free stats Carmen's Web: Denial, Thy Name is Mona
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Denial, Thy Name is Mona
So last week I come home from a long, exhausting (and incredibly hot) day, dreaming of submerging my body in ice cold water and spending the remainder of the evening doing nothing but flipping through the TV to watch reruns. I didn't want my brain to work, didn't want to think about anything, just wanted to watch some insipid television. It had been quite a long week and I purposely finished all my work the day before so I could spend time doing NOTHING. I deserved it.

Instead, I came home to bullshit. My parents were out; they drove one of their oldest friends to the airport. My aunt was sitting on the front porch studying for her real estate exam, so I gave her a quick hello and ran inside. As I was making my food in the kitchen, I heard a man yelling outside, which is quite odd because we live on the quietest street in Queens.


I'm usually one to mind my own business, but as the yelling continued I ran to the window to make sure no one was being hurt. No one was. It was just my loser cousin yelling at his mother.

She quickly dragged him into the house and down into the basement, smiling at me as she did. He was rocking back and forth as he walked, his words were slurred, and it didn't take a brain surgeon to realize that he was drunk or high, or both.

More yelling went on downstairs, threats even, as M tried to get his mother to give him money so he could go out to a club. She told him that he can't leave the house, he accused her of trying to break his manhood, and next thing you know she hands him money and he's on his way out of the house.

My dreams of spending a relaxing evening shot, I went downstairs and waited for her to come out of the room. When she did I told her that if she didn't tell my father what happened, that I would. I wanted to give her the chance to "come clean" to him. Her response?

"What happened ya S?"

What? Are you seriously trying to pull that shit with me???? I told her once again that if she didn't tell my father what happened, that I would.

She looks at me, perplexed, and asks innocently, "What happened??? That M went to a club?"

Is she really that daft??? Do I look like a fucking moron??


"Drunk? M wasn't drunk ya S. Was he?"

Okay. Now you're either thinking that I'm a pure idiot or you're in a state of denial that needs some serious addressing.

"Look, your son was either drunk, or high, or both".

She comes to sit next to me on the couch and asks me again if I thought he was really drunk. She tries to tell me that that was just his attitude, that he was tired and bored, but that he doesn't drink. I stare at her face a little bit, trying to read it. What the hell is this woman playing at?

I tell her that he was drunk, that she's spoiling him, and that if she can't discipline him then there's no power in the world that's going to whip him into shape other than the U.S. Army or the prison system. And he may not come out alive from either. I tel her that the boy is one step from becoming a criminal; one step from being a murderer or becoming a murderer himself. I'm not exaggerating here. I haven't recounted the kind of trouble he's gotten into but suffice it to say that he's a troubled child. A true criminal. I believe that he still has the potential to be saved, but no one is trying to. What everyone IS doing is rationalizing his criminal behavior.

Anyway, long story short, she kept insisting that this was just a phase he's going through, that he's misunderstood by his teachers and society, and tried to convince me once again that he wasn't drunk.

I wanted to shoot myself. I'm not sure whether she's stupid or blind, and I told her this, but there's something seriously wrong with her.

My father came in while I was yelling at her and asked her immediately where M was. I was hoping that she'd have the chance to tell him what happened at her own time, but I guess fate planned it differently. She, very calmly, told him that he went to a club. And left it at that.

Uff. I looked at my father and told him the story of how he was drunk, how he threatened her, and how stupid I think she is. My father got pissed off at her and said that he washes his hands from all this. "I've been trying my best to fix your son's life, but I can't do it if you won't discipline him! I'm not his father and I can't be with him all the time!"

I follow my father to his room and talk to him, basically repeating to him the same things I told my aunt. My aunt walks into the room and starts blubbering something about leaving the house to get out of my father's hair.

"Don't worry, I'll pack up and leave tomorrow. I'll go stay in the basement of our building. There's nothing there, but we'll go anyway."

God. She can't even play the role of the martyr successfully. There's really NO reason for this woman to be part of society. She needs to be locked up somewhere.

My father sarcastically asks her what she plans to do in an empty basement and how she plans to discipline the boy.

"I don't know. I'll just go and God will take care of the rest. God will change my boy."

I wanted to throw the lamp at her face. I start yelling at her again and tell her this is why her boy is so fucked; because she abdicates responsibility and throws everything to her "God". My father can't say anything to me because he knows that I'm right and even though I'm disrespecting his sister by yelling at her he keeps his mouth shut.

By midnight I had had enough. I told my father and my aunt that they're both in the wrong for letting this piece of shit get away with murder and that had he been a girl this would've been nipped in the bud ages ago.

You're bored shitless of my family, aren't you? So am I. So am I.
Thoughts shared by Carmen at 8:30 PM
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Who: Carmen

xx-something egyptia-yorker who's spent over half her life stuck in two worlds not of her own making. unable and unwilling to fully embrace one identity over the other, she created (is trying to create) her own place in the world where people love each other unconditionally, irrespective of artificial boundaries, and where dancing merengue is as necessary to life as breathing air.

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