Personal Narrative-Mamaw

I have lived in only one location my entire life: Edwardsville, Illinois. A peripheral suburb of St. Louis, it stands as the rare oasis of people in a desert of corn, pinned in its own personal bubble. Due to this blend of time and isolation, I developed a natural familiarity with my hometown. But, throughout my childhood, I longed to break free from the confines of the bubble and venture outward. However, this changed last summer, as I walked through Richards Brickyard, our family heirloom, that my great-grandfather, Benjamin Richards, founded over 120 years ago. I felt these childlike sentiments slip away. The bubble that had surrounded me for so long began to vanish, and the picture that it had been obscuring was slowly revealed.

She was always there, for as long as I could remember. Never was there a day that I wouldn’t help her cook. Be it simply mixing up dough I always helped. Every time I walked into the house, a new aroma filled my lungs. I called her Mamaya and though the origin of her nickname was never clear, everyone referred to her as that. She was my favorite abuela.

“When can I see him?” You ask, the excitement building in your heart. You couldn’t wait to see him again.

Ignoring me, he continued, "She broke up up with me because I bought her a simple neclace for her birthday not the diamond bracelet she wanted."

When I got my family was around our wooden table. My dad on his soft voice said “ I don’t think your grandpa will go through one more night, you need to call him” he cried. I felt like I couldn’t do it, felt so week and a huge hole in my stomach, something I’ve never felt before, I grabbed the phone and when I was about to call, the phone ringed, I passed the phone to my dad, It was my aunt sobbing and barely able to speak, then she said “ he passed away, I’m sorry honey” I couldn’t believe it I didn’t even had the chance to say

It's a Friday afternoon, I plan to go to Great Wolf Lodge in an hour with my church. I see one of my friends so he says to his mom “ Hey, that's my friend” I said “Crap” So I go inside to sign in to go and see my friends just sitting in a corner on a big sofa. We are listening to music and just talking then a green bus comes.

The mommas crash through the plum thickets and into the clearing and wade in the sparkling grass. A lumbering Hereford bull tails them, with young calves frolicking about, bumping into each other. A covey of quail scurries under the rusted barbed-wire fence, and into their houses amongst the tall grass. The newly budded trees greet them...

It's been an interesting year so far, and it looks like it is about to get even more interesting (more about that in a moment). What I wanted to write about in this here journal of mine is a new brand of shoe that I just purchased; they are called Nike running shoes, and I love them. They fit well, are comfortable and seem like they will last quite a while. I just had to have a pair (I think I'm the first one here at school to have them most of the other students have never even heard of them; Neanderthals, I know!). I predict they will be a big hit in the future. Okay, enough about shoes, let's move on to more serious matters, my love life! (just joking journal I have no love life right now). Oh well, I haven't written in here for the past few weeks, I guess I better talk about the events of the month. Let's see, it's October 1962 and a number of events have taken place; some here at the University of Mississippi, some in the United States and some internationally. Many of these events will likely have long-term impact on some very serious matters. Of course, I did not think any event would foreshadow James Meredith being admitted into the University, but, the first Negro being admitted into a higher education institution is an event that has only national implications, while the missile crisis in Cuba, could lead to death to thousands or even hundreds of thousands of citizens in both the United States and in Russia.

I have started, stopped and come back to this email on numerous occasions over the past few days. So while I could parse my words a thousand different ways, fuck it, I will attempt to be concise which will hopefully translate to clarity. No promises though.

It may be hard to believe, but I wasn’t always this bald and beautiful. I, like many other young men, was a victim of a vicious receding hairline. Me being so young, I fell victim to a plethora of cruel jokes, I mean let’s face it, not many sixteen-year-old girls swoon over a young boy with the hairline like their fathers. I was constantly ragged on by family, friends, strangers, and anyone else with a working pair of eyes. Thus, I grew to be very self-conscious about my hairline, or lack thereof. Then that all changed one day with a mirror and a razor. Looking back at it, I can’t help but laugh and smile when I think about the days when all I wanted was a full head of hair.

Juxtaposed with elegant red nail nails, my mother’s calloused hands displayed her willingness to provide for her family. Whether she needed to carry the weight of a fifty pound car battery or flip burgers at a gas station to make it, her hands quickly spent the money earned on my brother and me. These hands also held the power to prepare a five-star dinner, clean the kitchen, and soothe my greatest of woes, all before nine o’clock. Two years later, it was these hands that caused my woes.

I felt a rush of adrenaline go through my body. I was on a plane to Europe! ME! An eighteen year old girl going to Europe! I'm a straight A student going to Europe! I can finally leave the USA and explore the world! Then, awaking me from my thoughts, a voice shouted “Alexia! Let's get off this stinking plane and head off to Europe!” I got off my seat and rushed towards the exit, but before I get into that, let me tell you how I got here……………………………….

Silvery flakes drifted down, glittering in the bright light of the harvest moon. The blackbird swooped down, landing in the soft snow. It was mid-December and the cool crisp air blew into my back, sending shivers down my spine. The hair on the back on my neck stood up as I blew into my ice-cold hands. This December was much colder than before. It got colder faster this year than it had any other year. My scarf wrapped tightly around my neck while my hands were buried in my pockets. My legs were shaking as I headed down the street.

I awoke with my head clouded with images of failure. My dad, beating me with a stick for not going out to get milk. My mother, hitting me across the head with her hand yelling at me for not making friends. My parents were very strict when it came to my studies, social life, and chores. They made sure I was taught right and how to impress girls for my 16th birthday, when I would choose a wife, but I had no business in doing so. I was 11 and my parents were already getting ready for my wedding.

She is my best friend in the whole wide world. As she walks up to me she starts to say “Hey Pocahontas can you come help me pick corn please?” “Wait I need to tell you something!” I yell. “What?” “Ok so about a month ago I went swimming at the water fall you know, the beautiful blue and green water” I said. “Yeah” “Well there was the boy and he is really cute and he asked for our gold.” “But I felt stupid because I said what is gold and he said those little shiny gold and yellow pebbles but then I said oh corn!!!” “Don’t go over there and meet him again!!!!!” she explains. Whatever you get yourself into I’m not helping you after that.