waiting for soledad
On Sunday March 19, 2006, I am going to visit my father in Salinas Valley State Prison for the first time in nearly fifteen years.
He does not know that I am coming.
I wished on a galaxy full of stars that the weekend would arrive because this week has been full of stress in the highest order; filled with thinking about seeing him. How will he react? How will I? What will the drive up be like? The drive back? Will I run into any snags? Will I run into any people I know? (this just popped up but I guess the possibility certainly exists) Will it rain? Will I be cold (I always am) and will this make me seem like I’m uncomfortable?
I have been admonished by good friends and women of reasonable sensibility, to relax, take a deep breath; they are sure it will be fine. Me too. But that doesn’t work for whatever this thing is in my belly, doing the manic jump-around all on my nerves.
I brought myself a nice black shirt because one of the wives on Prison Talk said I couldn’t go wrong with that (there are so many things related to attire that can get you eighty-sixed, that much I do remember from my childhood visits). And while I was shopping I got that queasy feeling you get when the anticipation of a thing is at levels so high, you are sure you will either faint or fly away. It’s like the day before the first day of school, or Christmas eve or that feeling you get when the report card with an "F" and three "D"’s shows up in the mail - you know that ass is in for it. Like that.
After I brought the shirt I was on my way out of the mall and I did a thing that surprised me – I thought, “I need something pretty. I want to look pretty when I see my daddy.” And so I went into Forever 21 and bought a bundle of beaded bracelets tied together with a shiny satin bow. I put it on my wrist and thought, “Now I’ll look like his little girl.” Really.
But I have discovered in these last few grueling and tiresome days, that the desire to be that little girl has been there all along; itching in her red tights, hopping from foot to foot, waiting -rather impatiently - to be seen.
He does not know that I am coming.
I wished on a galaxy full of stars that the weekend would arrive because this week has been full of stress in the highest order; filled with thinking about seeing him. How will he react? How will I? What will the drive up be like? The drive back? Will I run into any snags? Will I run into any people I know? (this just popped up but I guess the possibility certainly exists) Will it rain? Will I be cold (I always am) and will this make me seem like I’m uncomfortable?
I have been admonished by good friends and women of reasonable sensibility, to relax, take a deep breath; they are sure it will be fine. Me too. But that doesn’t work for whatever this thing is in my belly, doing the manic jump-around all on my nerves.
I brought myself a nice black shirt because one of the wives on Prison Talk said I couldn’t go wrong with that (there are so many things related to attire that can get you eighty-sixed, that much I do remember from my childhood visits). And while I was shopping I got that queasy feeling you get when the anticipation of a thing is at levels so high, you are sure you will either faint or fly away. It’s like the day before the first day of school, or Christmas eve or that feeling you get when the report card with an "F" and three "D"’s shows up in the mail - you know that ass is in for it. Like that.
After I brought the shirt I was on my way out of the mall and I did a thing that surprised me – I thought, “I need something pretty. I want to look pretty when I see my daddy.” And so I went into Forever 21 and bought a bundle of beaded bracelets tied together with a shiny satin bow. I put it on my wrist and thought, “Now I’ll look like his little girl.” Really.
But I have discovered in these last few grueling and tiresome days, that the desire to be that little girl has been there all along; itching in her red tights, hopping from foot to foot, waiting -rather impatiently - to be seen.
posted by A Girl Again at 8:55 PM
6 Comments:
I am so blown away by the brutal honesty that graces your postings... I feel compelled to follow your story...
*praying 3/19 goes well*
Peace & Blessings...
Thank you so much. I have been living with this blooming seed of a situation almost since I was a tiny seed myself. It is time.
you will be fine. your daddy will be so tickled! i cant' wait to hear how it goes. and get this, the weather is supposed to be clear. even God knows you need this & he'll hold back the clouds.
give me a shout if you need anything.
"even God knows you need this & he'll hold back the clouds."
This made me cry. He would do that for me. He has done it so many times in the past.
Now why you go and make me cry like that? I can't even see the screen hardly. Yes. Go be pretty for your daddy, for yourself. (Do go with the t-shirt though. Better safe than sorry). I feel your expectation welling up through this machine and I want so much for everything you want to happen to happen. At the same time, I know that sometimes you just have to jump out of the boat and let the rapids carry you. What happens there happens, but don't forget what happened here when you wrote this. Sometimes it's the journey that means the most.
Yes M, the journey IS the thing.
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