Went pro in '69, rode the heat wave all the way to the 40 cent bus stop. That's where she got her wings, they say. Mother didn't like it one bit. Raised me to think it was wrong for a woman to act like that, especially a multigen matriarch on a melting planet. Couldn't stand the twinkle in her eye neither, wanted to rip it out. "Ain't no particular way I gotta act, and since you've been shit talking me ever since I pushed you outta my immaculate body, how about you stand up and fight me like a goddamn man?" Granny always knew how to pick a fight, knew how to end them too. I once saw her drop some biker chick and her 300 lbs bodyguard like she was swatting flies off a dead llama. Some say she had super strength, but she was just clever. Knew how to use her mind more than most. That's how she created all those illusions, tricked you into seeing things you didn't see, into thinking thoughts you never had. It's how she made my father stop beating my mom. Sometimes she'd push him so hard that I'd see sweat dripping down his face, blood vessels popping in his eye sockets, spit foaming at the side of his mouth until he'd start howling right at the top of his lungs. Sometimes he'd be screaming like a war child, shaking all about, beating his head against the living room mantle trying to make it stop, but of course he never could.
I remember asking once, "What does he see grandma?" to which she replied, "Just himself as he truly is." I didn't quite understand it at the time but I think I do now.
This is part of an ongoing work of non-erotic autofiction outlining the real life and times of the author.
- Glen Davis
