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my father, the pinwheel

04 April 2009 - 18:58

I have a feeling that I'll never let your echo go... -- Echo, by Shadows Lie

Today was a handful. Still is, in some way. I had to get up early (on a Saturday, Jeebus forfend!) and drive three towns over to clean some highway. It's April 4th, which means the annual Don't Mess With Texas Trash-Off. A UPS driver and friend of mine, David (Fichas), organized things with the help of Brenda (Red), and I made flyers. He had UPS adopt a two-mile stretch of highway and we all went out to clean. By "all of us" I mean all of eight employees (and two supervisors). No kidding. It was Fichas, Steve, Eva and Cliff for the drivers, Connie and I from the Local Sort, Red and Joe representin' the OMS's, and then both Ray's (Anctil and Ribelin) came over for about half an hour and pretended to clean. Steve jokingly said they were probably staying close to the park in case Channel Five drove by. It was funny, but sadly, also probably true.

So we were a small troop, but we were persistant. Joe, Cliff and Eva arrived late, and Cliff left early, but Eva and Joe stuck around until the end. I slathered on some sunscreen, but I swear I feel darker. It was a beautiful Saturday morning, slightly cloudy and nice and breezy, but then the sun came out around 10:30 and killed us all.

I had a ton of fun. I really want to do it again. David said we could bring our families, and so Red brought her little girl and David brought along his entire gang of kids and his wife. Including his neice, he had five kids trudging along with him. I felt so bad for them kiddos; they were exhausted by the end. Red's little girl (I forget her name, so I'm gonna call her ChibiRed) ended up falling asleep in Anctil's truck, hugging a stuffed toy. She's in Kinder, I think.

And of course, you couldn't tell the damn difference at the very end. Road is road. But again, it was fun; well worth it. I had a chance to bond with coworkers that I'd never even dreamed of getting to know better. (I didn't even know Steve's name was Steve. I'd say hi to the guy whenever I'd see him, but he was always "that skinny driver-dude that likes my hair" in my mind.) Right before we left, we all took some pictures as a group, and we were laughing, all sweaty, and hugging goodbye. Like a family. Even the cranky, sleepy kids were grinning.

Of course, by the time I got home, I was effin' starving. No breakfast before I left. 'Ama made frijoles refritos con tortillas de harina, and I fucked me up some good grub. Then I passed out on the bed. Fuck showers. I guess Mom ended up falling asleep too, because when I woke up at fifteen 'til five, I could hear her snoring in the Blue Room. I remember it vaguely. I passed out again. 'Ama wakes me up at 5:08. I tell her I'll be right up, and that I have to feed and water the dogs, then go see Pifas at the cemetary.

This is where shit gets weird. For some reason, this made her extremely cranky. I told her she didn't have to go with me if she didn't want to, and she kinda just huffed off. She slammed the back door on the way out. I shrugged it off, flopped over on the bed for a few minutes, got up, quickly got dressed again, fed, watered, and moved the dogs, and then went to look for her. "�Vienes o no?" I pretty much asked, and she was huffy all over again, like she wanted to cry. Basically she said that by the time she took a shower, and it was really late, and the sun's gonna go down, yadda-yadda-yadda. Okay, so you don't wanna go. Just say so. I said I was fine with it, and that I'd be right back. She turned her back to me and kept puttering around the front yard.

Hey, what was I supposed to do? Beg her to come along? That's the thing, I understand if she doesn't want to come along. Pifas was her ex-husband, in a sense, even though they never divorced. She doesn't have to come along to see him, it's not her responsability. He was my father, it's mine. And I've always told her so, but she insists on coming along. It's as though she wants me not to go on the days she doesn't feel like going. And this is the thing: last week, I didn't go see my father at the cemetary, and I promised him I'd never miss a weekend if I could. Just once a week, how bad can that be? Last weekend, I was pushing 'Ama to go, or just let me go, but she kept saying she wanted to see him too, but would push it off to later, and later, and later. I suppose I shoulda just taken off back then, but oh well. We did have a pretty full weekend last week. But she was hinting that she wants this weekend to be just as full, and not go see him. Well, shit. If you don't wanna go, as George Lopez has a habit of saying: then don't go! Instead, she throws a girly tantrum. Sheesh.

The Dud has told me before that Mom is spoiled around me; that she depends on me for everything and takes advantage of me because I still live under her roof. She has a point, but it rarely bothers me. Unless she does shit like this. Right now, she's still sulking in the Blue Room, watching TV and refusing to speak to me. Good riddance!

But I didn't let it phase me (too much) and went and had a good conversation with my dead father. I've gotta say, I haven't had the pleasure of speaking so candidly to him since he was alive. I drove right up to his grave and plopped my fat ass down on the grass and began yakking away. I told him all about my day while I lay on the carpet grass (I still have stickers stuck on the back of my t-shirt) and gazed at his flowers and the rainbow-colored pinwheel he has staked next to his tombstone. I don't know why, I've always associated my father with pinwheels, even when he was alive. He just seemed so fascinated by them as they twirled in the wind. That was the child within him, the boy I call Miguelito, who used to hold my hand and pull me to all the puestos along the streets of Mexico, always buying churros, and fruit-in-a-cup, strawberries and cream, candies, roasted corn and aguas frescas. He was in complete awe of balloons and toys and candy apples. He bounced with every step he took. I felt as though I had to hold his hand to take care of him instead of the other way around. So for this inner child, we bought a rainbow pinwheel. And the more I talked to my father, telling him about my day of volunteer work, I could hear his voice in my mind as the colors whirled round in the breeze, faster and faster. His memory would answer my questions and make witty comments in response to my one-sided conversation, and I felt... blessed. I told him how much I miss him and his cooking, and his jokes and pranks. I told him about the spat I just had with 'Ama and how she can be so impossible to understand at times. "Dejala, pobrecita," the pinwheel told me in my father's voice. "Ya esta grande tu madre."

"Ya se, 'Apa, pero pinche vieja," I told the pinwheel. "Si todav�a estuvieras aqu�, no se pondr�a tan mendiga. O total, unque se pusiera de ro�osa, me hubiera hido a comer a alguna parte contigo. Ya viendo que tu andabas con la pata lavada, tambien se hubiera animado." But what am I gonna do, right? You're dead, so none of that matters. And whir, whirr, went the pinwheel.

I showed him a pendent of silver and peridot that I got for 'Ama. I held it up for the pinwheel and tombstone to see in the sun. Isn't it pretty? When should I give it to her, anyway? Mother's Day? Easter? I was going to give it to her today, there while we had a picnic with Pifas, but then she acted like a bitch and didn't wanna go. The pinwheel twirled more slowly once, twice, then paused for a few seconds before a breeze picked up again. I took that as a shrug. Great.

But I had to leave after a while anyway, even though I told my father I didn't want to. It was such a nice conversation... Sometimes when I go with 'Ama to the cemetary, I sense she doesn't want to be there, or she ignores Dad's grave and tries to draw my attention to other things, so I don't have a chance to just be alone with him and my thoughts. Maybe she's afraid I'll get depressed if she doesn't distract me, I dunno, but today alone with my father's memory was nice. In the end I said goodbye, and as I got into the car, I grinned at his grave and waved, telling him aloud, like I used to tell him sometimes when I'd leave his house, "�Te ba�as!"

"Buta-uta-uta..." muttered the pinwheel, and the sun shining on it was the playful twinkle in my father's eyes.

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