I have secrets, but I haven’t been able to finish them, because they’re unwritten and invisible just like the sideburns I can’t ever grow. My documentary essay is on hold, the one about my trip to AWP in Washington D.C. The whole wild world is on hold now because ma got arrested, again, for prostitution, so my secrets will remain secrets for now. Locked somewhere behind the R, V and A in the book of the book below.
I have no secrets. Just look at my red red shoes. They’re a metaphor for something simple.
I had to issue an Amber alert on ma’s behalf because she didn’t come home Sunday night after mass. Amanda Bernstein (the B. is silent) thought ma may have left us again, vanished with the cash, because ma is like that. By cash, Amanda B. meant the $47 she stole from Amanda B.’s wallet. Ma is a kleptomaniac.
When I called the cops, they said I shouldn’t call the cops on ma. They said they couldn’t issue an Amber alert either because ma is an adult. I told them she’s not really an adult. I don’t care, the cop said. No one cares. Not even those who care. The cop just said there’s nothing we can do, not even look, because they had better things to do. Like eat donuts, I said. Then he hung up.
There’s nothing anyone can do. Even if she is my mother. I g-whizzed. A few minutes later the cop called me back and asked me what ma’s name is, or was, or would be if she were real, or human, like the humans reading this post. I told him Mama D. and then he told me she was in jail. Arrested for prostitution, he said. Again, Amanda B. said. We bailed ma out. She owes me big bucks, but I don’t mind, because this is what we do. We are family, just as broken and tattered as the next.
I told you I have secrets. Some of them slip out between the lines while others stand up and shout on the back of the pink pink elephant in my invisible spaceship. The elephant is wearing Boy George’s hairdo in the video for “I’ll Tumble For Ya”. The long, curly one, that goes all down to there. When Amanda B. and I rescued ma from jail, she thanked us by asking us for a cigarette. I’ll tumble for you, anytime, I told her. The same way I would tumble for you, ma said, my dear–if we lived in an alternate universe.