Prisoner of the Mind
This Ache inside of me, Caged within my lungs, banging on the bars, Yelling for Freedom. I recognize her face—Someone I knew, someone I loved, Someone who loved me. We used to laugh and share secrets, This Ache and I, And once upon a time, The lights go dim at Ground Zero, But the performers don’t perform, And the milkshakes lose their taste. She puts the needle on the record—Our song plays, but I forgot all the lyrics. And the melody floods my chest, But I still can’t recall, So I drown in her sea of rage. Gasping for air, barely above water, A different Ache swims over to me. Another old friend? He reaches out a hand, But grasps only onto my memories. He strips them from me, Replacing them with damaged negatives,In my spotless mind. The Ache smirks in vengeance, And swims off into the distance of Crescent Lake. I take shelter on shore for a fleeting moment, But the Ache returns, wearing a different face. Barely breathing, I cycle through Aches I used to know—Each spears a blade through my bleeding heart. The pain makes me shriek, But my anger is louder. They don’t see the world through my eyes, They didn’t inherit my ancestors’ horror. I was born on one side of a wall, Where rivers of solidarity naturally flow,Running like mighty currents,Through every crevice of my Aching body.So the Ache returns again—This time, though, she sees her reflection. This Ache inside of me, —Is also me. When will she surrender?To the made-up villains of her mind. Dear Bubby,
You have always been the only Bubby in my life, and being the only one makes you very special to me. Being the Bubby was more than just being a grandmother. There is a powerful stream of thoughts that I associate with you, and I want you to know of all the images and memories that come to mind when I hear your name.
When I hear Bubby, my mind jumps to you, in the kitchen at 206 Cleveland Lane. It’s Passover, and you’re standing over a pot of boiling water. I’m standing next to you, surprisingly less your height, looking up at you. You’re showing me how to form matzah meal mix into little balls, waiting to jump into the soup.
Fast forward to Chanukah and your living room floor is flooded with gift bags and wrapping paper, mostly from you. As everyone is caught in the moment opening presents and cards, you’re watching over us to make sure that each member of the family is happy.
You made the Jewish holidays warm, and fun, and it’s because of you that I want to celebrate them each year, especially with family. I want to continue the traditions that you started for me.
When I hear Bubby, I see you sitting across the table from me, at an Italian restaurant. You’re smiling, because you’re with your family and we’re eating the best food, because it’s Italian. You’re wearing red lipstick and dangling earrings. Your hands are fully manicured, bright pink. At the end of the meal, you’re fighting to pay the bill, because you’re the Bubby.
When I hear Bubby, I’m back at your home. Somewhere in the house there is 30s and 40s music playing. You appear dancing, doing your Bubby dance and singing along. I never knew much about these songs or swing dances, but it comforted me more than anything to see your face light up at the sound of a song from your time.
When I hear Bubby, suddenly I’m sitting in the backset of your car next to Ellie, with all of your stuffed animals. You’re in the driver’s seat, and we’re on our way to the Princeton Mall to buy us whatever we want. You spoiled us. You knew it, we knew it, and our parents knew it. But it was so much fun.
When I hear Bubby, I think of a healthy women. Someone who never stops walking, doing water aerobics, or reaching for things that are a tad too high for someone who is a tad too short. I think of a women with nice teeth and a beautiful head of hair that just got a perm.
You always amazed me, being someone born in the 20s, but with such a modern mind. You believed in absolute equality among people, no matter race, gender, or ethnicity. You believed in the strength of women, and you undoubtedly empowered me to be the best person I could be. You always asked about me and honored my accomplishments. You were the person to tell if I got straight A’s, a college acceptance, an award, or a job. You were always on my side.
When I hear Bubby, I think of the color purple, or “poiple”, I should say. When I was in Peru this past summer, I went running around Cusco, looking for a purple blanket for you. I asked all of the street vendors in Spanish if they sold what I was looking for. They probably all hated me, because I was so particular about what I wanted to find for you. But I explained to them that this was a gift for my grandmother, and I wanted it to be just right.
The last time I visited you, Rosemarie kindly let us stay at her house, right next to yours. I peered out from Rosemarie’s window, looking straight over at your 206 Cleveland Lane. I imagined us sitting out on your porch in the summertime. Once again, my mind rushed with images of you, Bubby.
When I hear Bubby, all I think of are the good times, unconditional love, and a grandmother who gave her granddaughter everything, from a beautiful childhood to a bright future. I am so grateful to have had you. I will love you forever, Bubby, because that’s just the way the cookie crumbles.