DIARY: 5/10/2020

So This Is How The World Will End: by Rick Castro 5/10/2020  

Today is Mother’s Day. 

Because of the plague I’m not with me mum Bee, which has only happened perhaps three times in sixty-one years…. not bad.

At high noon I text their caregiver Remia to please set up FaceTime with me. I’ve never done FaceTime before. I know, I’m a luddite. There’s some things I have an internet aversion to, that is one of them. The other is Emojis. What the fuck is the point?

Recently my sister sent me an Emoji of herself with two hearts as eyes. “Is that supposed to be you?”, I texted. “Yes I made this morning,” she texted back. I’m not thrilled to be living in an era where a seventy-six year old woman finds it necessary to have a poorly rendered cartoon of themselves in place of language.

Remia discovers that in fact I do not have FaceTime on my phone, (I call it a dumb phone) so she suggests Facebook video messenger. I’m reluctant to do so because I don’t want her to freak out over my postings. I decide so what, If she has a problem with my images, she can… block me or respond with Emojis of me going to hell, whatever she needs to do.

Positioning myself on Bee’s hammock, circa 1970 from Pic ’N’ Save, under me dad’s Chinese elm tree, planted also circa 1970, I am now ready to connect with my Alzheimers ailing parents, whom I haven’t seen since the start of the plague.  Cellphone in hand, I look for the best angle for lighting that will detract from my eye bags. Now frantically I’m waiving to Bee on the small “dumb phone” screen in hopes that she’ll recognizes me. Remia assures me that every now and again Bee will say, “Ricky… Ricky.” Remia’s intentions are sweet, but I don’t believe her.  Even if Bee didn’t have Alzheimers, modern technology would be hard for a 97 year old woman to navigate. After a while Bee sorta looks at me and says…. “Oh.” I take this as a sign of recognition.

Remia then passes the phone to dad. “Hay Al, (I call me dad Al) happy Mother’s Day! I've been here at the cabin almost three months”, I’m shouting. Besides being inflicted with Alzheimers, he’s hard of hearing. “Ok great, says me dad, your mother’s getting old, things aren’t what they were, but we’re doing ok. Don’t worry about us… thanks for calling.”  “Wait dad! I want to show you my garden I planted the other day. Under your Chinese Elm… look how big it is. Look at my sunflowers.” I’m giving him a walking tour, “Look at your other trees, they’re so green and lush, and look here, I planted this oak tree”, I'm shouting at the top of my lungs. Me dad makes a sigh sound like  awwww, but more macho. This is his way of telling me he’s happy. 

Later that day I text my cousin Minguini, (not his real name). He told me he'd be coming up to the high desert with his mum, (my auntie Sylvia) and his older brother Joe, and their friend Joshua. I grew up with Joe, he’s the cousin closes to my age. I believe a year younger. We have lotsa memories together.  Joshua, I find out, is related to me thru my father’s cousin Gloria by marriage. He’s the brother of her son’s wife, (did you get all that?)  This is the first time we will meet. Minguini invites me to have BBQ.  

Just before 3pm, I’m opening the front gate to Bee’s cabin. Directly in front of me is a large coyote, or maybe a wolf? (I just looked it up, it was a wolf) He’s big, with pepper colored hair, very masculine. It looks like a werewolf… He saunters into my neighbors property like he owns the place. In theory he does.

I’m now driving up me cousin Minguini’s long driveway. Although his mobile home is just up the street from Bee’s cabin, the altitude is higher, allowing the view to be spectacular. I’m entering with some reserve and trepidation. Although I love me cousin Joe, since his father died, (I wrote about that HERE-) he’s become a bit of a lush. When he's sober he’s sweet, when he drinks it’s like Jekyll & Hyde. Joe’s the type of alcoholic who’s personality changes. He gets confrontational and angers easily. He picks fights. This tends to run in my family… I don’t know if it’s a Mexican thing, an alcohol thing, or a combo of both. 

The “fiesta” starts off with a bang. Keep in mind this is the first time I’ve been with people since the plague. There are many empty beer bottles scattered about, They’ve been at it for a while. Cousin Minguini asks, “are you drinking tonight cousin?” “Not that, I point to his beer.” What do you mean not that?!, “ Joe is already looking to pick a fight. “I don’t drink beer, I reply calmly. Joe takes everything so personal. “How about vodka & fresh squeezed grapefruit from my mother’s tree?,” Minguini offers. “A Greyhound! that sounds amazing, I reply, please make it a weak one.”

