Posted in Almost Dorothy, Culture Clash

My Mother, If She Had Won Free Dance Lessons

So You Think You Can Dance | Photo by Neil de la Flor

Cornelius Eady’s ma was the neighborhood crazy lady just like my ma is the neighborhood crazy lady. I know my ma is the neighborhood crazy because last year she peed on the neighbor’s Wall Street Journal after the economic meltdown. However the paper she peed on wasn’t the Wall Street Journal. It was Parade.

Ma thinks Parade is responsible for the fall of the Holy Roman Empire just like she thinks it’s responsible responsible for her mental constipation. I don’t know why. I tell ma she shouldn’t be so crazy and she said Cornelius Eady turned out just fine. I nodded my head and looked at my beautiful red shoes.

Red shoes are not the same as any other shoes. They say go and fire.

My ma is a black duck, which is way worse than a black swan because at least black swans are swans and not ducks. Plus ma can’t do ballet or even dance, not even like a duck or peacock, and she has the tendency to fly off even though she doesn’t have wings. Thank Liza Minnelli we live on the first floor. Who knows what she’d do with her duck wings on our unimaginable trapeze?

I love the word cock because it’s a male chicken and poultry. It’s also a male analogy. Yes, an analogy.

The only difference between my ma and Cornelius’s ma is that she hasn’t abandoned me in a world larger than my baddest dreams. I’ve had bad dreams and bad experiences, like the time the fun home cremated my BFF Squinny after she died, but never so bad that I felt abandoned like a baby duck. I never got to see Squinny’s face again, which is fine because she rose from the dead. Squinny’s ma abandoned her when she was five and she hasn’t seen her since science class.

Even though ma is a duck and not a swan she swarms around the house like a firefly and warms it up with her swarming. Even Amanda B. is amazed by ma’s swarming, and her ability to increase the temperature of any room by at least 3 degrees Fahrenheit.

It doesn’t matter if ma can’t dance correctly because she’s got wings, and they’re real big, so big they disrupt earth’s magnetic field and everything else that starts with M–the moon, Mountain Time, anti(ma)tter. When ma quacks at neighbors and stuff like that, I laugh because life with her is a parade–a life in which the neighborhood crazy woman black-swans around my house to Swan Lake in a ridiculous mallard bodysuit and tutu Made in China.


I'm not real, but I'm a writer.

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