don’t know exactly how to describe it to you, Mommy’s learning herself. Sometimes I feel you know more than me. But how I see it—I dunno. OK, see that apple, tell me about it.
It’s green.
Yeah.
It’s shiny.
Is it?
No, but apples can be shiny.
How big is it?
Little.
Littler than a ladybug?
No.
Littler than a golf ball?
I never seen a golf ball.
Are you crazy—Tiger Woods!
But that’s on TV.
Is it littler than a basketball but bigger than a golf ball?
Yeah!
OK, see, that’s like they tell us in school, you and I have agreed upon reality. You and I look at the apple and see some stuff about it and say OK, but ain’ nobody seen God. Bible say he had skin like copper, hair like wool. I read it! One professor brought us pictures of Venus of Willendorf from ancient days, big ladies, said they was goddesses. I’m not down on the white people’s God, but then when I think about my life I ain’t down with it either, at least I don’t want to be.
You don’t have to be, Mommy.
Whatchu mean?
What we think can be God. We can think anything.
You get so programmed, baby, in spite of yourself, you get so programmed.
WHEN I CLOSE my eyes I fall down without moving, like I’m tumbling through space, like astronauts but I’m not weightless and keep tumbling down to a dark place and my breath feel like fear in my throat. In the hospital I been dreaming one thing. One thing that didn’t happen. Batty did bad. Batty hurt me. They ask me questions over and over. I wanted the tubes out my nose and hands. I don’t have AIDS. I don’t have pneumonia. Stupid questions. When will I get my computer back, go someplace that’s not here? To Michael Jordan, to training camp. To the Indians. I don’t want to talk.
“In the three weeks you were there—”
Stupid guy! “I was not there no three weeks!” What’s he talking about. I was only there for one day. It hurts to turn my head.
One day an extra-stupid lady comes with dolls. She holds up one of the dolls. I hate her. She has flakes of dandruff.
“What happened to this little boy?”
She leans toward the bed. I feel like I’m swimming on the white walls, the air, like I can go anywhere. Just float. I’m anybody. I could be God if that was the agreed-upon reality. In the dream I have a bad headache for two weeks and we’ve finished dinner and I want to do my homework. In the dream Batty is sitting across the table from me. Snowball is on one side of me, he’s a little albino boy. He doesn’t like to be called Snowball but that’s how it is. I forget his name anyway. My head hurts all the time. Bobby and Richie Jackson are sitting next to Batty, across from me. I’m hungry. Everybody’s eating, I’m not. I’m hungry but sometimes my head hurts so hard I can’t do nothing not even eat. Miss Lillie say it will go away. I just need to eat and drink plenty of water. I do. Miss Lillie says shut up crying or I’ll give you something to cry about. But she doesn’t. She’s nice sometimes lets us watch TV in her room. Miss Lillie doesn’t ever hit us, none of us, not even Snowball when he doo-doos in the bed. Batty hits us. Until my head echoes like a bell. In school I can’t remember nothing. I sit there. They talk about dinosaurs. I go to the library and check out books I had at home: Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee, Indian Chiefs, Sitting Bull and Other Legendary Native American Chiefs, Michael Jordan: The Athlete and the Man. In real life if real life was real I am not here. My father came and got me the minute he found out my mother died and they had put me in foster care. Not my son! My head hurts so bad. All the time I vomit. Inside I feel like Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce. (My mother had got her nose pierced.) “My heart is sick and sad. From where the sun now stands, I will fight no more.” My mother said he probably didn’t say that, they probably just wrote it that way to make him sound like a fool. Mommy, do you hate them?
It’s green.
Yeah.
It’s shiny.
Is it?
No, but apples can be shiny.
How big is it?
Little.
Littler than a ladybug?
No.
Littler than a golf ball?
I never seen a golf ball.
Are you crazy—Tiger Woods!
But that’s on TV.
Is it littler than a basketball but bigger than a golf ball?
Yeah!
OK, see, that’s like they tell us in school, you and I have agreed upon reality. You and I look at the apple and see some stuff about it and say OK, but ain’ nobody seen God. Bible say he had skin like copper, hair like wool. I read it! One professor brought us pictures of Venus of Willendorf from ancient days, big ladies, said they was goddesses. I’m not down on the white people’s God, but then when I think about my life I ain’t down with it either, at least I don’t want to be.
You don’t have to be, Mommy.
Whatchu mean?
What we think can be God. We can think anything.
You get so programmed, baby, in spite of yourself, you get so programmed.
WHEN I CLOSE my eyes I fall down without moving, like I’m tumbling through space, like astronauts but I’m not weightless and keep tumbling down to a dark place and my breath feel like fear in my throat. In the hospital I been dreaming one thing. One thing that didn’t happen. Batty did bad. Batty hurt me. They ask me questions over and over. I wanted the tubes out my nose and hands. I don’t have AIDS. I don’t have pneumonia. Stupid questions. When will I get my computer back, go someplace that’s not here? To Michael Jordan, to training camp. To the Indians. I don’t want to talk.
“In the three weeks you were there—”
Stupid guy! “I was not there no three weeks!” What’s he talking about. I was only there for one day. It hurts to turn my head.
One day an extra-stupid lady comes with dolls. She holds up one of the dolls. I hate her. She has flakes of dandruff.
“What happened to this little boy?”
She leans toward the bed. I feel like I’m swimming on the white walls, the air, like I can go anywhere. Just float. I’m anybody. I could be God if that was the agreed-upon reality. In the dream I have a bad headache for two weeks and we’ve finished dinner and I want to do my homework. In the dream Batty is sitting across the table from me. Snowball is on one side of me, he’s a little albino boy. He doesn’t like to be called Snowball but that’s how it is. I forget his name anyway. My head hurts all the time. Bobby and Richie Jackson are sitting next to Batty, across from me. I’m hungry. Everybody’s eating, I’m not. I’m hungry but sometimes my head hurts so hard I can’t do nothing not even eat. Miss Lillie say it will go away. I just need to eat and drink plenty of water. I do. Miss Lillie says shut up crying or I’ll give you something to cry about. But she doesn’t. She’s nice sometimes lets us watch TV in her room. Miss Lillie doesn’t ever hit us, none of us, not even Snowball when he doo-doos in the bed. Batty hits us. Until my head echoes like a bell. In school I can’t remember nothing. I sit there. They talk about dinosaurs. I go to the library and check out books I had at home: Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee, Indian Chiefs, Sitting Bull and Other Legendary Native American Chiefs, Michael Jordan: The Athlete and the Man. In real life if real life was real I am not here. My father came and got me the minute he found out my mother died and they had put me in foster care. Not my son! My head hurts so bad. All the time I vomit. Inside I feel like Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce. (My mother had got her nose pierced.) “My heart is sick and sad. From where the sun now stands, I will fight no more.” My mother said he probably didn’t say that, they probably just wrote it that way to make him sound like a fool. Mommy, do you hate them?
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