It’s funny how we make a choice to bury certain memories and never ever talk about them. Finding this picture in my mothers belongings after she passed away made me realise that as a child I already knew to follow my instincts. I have never thought about this man except for a few years ago an incident happened at work and I wrote about it in my journal. So when I left my mothers and went home I thought it would be appropriate to put the picture with my journal entry.
November 2017……..Dear Morning pages yesterday was a good day , the beginning of summer. Summer and Christmas in the same sentence still doesn’t feel right to me. After living in New Zealand for 5 years you would think that I would get use to it.
Matiatia ferry terminal (which is where I work) was very busy all day. It was 5pm and the terminal was full of people wanting to return to the mainland after a day full of wine tasting and beaches. It’s the time of day that we dread because along with the happy drunks you get angry drunks and along with the nice locals you also get the entitled locals.
In the local lane I confronted a man that I have never seen before but somehow my inner self recognised. It was the look in his eyes… it was his mannerism…it was his scent of stale tobacco. It took my heart and soul back instantly to when I was a child.
A child living in the projects in Manhattan with my grandmother and mother. They both worked hard so that I could go to catholic school with the middle class children. I do not know why that was so important to them because I loved public school.
I had an uncle well it was my mothers uncle who always had a suit on, a hat , trench coat and guitar. I heard many stories about him when I was suppose to be sleeping and the grown ups were talking. He stabbed a woman that he fell in love with in Puerto Rico because she did not return his affection . He did his time in prison then came to New York to live with his daughter. They said he was sick I didn’t know what they meant he looked healthy but in my gut I knew there was something about him that was not nice,
The way he would look at me and touch my head made me very uneasy. About twice a week he would come over to our house in the mornings and grandma would right away make him coffee and start cooking. He had beautiful penmanship, when he wrote it looked like art. Being in catholic school I had to spend an hour a day writing all the letters in cursed. Naturally he quickly volunteered to teach me.
Grandma never did leave us alone, she knew he wasn’t right but he was family. Unfortunately there was a wall between the living room and the kitchen and every opportunity he got … he would caress my hands or touch my long braids as he was still talking to my grandmother.
I was very scared and confused “this is my uncle and he loves me” I would think to myself. But the most confusing thing about it was that he as my uncle and I loved him. A child shouldn’t have these thoughts and it saddens me to think how many children go through this.
The visits continue and every visit he would touch something else. He would place the calligraphy pen correctly in my hand then he would caress my arm as he would continue his conversation with grandma in the kitchen. I knew grandma would physically kill him so I just looked at my paper and wrote. All I could smell was his scent of stale tobacco and coffee.
One day he came over and I remember it like it was yesterday, anyways the minute I heard the knock on the door I instantly felt sick and scared. I wished grandma would just not cook! This day he wanted more, he wanted me to touch him. He would put my hand on his leg and I immediately moved it and looked towards the kitchen. I was afraid to run to the kitchen, I just kept thinking to myself please hurry up and feed him grandma. He stood up while talking to her and motioned for me to look at his pants… his private area. He then started pulling me up to stand and follow him to the bathroom.
I just silently starred but in my head I was screaming….”grandma please come out here”. He stood at the bathroom door and unzipped his pants and exposed all of himself for me to see. Now my heart felt like it was going to come out of my chest it was racing so fast and loud that I thought grandma would for sure hear it. He continued to touch himself with one hand and motion with his other hand for me to come to him, while still having his conversation with her.
I started thinking to myself all the horrible scenarios that were about to happen. Grandma is going to come out here and try to kill him and he is going to stab her. Now I was petrified and it feels like time is standing still. I now hear footsteps and he slammed the door.
Grandma looked at me and asked me what’s wrong? And I said nothing but I think she knew something wasn’t right. We both sat at the table in silence as we waited for him to come out of the bathroom. When he finally came out after what seemed to me like a very long time, grandma looked at him very coldly and told him that we had things to do and that he needed to leave. It was never talked about but he never set foot in our house again.
When this man today confronted me to argue all I saw and smelled was my uncle because he had the same look . It’s been 40 years that I felt that feeling and in one instant all the feelings returned. My heart was racing this time but I felt anger not fear. Police were called and things were sorted at work as they usually are, but it did make me think that maybe that small incident that happened to me as a child has underline affected me through my life. Maybe thats why I was so strict with my older girls… maybe thats why I never let them spend the night at their friends house because I would think about the intentions of the dads….the brothers… the uncles of their friends.
Mental health has always been a big problem except nowadays its ok to talk about it. Today taught me that we may not talk about things and bury them but they never truly go away. All it takes is a scent, a look, a song and it all comes flowing back.
Chasing A Feeling 