It's Saturday in the mid 1980s Fashion Island Mall is hopping I am at the ice rink My happy place Skating circles while the beeps and boops of video games, The clatter of quarters dropping into the tray of change machines Spills out of The Gold Mine arcade across the way Movie goers in neon and Aqua Net buying tickets for Risky Business Ferris Bueller's Day Off Ladyhawke Teen Wolf or Mannequin At the DJ booth a 17 year old white boy Wearing a black sequined windbreaker and a single white sequined glove Introduces himself as Hollywood Hans Where he spins vinyl into a vibrant soundtrack featuring The Bangles Culture Club Michael Jackson Madonna Eurythmics and Wham I am in the midst of it Skating laps and laps Avoiding the teen hockey skaters with their scary sharp blades and recklessness The kids and teens begging Hans to play their favorite songs: "Play Thriller, Hans!" "I want Eye of the Tiger!" "Wake Me Up Before You Go Go!!" "You got Everybody Wants To Rule The World?" "It would be rad if you play Like A Virgin!" "Dude! Play Broken Wings!" "Like, totally play Love Is A Battlefield" "Walk Like An Egyptian would be bitchin'!" You might find me throwing quarters down the gullet of Dig Doug Pole Position or Donkey Kong While the Zamboni resurfaces the ice once an hour Or, begging my mom for one of Sbarro's signature giant slices of New York style pizza A food court staple Bonus prizes if she throws in an Orange Julius Aspiring figure skaters owning center ice Spinning and jumping dramatically Kristi Yamaguchi among them I'd later learn I am here to glide in endless circles to the music Flying fast and free Occasionally spinning or trying to Shoot the Duck With mixed results Singing along to all of the songs Always sad when Hans calls the last skate of the session Reluctantly drying my blades Pulling on my skate guards Following my mom out of the mall to the car Exhausted and happy Already dreaming of the scratch of blades on smooth resurfaced ice The rhythms of the 80s Taking my broken wings and helping me to fly again Time after time A holiday For a girl that just wants to have fun
I want to revisit the joy of cartwheels in summer grass Serenaded by the wing beats of bees and the chorus of hummingbirds and sparrows I want to drowse amongst dandelions while playing Warshak games with passing clouds in azure skies I want to hide beneath curtains of willow branches Making friends of the trees with whispered secrets
I want to run time backward To when summer days were never ending And daydreams frolicked in the warmth of long lazy unburdened afternoons I want to sit suspended in the amber of youthful memory Its glowing lens casting every scene in warm nostalgic hues Golden hour light cast upon fading Kodachrome images That compose dust mote-filled summer slideshows of my heart
If you were to ask me to describe “home” I would tell you:
Home is big, cotton candy banks of white fog in the late afternoon rolling over the northern Santa Cruz Mountains like an ethereal sea crashing silently down into Crystal Springs Reservoir then running like a river down Highway 92 until it meets San Francisco Bay Or Cascading over the central Santa Cruz Mountains gliding over Palo Alto to meet up with San Francisco Bay Or Flowing over the southern Santa Cruz Mountains getting caught in the pines like ephemeral fabric woven of spider silk before blanketing the Valley of Heart’s Delight beneath its majesty
Home is the sound of the miniature train in Central Park clacking steadfastly along its track to the delight of small children Or The sound of a CalTrain whistle as it approaches Hillsdale Station Or The puff and squeal of the air brakes of a SamTrans bus pulling up to a curb full of chittering teenagers leaving Hillsdale Mall
Home is the tea-colored, glowing hills full of gossamer, golden-hour light on the northward drive through Los Altos and Palo Alto on Highway 280 in the autumn Or Being greeted by The Cats standing guard overlooking the winding, redwood-lined drive on Highway 17 to Santa Cruz Or The moment when the Pacific Ocean becomes visible while driving Highway 92 to Half Moon Bay knowing any minute Pastorino Farm’s pumpkins patch will appear
Home is the gazebo sitting over the lagoon at Leo J Ryan Park while kids run up an down the cement and grass risers while watching the windsurfers on the water Or Walking or ridding along the levee bike path surrounding Foster City, under the San Mateo Bridge and its fisherman until you arrive at Coyote Point Or Remembering which way to curb your wheels while visiting friends who live on or near the insanely steep hill that is Alameda De Las Pulgas
Home is the book of memories stamped upon landmarks, imperfections and inconveniences forgotten due to time or will and held in reverence in the heart forever My home has no walls, only the beauty of time and familiar places
He was a brown-eyed boy Freckles on his cheeks He shared his gummy Coke bottles And always picked me to play at recess He was a little misunderstood But not by me I saw him as kindred He helped transform the gray playground Into space ships and fantastical landscapes It didn't matter I was an icky girl Or that he was a yucky boy He was comfortable with me And I with him My heart broke when he moved away I never meant to lose contact but we did We found each other for a minute Just after high school He sent me a letter and a picture A man's version of the freckled face I once knew Adorned in dress blues I think I responded too enthusiastically I never got another letter And my heart broke a second time I hope that wherever he is He is happy A brown-eyed boy With freckles on his cheeks Sharing gummy Coke bottles With someone he loves
Curtains of branches and leaves cascade to the ground Creating a sanctuary for childhood dreams beneath The somber sway of weeping willows Hides from common eyes the magical worlds they held for me I made friends of willow trees The trees of my childhood spoke to me They greeted me every time I played in their park There are less of them today But a few still stand Providing mystical playgrounds for new children I wave hello to those trees when I pass them by Hoping they remember the little girl who loved them so well And always will
