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Chapter 4: The Illusion of Perfection

The Disgusting Culture of Dismissing Weird Vibes

By Rebecca LawPublished 6 years ago 4 min read
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Thunder and Lightening

New York was New York. Big, tall, scary, loud, bad, and good smells— everything that you expect a big city to be. In a small island, when somebody says they're going away, they mean they're going to New York. The world didn't really seem much bigger than that.

My grandmother's best friend at that time was named aunty Ruby. She was black and beautiful. She was an older lady, with the wrinkles everywhere and a very, very distinct New York accent. I have no idea where my grandmother met this woman, but they were friends forever. We went to her house and she had a fridge full of meat and big jugs of juice. Her house smelled of bacon and good food and it was obvious that she loved eating cuz she was very corpulent.

It was the first time that I smelled a cantaloupe. And to this day, every time I smell a cantaloupe, I think of a foreign place. I've smelled mangoes all my life and chennette and sugar apple and pommecythere, coconuts, sugarcane, and corn all my life, but cantaloupe was foreign and every different thing on this journey stood out.

I loved Auntie Ruby's house. I'd never been in a hotel before, I'd never been out of my country before, and her apartment seemed so rich & new and posh.

My grandmother told me that the next day I would meet my dad and I would go to stay at his house with his family, and then after a few weeks, I would come back to her and we would go see my Aunt Jackie who also lived in Brooklyn. I couldn't wait to see my Aunt Jackie. She was saucy and spicy and didn't take bullshit. But that was later.

My father arrived the next day in the lobby of the apartment building downstairs. He came up the stairs and I stood behind my grandmother and looked at the man. He was tall and dark and handsome. I could not have been more proud to have come from somebody so strong and beautiful. And in that moment, I questioned my mother's sanity again.

I smiled awkwardly because even at 12 years old, my personality stayed quite unchanged. I was shy and unsure of myself, awkward, and very clumsy.

He was warm and friendly and sat and talked to my grandmother for a bit. I remember my grandmother not being very warm or engaging, but reserved and quieter than she was when she and Auntie Ruby were alone. But I only remember it now because my thoughts were deep in every detail of what happened. My Aunt Jackie was the same way when she met him later that month.

He seemed very polite but talked a lot. And now that I look back, I could imagine the feeling that she had; an unsure feeling of the man in front of her. I know this because I've had that feeling. The tingling, questioning, uncomfortable feeling. With no other reason to base it on other than some unattractive Sixth Sense. But it's our culture to dismiss anything coming from women who add having a sixth sense to their resume.

With him was my oldest sister. She was older than me by half a year. She was tall and dark just like him; beautiful and confident. She ordered him around like any daughter that loves her father would.

"Daddy I need this!"

"Daddy can I please have that."

"Don't forget you have to take me here."

You know, the pure, normal life of a father and daughter.

Well, maybe she was pulling out all the stops because I was there. I can only imagine what her mother would have coached her on. Knowing full well that her husband's illegitimate daughter, her husband's mistake that haunts her, the very mistake that she had decided to forgive and forget 12 years before was coming home to spend 12 days in her home. A beautiful reminder of the reason she hated him.

But all I saw was what I had always imagined. He treated his daughter affectionately. She hugged him and kissed him and everything seemed really, really normal. I don't remember every detail of leaving my grandmother to getting to his house, but we finally arrived in Brooklyn at their family home. It was very humble and neat and perfect.

But perfection is an illusion, especially to a 12-year-old girl whose innocence is still as exciting and hopeful, as is every single present and new experience she could ever receive. And my expectations were very high.

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About the Creator

Rebecca Law

Trinidadian/Canadian writer, artist and musician teaches about overcoming deep childhood trauma and finding joy through meaningful friendship and truthful conversations.

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