Auntie Sylvia comes out of the bedroom, she looks great. “Hallo auntie, I say, happy Mother’s Day!” “thank you dear, she says gratefully. “You know, I miss your father’s visits so much, I would love to see him and your mother again.” 

“ Earlier today I FaceTimed with my parents, “ I say, would you like me to set up so you can say hello to them?” “Ok, but let me do my hair a little better.“ Sylvia wants to look her best for Mother’s Day. As me auntie Sylvia FaceTimes with Al & Bee, outta the corner of my eye I see my cousin Joe tearing up. My family is very emotional. Liquor brings out years of suppressed emotion.

‘

Joshua comes in from the deck with his plate of sizzling BBQ steak. Minguini brings warm corn tortillas, tomato slices, cabbage, and freshly made guacamole. I brought lentils made in Bee’s crockpot. I must tell you my dear readers, I haven’t had steak in over forty years. This steak is amazing, but I don’t need to have it again. “You’re a good cook, I say to Joshua, you’ll make someone a wonderful wife.” This is one of my many stock comments, (I have a plethora) meant to be amusing. It doesn’t go over well. “What did you say?” Joshua looks at me without smiling.

As the beers multiply, cousin Joe is slurring his four-letter words. After a while his mother, (my auntie Sylvia) quietly says, “Joe, why are you cussing so much? You never did this before?”  “I fucking say whatever I want whenever I fucking want! We’re all goddamn adults here. I talk the way I fucking please. ” Joe is a pathetic mess. “How about today, for your mother on Mother’s Day you cool it?” I state as even toned as possible. “Fuck, “ he quietly says under his breath. Auntie Sylvia excuses herself and goes back to her bedroom. 

As the evening escalades, it becomes more and more uncomfortable, reminding me why I’ve stay away from family for so long. Cousin Joe is like a mini-version of me bro; drunk, boorish, overbearing, dumb as a brick and forever wrong. Unfortunately this doesn’t keep him from stating his loud opinion about everything.

I look to my cousin Minguini, with an I told you so expression. He looks back at me with a, what are we gonna do expression. 
This is the curse of the blue collar Mexican family. They are hardworking and deep down have hearts of gold, but allot of anger. Bent up hostility stemming from family background issues, authority issues, disrespect issues, inferiority issues. Dealing with blatant racism your entire life, with only having one other minority treated worse, sometimes not. Machismo and bravado, always thinking you have to be on, have to prove yourself, feeling its necessary to one up the other guy. It’s the toxic environment of straight men with internalized homophobia where the most despicable thing you could possibly be is a faggot… and I don’t mean a bundle of sticks. 

This dysfunction allows for generations of insecurity, manifesting into narcissism once you break out of the ghetto, literal and metaphorically. Everybody in my family has done well. I come from a family of overachievers. I’m the black sheep… I’m considered the loser in the family, because I don’t have enough cars and material wealth, (art means nothing to them) to flaunt back in their faces. 
Their cold, sorry-ass faces. 

Outta of a nonsensical evening of drunken banter comes the truth. 

Cousin Joe announces. “The thing about Rick and his brother Al, is they are two original people.” I perk up. Joe continues, “ at a young age, Rick was creating things that I didn’t understand. I remember those drawings you used do and all the art you were info, I was like where the fuck did that come from? You were from some other realm. Rick, I was afraid of your brother too, but you had it the worst. He was only a couple years older than us, but acted like he was the adult. Al Jr. stood over you making veiled threats… like trying to continuously keep you in your place, but fuckin scary… he went out of his way to scare you!” Cousin Joe in his drunken stupor confirmed what I’ve known my entire life, but could never convince anyone, especially my father. My brother was dangerous.

When Trumpworld was elected I felt the same fear. I recognized that personality. An unrelenting obsession to be right at all costs, to win every game and debate. To out do everyone. To make money only out of greed, not out of need, or to better anything, not even yourself. 

“For that very reason, I say to my cousins, my bro and I were not close and never will be. I then say, “this is the most unmotherly Mother’s day I’ve ever experienced." "What do you mean? asks cousin Minguini as Joshua and a pickled cousin Joe all look at me bewildered. " Your mother retreated to her bedroom. This is one of the few times I’ve not been with my mother in 61 years.” 

There are no mothers here.… only motherfuckers.

So this is how the world will end.

copyright- rick castro- 5/2020

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