Thanks Maggy

Every now and then when I get melancholy, I write about the past.
I stumble through moments that have been bouncing around my head for years. I don’t even know where to begin, but I know I have to start somewhere.
Somewhere inside of me are stories I need to tell.
I don’t know if they are good stories.
I just know they are there, clamoring to get out.
The stories get jumbled up because they were jumbled as I lived them. The wishes that I reached for never quite lived up to what I wanted them to be. I got jaded early and didn’t think life was really worth it. Dreams never clouded up my expectations and life pretty much unfolded like it was scripted for an unsung collection of carbon and water like me.
I was just there.
The plot never thickened and the audience never roared with laughter. Nobody noticed when they missed an episode or cared about the story and I’m pretty sure that there isn’t a sequel in the works.
It was nothing but a montage of misplaced moments. Memories scattered and lost like specks of sand on an endless beach.
I was just there.
Nobody noticed and nobody cared.
And now I’m here.
I’m staring at the past and looking for words to type. I wanted to bitch about some shitty stuff that fucked up my youth, but something keeps distracting me. A shiny little spot sparkling in the puddle of my mind keeps diverting me from all the things I thought were shitty.
Someone did notice.
Someone took my hand.
All those milestones I took for granted like learning to read, or tying my shoes, realizing the dark isn’t that scary or finding the beauty behind every note. All those little things that the younger me learned came from my very first hero.
She didn’t know it or want it. Hell, she probably kind of thought of me as a pest. But somewhere in her hectic teenage life, her heart find enough time for me.
My aunt Margaret was a giant in my life.
I remember going to see her plays, I think she was in Our Town and Fiddler on the Roof, but I was really little. I remember wanting to see her so much when she came back from studying abroad in Russia that I went to the airport even though I was sick and was barfing everywhere.
The way she read stories made them come alive and she had the patience to teach me to read. She was my first piano teacher, but when I heard her sing, the world of music became the most beautiful thing.
There was one year I went to live with her out in Provo Utah. I hated everything. I didn’t know why I was there. Nobody wanted me. It was another year in a different place, another new school and another year of being the new kid. I was so sick of trying to fit in and tired of fighting all the kids that hated me just because I was new. Worst of all, all these kids in my new world were Mormon. That meant they did all they same stuff as other kids but lied about it and hated anyone that didn’t cover it up.
The whole year sucked.
It sucked for me and I’m sure it sucked for Margaret. I was a total prick. The world as I knew it was just a giant ball of shit. I was angry at everything and Margaret was collateral damage.
I was so happy to leave that hell and get back to the shit hole I was more familiar with. I’m pretty sure Margaret was happy to see me go too.
Not like she didn’t love me, I know she did, It was that I was such an asshole.
Thinking about it now, I’m kind of sad.
I was thirteen years old that year I spent in Provo. Thirteen years and that was the first time I felt what it was like to have a mother. I wish I could have been nicer, but I couldn’t.
Not then.
I’m not so angry anymore and life looks a lot different now than it did back then. I only hope that she can forgive me for what I was like as a boy and can smile at the man she helped me become.