Your Pain(ting) Part 1
I have a frame on the wall that only requires you to step into it, so that I can begin painting you with memories instead of colors. I will dip the brush inside of my first day of school, when I cried. It was ironic to weep about being left in an unfamiliar place when I was also terrified of going home. I was with my drug addicted and abusive father. He used to beat you in almost every memory I have of you. But you replaced the terror of that first day of school with a more impactful one. As you walked me to school on another day, you looked down at me and asked if your face looked okay. Your left eye was shut, black. But I did not hesitate to tell you that you looked fine. Whenever I think of your eyes, I think of a child lying to his mother. So I am painting them with a black color I have never had in my crayon box. I look just like you. That is what everyone has always told me. Your hair is jet-black and long, and what I remember about it is that you yelled at me once when I asked you who had cut it. You came home from the salon and were upset that it was so short. I thought the question safe, but your reaction was what ultimately made you unfamiliar to me. I simply wanted to know. And so when I pass the brush to capture the silkiness of your hair, there is an unfamiliar-black that highlights its significance in every stroke. I must practice this quite a bit because I was always afraid to touch it, and my hand still needs to become accustomed to this kind of familiarity. Your lips are full like mine. They have kissed me many times before going to bed and on my way out of the house. Yet what I feel when I paint them are words telling me you were leaving me with strangers. This was the most frightening moment I had ever experienced. I never knew how much I loved you until that moment. I never thought myself capable of reacting so strongly to anything you’ve ever said to me. But I did, and since then your lips have been frozen in time.
Read the remainder of this essay by Carlos on Minutes Before Six.
Freedom Braids by Carlos 