If My Mother Birthed Your Fantasies
She would weep.
Wail out the tears of generations to be destroyed by your stubbornness. Your absolute stupid thing, you know, that thing you do that really pisses me off. God damnit that thing!
She would moan.
Take her arms into her chest and let out a sigh that was held in for decades. All to please you, to caress you, to kiss you, to lick you, to bite you. Can you feel it? Can you really feel it? Can you feel that visceral sensation across your body? The sensations. You can't? You wanna? You wanna kiss? Kiss? Kiss? Kiss. Kiss. KISS!
Well she can't. She can't feel it. She only speaks in broken English and on her bad days in Spanish. Fucking Spanish. Se acabo, they say. Termino. Nunca mas, no llores mas, las luces se apagaron y ya no esta con nosotros. The lights are off and he is no longer with us. He is but a shadow cast across dimensions extending large amounts of space and time to pierce a needle into my lungs when I least expect it. When I least feel the yearning to cry. Like when I'm watching a movie with my friends or when I'm writing a fucking paper.. A fucking paper! One more fucking paper.
Have you ever had your hands tremble? Clench the sheets beneath you for support, feel your grip loosen and suddenly you're closer to death than you've ever been - or at least that's what it feels like when suddenly one thought of him becomes the most powerful thing to possess you.
Suddenly he holds your life between his fingers. The fingers that once scratched your body ever so gently making you moan that right kind of moan. Felt your body from the inside out, the fingers that shot vibrations down your back, the fingers that squeezed your thighs, clenched your ass and released going limp on the bed next to the naked white body they once belonged to. Oh those fucking fingers, the ones that called you a prick, the ones that pointed at you, the ones that made you into a monster and tear you apart limb from limb, molecule by molecule. You take the phone and the first thing you can remember -
Well, let's not talk about that anyway. Because it's not about him. It never was and he didn't get that. He really didn't get that. But god damn the sex was good and so was my mother's the day she conceived your fantasies. The day she pushed them out like it was cinco de mayo on a cafeteria beef burrito you know, that kind that doesn't taste quite right but you still eat it anyway- Sabrosito!
Like it was sombreros atop a dude bros head as he was fist pumping with a handle of tequila in one hand and the lives of students in the other - [insert name here]
"You like it?" She says. "Lo compre en la Nordstrums!"
"Sure," I tell her as she models a beautiful grey gown we both know she really bought at Goodwill - it's a euphemism.
"I was going to give it to Corcholata but I think it looks better on me" she continues - Thats what she calls my drag character. I'm assuming she means Horchata - named after the Mexican drink my white friend once tasted and said "like christmas in a cup!"
In mom's Spanglish however, Horchata becomes Corcholata. "I'm so boring!" She yells when she really means I'm bored, "What's the matter happy you?" Is what I'm assuming, "what's the matter are you happy?"
"What's the matter, are you happy?" She continues. "Oh yeah, I'm fine", I say. And she proceeds to continue checking herself out in the mirror as she tells me about all the skirts, prom dresses and in-betweens she's hoarded for me over the year.
Here stands the woman who birthed your fantasies! Low and behold. She drapes herself in decadence within the master bathroom that has seen few objects move from the last time I was home.
She sprints down the stairs as the clock races to midnight - twenty seconds to go. She rushes to light the candles, fixes her hair once more and pops open the champagne bottles, "NIÑOS APURENSE!" she yells and the next thing I know, "HAPPY NEW YEAR!"
We pose in front of the nicest curtains, her favorite curtains, as we're all dressed up. The self-timer clicks, we take the picture, and she says, "Okay, ahi los veo - buenas noches!"
That was it, she took the picture, she did it. The woman who birthed your fantasies has captured it all on film. The fantasy of a fantasy. The shot to show to you when you ask her, "how was your new years?" and now she's going to bed. Now, she's getting out of your fantasies and into her night gown, all at exactly 12:10.
And so I say, before I die - I want to be just like her. I want to birth your fantasies - take the paint to my skin, perform the words I don't believe in and fuck the dick that made my fantasies.
What's the matter happy you? x100