I feel:: uncomfortable
What song is on a loop in my head right now:: Buena Vista Social Club~El Cuarto de Tula
I was going to write another long story about Thanksgiving with my Aunt Carol and all of her friends, but I haven't been feeling very creative since I wrote that last post. What was memorable about the day itself for me was that, besides my mother, I was the only straight person present. Let's see. Who all was there? Carol's ex-girlfriend, Lori ,who is very butch, Sicilian and from New Jersey, (she turned out to be really cool) along with her new girlfriend Vivian, who was very femme. They brought Irene, who once had a long-term relationship with my Aunt. Irene is from Chile and I just love her to death. I knew that they had arrived because as I was standing in the kitchen, I heard cries of, "THE DYKES ARE HERE! THE DYKES ARE HERE!" I looked around to the surprised faces of the Queens (self-described) who had previously arrived. There was Jason, who Carol said was some kind of a gozillionaire and brought all the food already cooked (except the turkey of course. He cooked that there.). Pat, who was 65 and his new boyfriend, Joshua, who was 35. Sugardaddy, anyone? Joshua told me across the kitchen table that he had never been around lesbians before and this comment happened to be within earshot of Vivian, who immediately came over to him and repeated what he had just said to the entire company, put her arm around him and said,"We're going to break you in real good!" After which, all Jason could say was, "Vodka?" Almost immediately after Jason's uncomfortable moment, came my uncomfortable moment. I stood up from the table to get something to drink from the refrigerator and my Aunt says, loudly, "Dolly Parton ain't got nothing on you, sweetheart! That flat-chested bitch!" After that comment, everyone duly stared at my boobs. Then, my mom chimed in,"And hers are real!" Yay.
We finally had dinner after much setting up of the table. Everything was very formal. Carol had large, golden plates on which we put white, china plates that were designed with ripples (like waves) around the outside edges and which were trimmed in gold. I'm sure the gold was at least 24 carat. Carol then told me to open her decorative chest which was in the foyer and get out the crystal water glasses which were engraved with our family crest. Then, I was told to retrieve the wine glasses which had similar ripples on them as the china and were also trimmed in gold along the rims. Then came time to fold the linen napkins and put them into their specific napkin holders. All of the napkin holders weren't the same. Everyone had a different design. After this, my job was to make name plates on little white cards and insert them into little silver holders and then to place them on the table. Finally, we got to eat. Carol broke down crying during dinner and said that she had never had such a good Thanksgiving. It was touching.
After everyone had left, we all settled down and I had to lay down because my cysts in my right breast were hurting pretty badly due to all the caffeine I had had since I had arrived at Carol's a couple of days before (I have Fibrocystic Breast Disease). I couldn't really even sleep, I just laid there and held my breast as the pain washed over me in waves. Several hours later, I emerged from the bedroom and discovered that I was hungry, so I went to the kitchen to see if I could find some Thanksgiving leftovers. Carol was sitting at the table with her Vodka being pretty quiet. I fixed myself some food and sat down at the table and began to eat. Carol started talking about my mother and how she never had believed my mother's claim that their father had molested her until she saw it with her own eyes. Then, she went into a story about her grandfather Bolick, my great-grandfather, trying to molest her. She then told me about how he had molested my grandmother all of her life until she married my grandfather along with another story about how my grandmother almost shot her father out in the front yard.(She should be a writer. She's really detailed and descriptive.) All the while, I'm sitting across from her, shaking. I had stopped eating because I felt like I was going to vomit. My hands kept fluttering over the carvings on the incredibly ornate table legs. I was having trouble looking at her. She didn't seem to notice my distress, though. She then proceeded to quiz me about what makes me depressed and wanted to know what the worst thing my mother had ever done to me. Then, she wanted to know what the worst thing was that my dad had ever done to me. At this point, I was having trouble breathing, and blurted out, "DaddyboymolestedmetooexcusemeI'mhavingapanicattack." As I was walking away from the table, I heard her say,"I hope it's not from what we've been talking about." I made it to the bedroom where my mother and I were staying and I just leaned on the wall and hyperventilated. I guess my mom heard me from Carol's office because she came in a few minutes later and wanted to know what was wrong. All I could manage to say was that Carol had been talking about Daddyboy. I think my mom guessed the rest. She got me some water and one of my Klonopin and I shakily took it. (My hands are sweating profusely right now, so much so that I have to keep wiping them on a towel and I can feel that my heart rate is faster than it was a few minutes ago.) I sat on the bed and cried, shook and just generally was panicky, then Carol came to the doorway and said, guiltily, "Am I welcome in here?" She immediately came over to me and hugged me tightly and apologized and told me that she would never hurt me and that she didn't mean to hurt me by talking about what she did. So, in that way, everything was finally ok. Both of them left the bedroom after a little while and I laid down, then my phone rang. It was Stephen. The first thing he said was, "Happy Thanksgiving. I'm really stuffed." I don't remember what I said, probably a very weak,"Happy Thankgiving", but he asked me what was wrong and I told him that I had just finished crying. He wanted to know why, so I just told him. He asked,"Where is your grandfather now?" I told him that he was dead. Stephen said, forcefully,"Good." I can't describe how thankful I am that he called at that particular moment. We didn't talk very long, but I felt so much more peaceful after I talked to him.
My mom told me later that when Carol gets really drunk, she gets really morbid and can be scary. I thought,"Note to self: Never talk to Carol when she's been drinking all day again."
Well, I wasn't going to write a long story, but I guess I fibbed a little.