Hello I hear the secrets that you keep when you're talking in your sleep Don't stand so close to me Take these broken wings I want to live the glamours life All night long That's my prerogative
Sweet dreams are made of this It's a kind of magic A total eclipse of the heart Sweet child o' mine Two of hearts Livin' on a prayer
Don't stop believin' That's the power of love I wanna dance with somebody Call me I'm addicted to love Never gonna give you up
What's love got to do with it Love is a battlefield I need a hero Like a prayer If it isn't love It's a cruel, cruel summer
Highway to the danger zone Do you really want to hurt me I'm crazy for you I've been waiting for this moment for all my life, oh Lord Time after time I want to know what love is Take my breath away
I loved blanket forts as a child I would live in a blanket fort For as long as I could get away with it Inside was my temple Soft, dark, warm and safe Outside was an adventure Sometimes the real world More often, though, anything else Other worlds filled with Villains and friends Hazards and wonders Mischief and magic Infinite possibilities Stood beyond my blanket walls My plush sanctuary Existing in two places at once A world within the world Transporting away from and rooting me to Home
I wrote you a box of postcards I never sent I could not set the stamp In place I could not address it To that space You weren't there anyway You never really were
I am from slave ships, cotton fields, and courthouse slave trades I am from generations of strong women who fought to do more than simply survive From an oldest, broken white son with a poet's heart and a love of rivers I am from a youngest, determined black daughter who sacrificed so much for those she loves
I am from a loving grandmother who wore her traumas as bitterness While she fixed fried chicken and collard greens with ease I am from Saturday morning chores with the "golden oldies" playing I am from love and struggle and sacrifice, the latter two I was rarely aware of I am from church on Sundays to commune with a God I knew better than most in that place And who wore a virgin mother's countenance
I am from morning and afternoon cartoon blocks And Saturday mornings in front of the TV singing to School House Rock I am from riding my bike for miles and for hours I am from being too curvy to be a real dancer While I danced my heart to joyful dust on every stage I am from having so much to say but rarely feeling heard I am from watching TV at the same time as a friend while on a phone attached to a wall And playing chicken with who will hang up before a parent yelled at both of us to get off the phone
I am from acid washed jeans, baby doll tops, denim, velour, and asymmetrical collars and hems Hammer pants, jelly shoes, banana clips, mismatched pairs of accessories, side ponytails From French-cut leotards, stirrup pants, Lycra biker shorts, flavored lip gloss, and neon everything
I am from My Little Pony, Strawberry Shortcake, Rainbow Bright, Cabbage Patch Kids, He-Man, and She-Ra I am from Voltron, Robotech, GI Joe, Snorks, Smurfs, reruns of Loony Tunes, and Scooby-Doo From Newton's Apple, Square One TV, 321 Contact, Not Another Science Show, and Read It I am from Garbage Pail Kids, Magic: The Gathering, Pogs, and Beanie Babies I am from "Are You There, God? It's Me, Margaret?" and "The Dollhouse Murders" From Choose Your Own Adventures, and Encyclopedia Brown Christopher Pike, Diane Duane, collections of "true" ghost stories and tales of the strange
I am from Dallas, Dynasty, Rescue 911, and Unsolved Mysteries Fantasy Island, The Cosby Show, and The Wonderful World of Disney I am from "At the sound of the tone *chime sound* turn the page." From hitting record on my tape deck hoping to catch my favorite song without a DJ's voice I am from Fisher Price record players, dual tape decks, and dropping mix tapes for mix CDs From VHS winning over beta-max and laser disc From spending hours in mall bookstores, arcades, and food courts
I am from dreams and imaginings Soap bubble fairy wishes and hours of made up worlds alone and with friends From possibilities and plans I am from "You will have more than I did." And "You will want for little." I am from a loving mother who never let me feel alone I am from good friends who never made me feel like the weird kid I kinda was I am from "You are as good, if not better, than EVERYONE else, and don't you forget it!" And "You can do anything you put your mind to."
I am from a tapestry of experiences and influences From a variety of adventures and explorations I am from a life full of love and support and as much opportunity as could be afforded And though not always easy or smooth I am from the just-right mix that created the me you see
I didn't need to have a reason But I did The reason I avoided that place Was you Was me Was us You see That was the place you decided that Us ceased to be That was the place where I returned to being just me The place where your voice Was replaced by the sound of slowly cracking glass As my heart shattered in my chest Your eyes pitied me While your lips spilled more Shattered glass to fill my roaring ears I forgot how to breathe And my now shattered heart forgot how to beat And your eyes pleaded with me Because you were already gone You had dismantled us Placed the pieces into a shoebox And buried me alive in a shallow grave I love you-s replaced by I'm sorry-s Those brown eyes indeed sorrowful As my soul was felled by a thousand surgical cuts Sundering two halves into two less-than wholes I just wanted you to stop talking To stop looking at me that way To stop tearing down my world Then you left And I stayed I didn't need to have a reason to avoid that place But I did
Words Wishes and Wisdom 