may queen

back when we were kids, we used to talk about our favorite months and places as if those days were more magical than other days. some of my friends loved the summer months for lazy summer days at the shores, others loved the crisp autumn air and the new beginnings each school year brought -- before class work and social adventures hit full swing. we loved winter holidays and the start of the baseball season.

but me? i loved may and october, each one a transitional month to segue into harsher climates. in may, the last reminders of the winter chill are burned off in dewey morning sunlight and replaced with brilliant, cloudless skies drenching the world in golden light at dusk.

october holds just opposite for me. the chill finally returns to replace the sticky humid air that hangs heavy over us, like a wet, woolen blanket draped over us. this blanket which makes us move slower, act slower, think slower -- and wishing if only this blanket could be shaken off. now suddenly, we were renewed with energy as traded shorts and tanks for sweatshirts and jeans. a crisp, smoky air filled our lungs even as the golden light weakened, without ever losing her beauty.

in a perfect world, it would always be one of these two months. flowers bursting through the earth and then quickly ducking for cover. smells of firewood burning and freshly mowed grass, of apples and hyacynth blooms. i am sure i could find places with these temperatures and move there. part of me wishes that i could be more transient. others can move cross country or to a new city, travel more. but that's not my style.

my family, my friends, my culture -- we dig deep roots.

i missed my may this year. i stumbled from my nephew's first birthday in late april until now, in a distorted haze of obligation and sadness, of family and living, and longing and death. this isn't right. october is the killing season, even in this even-numbered year.

a hard rain cursed us, soaking our roots. but even though we needed the rain, i am ready to throw off the woolen blanket.

speechless

she sat, turned facing me in her car seat. one leg neatly tucked under the other. staring. watching me. quietly.

the sun was warm and bright as it washed over my jeans and tempered the wind that howled outside the car windows, trying to make its way inside.

i was thankful for the sunglasses i wore - to protect my eyes from the sun and her watchful eyes. my eyes, hidden behind the dark glasses, stay focused on the road and on the cars ahead of me.

an uncomfortable silence took hold and no amount of radio static could block out the noise of the howling winds adding to our unease. i don't believe we had been alone like that in years. most likely, for good reason. we don't argue. we don't fight. we just don't see eye to eye.

in the car, she tried to look into my eyes. i was thankful for the dark glasses i wore, keeping my soul safe from her. there is no mistaking that we are different people, i am just not yet ready to see how we are similar.

"you've must've had a hard life", she finally says to break the silence. how do you respond to question that is at both true and false without screaming. my life is no harder than others yet also uniquely complicated enough to warrant such a response. i want more information on why she would utter a statement i can't respond to. i need to know why before i can see her point or reason for it before i instinctively curl back my lips to snarl.

"i mean, you just always know what to do", she followed up with. i was thankful for the dark glasses i wore. she was trying to thank me for doing what comes natural to me, taking charge of the situation and juggling the details and persons involved.

for planning her husband's funeral. for helping her.

i tried to answer her. i mumbled something about having to work hard to get where i am today. how would she begin to understand a glass ceiling when she has never had to work and never looks up? she has lived her life under the protection of others -- going from her father's house to her husband's without stepping out into a doorway of her own. like a baby, dependent on them to feed her making her new independence at his death a rude and frightening awakening as to how sheltered her life has been. i think i rambled on about how either you find your inner strength or your inner strength finds you.

"i just wanted to thank you, is all. for everything you've done for me."

what i wanted to stay -- shaking her in both hands as i did -- you have two choices you can lie there and die along side him or you can choose life. you can choose to stand on your own two feet. discover how strong you really are and take control of your life, your destiny. determine who you are, not within the confines of someone else's idea, but of your own free will. educate yourself on things you don't know. ask questions. don't except just what others are willing to give you but demand what you are worth. just once, know the joy of being free to go, to be, to provide for your own needs. how sweet the fruit of one's labor truly is!

i am glad i wore dark glasses that day. my hands stayed firmly planted on the steering wheel, eyes forward watching this new destiny roll out before us as i sat speechless.