Up So Floating

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Chapter 49

I have never seen hummingbirds waste their delicate grace to fight. Perhaps they do it discreetly, taking care of their business behind bushes and tall grasses away from their minuscule eggs. I’ve only heard that they float free of time carrying hopes for love, joy, and celebration.

I am returning to my uncles after a long cold fall and winter in Germany. When I see the garden, Eloisa, Heather-Celeste and my magnificent uncles, my smile widens and a flock of joy takes flight from my eyes. What was once a loosely organized interconnection of rubble has intertwined to become a complex organism of pulsating love.

When I left, somewhere between here and heaven, I cast my line and wrapped my beloveds in moonbeams and sunrays to preserve them all. Things have changed. For one, the plot has now been renamed Saint Anastacia Public Park. After some years, and constant lobbying from Eloisa, the Brooklyn city council came up with some public funds to establish this little piece of salvation as a public sanctuary. Kiev made a bunch of small statues that resembled the Buckingham palace guards to line the entrance.

Uncle Elias finally lost his alligator tail – his secret of loving who loves seen through my eyes as an alligator tail. No secret no tail anymore. His smile is full and without hidden thorns. He is with a very handsome man who looks at Elias like he is the sweetest cherry in the bowl. I saw Elias jokingly mouthing the words, “Help me” to Heather-Celeste when his date kept squeezing him with hugs. Heather-Celeste is with a very tall handsome man with a calm demeanor and nice smile. He is the man from the Natural History museum. He kept beaming at H-C, and she mouthed back to Elias, “You help me too.” Her new husband must have a good sense of humor. They were married last year.

Sasha is in the garden, too. His face shows signs of emotion and he seems proud, as he keeps positioning his head in the light to make the age line the most prominent focal point on his face. Sasha is wearing his cove smile as he quietly mingles with the whole group, intercalating in and out like the quiet zephyr he is.

Eloisa is as happy and proud as a clam with the garden. She has so many flowers from home that she is speaking Creole to everyone, not caring if they understand. Rudy is here but neither Trish nor his gold ring is accompanying him. Last time I came to visit, he told me that he had chosen joy over bitterness. She couldn’t handle it, so she asked him for a divorce, which he gladly granted her. He said it was the least he could do.

And there is my magnificent Kiev whom I love best. He is standing directly facing me, though his gaze is ever so slightly indirect. He has been waiting for me to return. I run to him and he reaches out his arms and up we both stretch, smiling into space, embracing the sky. Sheryl’s mom and three of the interviewees purchased many of Kiev’s sculptures. Then she produced a personal story behind the artist on a local news station. And she also began to broker his work. Kiev has become a very wealthy man. Unchanged, his membrane is impenetrable to the outside mayhem and fame.

And me. I am odd, but I am not wrong. I am not even soiled. I am not the cause of what happened to me. I choose to rebel against the disappointment that was laid at my feet when I was a child.

I admire seeds that can catch the wind. They carry their potential away from their source and find their own way to alternative fertile ground to succeed or fail. I want to pick up my yellow cotton skirt, catch the wind and be blown away to a gentle garden. I want to let go of this bag of horse crap.

Daddy. I am happy to see him, but I realize that I don’t love him best because I don’t know him. He’s chosen to spend most of his time running away. Lost in the labyrinth of his own pain, wandering, not hearing the cry of his fledgling. I threw him sunbeams which he followed. The discordant thread he cast to me was as unreliable as Theseus. How honorable is it to save the King’s son, only to wander the world in misery as a result?

I need to know how to frame my father’s love for me. I need for my father to be present so I can know him, directly…intentionally…solidly and importantly. And the truth: you can gratefully love someone for the donation of imprint and legacy. Or you can have that love that comes from time spent in still spaces. Daddy is only an imprint of love and legacy, but he has yet had the courage to be still.

My mother and I have been through the fire and still have work left to be done. I understand now, though, that some mothers will do anything to protect their young. Anything. Even the fiercely unspeakable.

Love is dimensional and has texture. Time is as relevant to love, as rain is a necessary solvent for life. My giants are here in this garden, and the thread they have woven is strong and will lead me, I, their dark geese finding my way back home.

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