Christmas 2009. Mar Mar is seven. Still into Star Wars!! I got him Mace Windu’s lightsaber because I like purple. Didn’t know it made noises though ): Kept me up all night, but my baby is happy!!
2010. My boyfriend, Don, playing Xbox with Mar Mar. Some racing game. Mar’s head is only half cornrows because he started crying. He’s tenderheaded like me. Don told him to man up and it didn’t go too well! Don is the yellow Ferrari on the TV (aka the one getting his ass kicked in fourth place).
First day of middle school—he’s sprouting like a weed. We’re at the “Young Men’s College Preparatory Academy.” Had to scrape scrape scrape to get him this school uniform, but he is so precious in his khakis and blazer.
Halloween 2010. Count Blackula! He came up with that name, don’t know where he picked that up from. He gets to trick or treat at our Riverbrook (old) and the new apartment this year. Not much candy, but he said he wanted to see his friends one last time before we had to move again.
2011. Mar riding in the backseat of Terry’s car with his favorite Legos. He’s been silent because we had to put away a few things in storage. We made sure he could fill a backpack of toys before we left them all. Mar was sad, but I told him we could come up and switch out when he gets tired of those. Plus, they won’t be in there long. Has his hair like Qui Gon Jinn—fav hairstyle and fav Jedi.
2012. Mar and Momma cheesing at Dairy Queen. She came down to get him. Soooo happy about her just showing up out of nowhere. Mar is ecstatic about going to live with his Ne Ne. Happy he’s happy. But we had it just fine up here. Just going to take this time to get on my feet. We’ll look back at this and laugh. He’s trying the Belt Buster burger for the first time. This boy can eat away at anything.
July 2006. I scraped enough to buy a little Tonka truck. He wanted to roll his chest into cement—become a superhero for us. Cement Man can build a house on loose sediment. He can harden his knuckles, black eyes buried in cement they won’t harden if we keep moving and we keep moving—we’re building something I don’t deserve on my own.
2007 December 6th. Mar’s new suit! He’s clipped his tie on himself. He says he wants to be a businessman when he grows up so he can buy me a house. He has a stern look when he tells me—like my credit score is carved on the raw skin of my forehead—like he knows what I do to tie us down. But he can’t know. He can’t know. He can’t.
My 21st birthday party. Momma took Mar for the night so I could have some time for myself.
4/11/2002. 4:12 am. A boy. I can’t lift my arms, so he is draped over them like a stone ribbon. Keep your eyes shut, I tell him. I don’t want you to see me. I thought he’d be warmer. I furnaced myself—ate diary pages and denied applications for kindling. He has egg skin. Hatched, boiled, cracked.