' so shame on them but they don't see it that way, because once again the world isn't fair and they aren't actually racist even though we have full control over what is fair and it is racist and we could stomp it all out if we wanted. That's the thing. Deep down the family doesn't want to. Because they are all white, there is not a single person of color here, and it's all they know, and to take that away from them - their racism, their jokes, their stereotypes - is to assault their very identity as Americans, as white Americans, namely, and that's a tear at the very fabric of this country. Because we all know, and they know, that white America feasts on this stuff, not the food and the gifts, and that power and ability is way more sacrosanct than a present or a slice of ham or God itself.

The Opportunity Lost

In many ways winter is sort of a catch-all. There will be no more walks down Westnedge or around campus alone or with others, taking in the sun and the warmth, both of which left months ago. Confined to indoor spaces, huddled together briefly on a front porch that does little to shield you from the cold wind while your friend smokes, trying to get the layers just right so you're not too warm and awkward in the car but not shivering outside. Unlike the larger carapace of life, though, winter will pass, and outdoor opportunities will present themselves. The metaphor doesn't work. Your existence continued its decay nonchalantly. The seasons just cycle through as if nothing changes.