Gladys

I do so fear the reaper. I find any reason I can to assume that I am dying. A mosquito bite is the flesh eating bacteria. A bit of indigestion is a heart murmur. And a bit of toilet paper stuck to the tip of my penis is herpes. I found that once I moved to Portland and a lot of things that I never had, fell into place. A good amount of love around me, the whole not being alone thing, and great food. At that point I started becoming a hypochondriac, or, as I like to call, a realist. Of course my sore leg is because of the on-coming testicular cancer. One ball is just not o.k. Not even enough to fill an espresso cup....well....maybe not enough to fill an espresso cup with a nice foam and cocoa leaf design. Cancer is this thing that lives in your cupboard that you have to at some point eat because there is no more zatarans. You can't avoid it, and it will eventually make its oh so salty presence. I remember when my grandma lost her eye to cancer. Saying it like that makes it sound like she lost a bet. Like a spoon should be involved. She had her eye removed, and I feel like just last night I started to realize what terror that would be. Sure, when you are forced to go to Walmart (because in my hometown, there is nothing else left) you don't have to see as many pok marked tube topped crack heads about 2 stone over the "ugh" mark. You will only see the ones to the left. When she had her eye removed, there was no question in mind of her mortality. My grandma is tough as nails. An alabama country girl who could probably sew a lopped off tractor/turkey deep fryer accident back on in a jiffy. She did quite well. I used to have to put antiseptic drops in her eye..... well... where her eye used to be. However, there was a coral ball there, so it wasn't a macbeth thing. I didn't see the future or anything. I saw a white ball and it wasn't that scary. But no one else would do it. Then I would sit across the room and we would toss a tennis ball across the room back and forth so that she could learn a new depth perception. It was such a normal thing for me. But so was dancing in drag for the rest of the family with my cousin to the soundtrack for dirty dancing. Hungry eyes? Doubtful. We got through it, cause no one puts grandma in a corner. I haven't dealt with a lot of death in my life. I have dealt with a lot of loss. It's like I've shopped the K-mart of life. Not complete loss, but a whole lot of markdowns and empty aisles. No matter how many blue lights flashed on surprisingly bright and fresh mumu's. The first death I ever dealt with and actually the one that had its biggest effect on me was Gladys. Well aside from this cat or that hamster. Prince Nemo was a tough time for me, and Sadie left me melancholy. I will never watch "where the red fern grows" ever again, cause thats some fucked up shit. Why you gotta make me hate ferns? Gladys was an older woman when I met her. I think I was around 6 or maybe 8. I had to go to bible school in the summers. It was at my grandma Azevedos' church, that she worked at. It was really probably just a chance for parents get a few more lines in by day end. Took a lot of energy for my mom to hold up those shoulder pads, they're real heavy. Needless to say I didn't relate to other christian kids. I did however find the developmentally disabled girl quite interesting. Only cause my parents told me "she talks that way cause her tongue is too big for her mouth". Thats right. They said that. So of course I found this girl with some superhuman tongue fascinating and terrifying. It could have wrapped around my neck like an anaconda... you don't know. But one person was sweet to me. Gladys. And older woman, probably in her sixties. She took me under her wing, and I would sit on her lap. I never interacted with other kids. They didn't get me like she did. The two of us understood things they didn't. I was beyond my years. there has to be something so deeply sweet about the friendship of a 5 yearish old boy and an old woman. I did so love her. And we were methodist, not catholic, so it wasn't dirty. Almost like an instance of time travel, the next memory I have of her is going to chico memorial hospital to visit her. apparently she was sick. But it was o.k. I knew she had changed into something she didn't want to be, but what was a hospital to me at that point? A place you went to with the flu, and you worked it out. But she had hair that didn't say "flu" to me. It wasn't gone...it was just....an old christian woman versian of Dianna Ross. She needed a hot comb. And she was so happy to see me, this boy who was just some shy kid she had let sit on her lap here and there. Some boy she protected from the in-justice of children in groups. I saw her that time and it was sad. It was a spazzy introverted boys first taste of true sadness. I was told soon after that she had passed away. I Knew that that meant she was dead. I understood all of the terms. And I knew I would be going to a funeral. that old stuffy brown methodist church with yellow stained glass. The church that I sat on her lap in. I did so love Gladys. I wanted to let a balloon go with her name and address on it like we did at the end of every bible school summer. That was the best part of that church, as far as I saw it. Shoulda done it.