Payback

Last night’s sleep was continually interrupted.  The key question is not “Did Keri dream?”, but “Did Keri get enough sleep to be functional?”. The answer to the first is “Yes.”, the answer to the second is “Keep blunt objects and dipshits away from her and find her some place to nap.” Of the varied scenes, I only remember two vignettes.

… Payback Is A Bitch …

Scene opens with me in the kitchen. I’m chopping up onion and green bell pepper. The counters are overflowing with the fresh harvest. At my feet were two more bags of the gifted vegetables. If I can get them cut and frozen, I’ll have enough to last me a year if I’m overly generous, two years if I’m miserly with it.

As I’m cutting the onions and dumping the chopped pieces into a bowl. My daughter is scooping the onions from the bowl, and filling freezer bags. Once the bag is filled and sealed, she carefully creases them and folds them into quarters. Place the folded bag in the freezer. Once frozen, the individual portions will be in just the right size to cook with, but without having to use smaller bags, or extra material to divide the portions.

As we work, we’re making silly jokes. Mostly around crying and the things that make us cry. “I know why I’m crying, Mom!” “Oh yea?” “Yea, I’m crying there isn’t a live action Black Butler!” “Wanna know why I’m crying?” “Yea, why?” “Because there is, but we’re too far away for you to attend.” “There is? Waaaaaaa!”

Money is tight. Food is expensive. Fresh fruits and vegetables, especially so. The onions and bell peppers are a “giftback” from someone that was the recipient of our bountiful orange tree. We didn’t want the oranges to go to waste, so we gave them away, liberally. The price for a bag of oranges were the words, “Yes, I’ll take them.”. A few weeks later they drop off the bags of good quality, home grown, onions and bell peppers as a “Thank you.”.

I hear footsteps enter the house. My mother is home. She comes into the kitchen to complain about the onion smell, and sees the abundance on the counters. “What the hell is this shit?” It is clear, she is not happy to see them.

“Remember the oranges we gave away? This is the payback for them.” I continue chopping, but I can already tell she is deeply offended.

“Who are we going to give these to? You’re cutting them? You can’t possibly be going to cook with them?”

“They’re for us. There is lots of room in the freezer once they are chopped and bagged.”

She picks up one of the folded freezer bags, and unfolds it. My daughter protests but doesn’t take the bag from her. “What the fuck are we? Some poor trashy shit?” I stop cutting and stare at her. She shakes the bag in my face. “Am I some trailer trash bitch that has to save onion scraps and shit?” She is working herself into a frenzy of anger again.

I knew there was no right answer. She was now personally offended by the operation, and I knew she was going to destroy as much of this as she could. While taking stabs at me. I wondered if it would be only words this time.

My daughter sneaks off with the filled bags. Mom realizes this and takes her anger out on the uncut produce. With a swift movement, she shoves what is on the counter, deliberately into the trash can. “I’m not poor! I don’t need other people’s charity! I don’t need anyone to feel sorry for me and give me what they would normally throw away!” She starts kicking the bag of bell peppers, destroying as many as she can. I am able to save half of the bag, passing them to my daughter to get them out of her reach.

She stops raging and faces me. “What the fuck is wrong with you! Why did you accept this shit?”

I try to point out how little money I have. How I use my food budget in lieu of rent until I get a better job. I try to tell her that I don’t have her lifestyle, and that she had made it quite clear she wasn’t going to spend a single penny on me unless it was something that benefits her. I hadn’t even begun to open my mouth when Mom slapped me.

“Shut up! I don’t want to hear it! You’re a piss-poor whore that isn’t worth the trouble to pay! What the fuck is this shit doing in my house! Why can’t you do anything of worth, like I did!”

I’m chewing my tongue to keep from physically retaliating. That she did this in front of my daughter stings more than the slap itself. So far, I do not know I am dreaming. Everything that has happened so far, has happened in the Waking before.

I look down to keep from staring at her. I know my anger. If I look at her, I will snap. She starts to cock back for another swing when I hear my daughter speak. “No, Grandma. You’re not poor. But Mom and I are. And that embarrasses you. Why do you always make us pay for not marrying up like you did? Why do you go out of your way to take and waste Mom’s money, and then jump on her back when she has to ask you for help?”

I can’t help but smile. I’ll be beaten for this, I’m sure. Mom’s hand closes into a fist. Time seems to slow and come to a stop. Only now, do I realize I’m dreaming.

… intermission …

Before things could escalate, I’m woken sharply. My mother is knocking at the door. Trolling. She found something to get my daughter in trouble with, and is taking delight in rousing me so I can “deal with this situation”. Are you fucking kidding me? At 1am in the morning, she wants me wake up my daughter, and berate her for falling asleep with the television on because “that’s running up the electric bill and I’m not having any of that”.

Seriously? Okay. “I’ll deal with it”.

I turn her television off, which wakes her up. She realized she fell asleep with it on and apologizes. I tell her to go back to bed, but not allow herself to fall into “bad habits, no matter who may be demonstrating them”. My daughter bites her lip to keep from laughing out loud as I bid her a good night. As I walked past Mom to go back to my room, it was clear she wanted to say something to me. She didn’t look too happy with how I dealt with the situation. Whatever words she tried to throw, hit my door as I closed it behind me without looking. I had echoes of the dream still in my head, complete with the scent of onions, and the sting of a slap tingling my cheek. I make the deliberate decision, not to engage in this battle.

I hear Mom lingering at my door for a moment, before she storms off muttering about “the lack of respect in this house”, and how “that bitch does nothing but make my bills go up”. The big screen television remained on in her room for another 3 hours. (I really need to get a handle on the ‘kids‘.)

It took some mind focusing techniques, but I finally got myself settled back down. I didn’t notice the slip into, and through, hypnagogia.

… Last One In …

I’m on a ship in the middle of a calm ocean. The ship is moving more to the frantic footsteps of the crew, than from any wave action. The old, creaking ship reeks of pitch daubed timber and hand twisted rope. Sails hang useless overhead. “Did ya find her?” “No, Captain!” “Find the bitch! She has to be here somewhere, unless one of ya threw her overboard!” “Aye-aye, Captain!” I’m the ‘bitch’ he’s referring to. I’m actually lying close to him, on top of some rope. But there’s a ripped sail, waiting to be mended, draped over me.

We’re in the doldrums, and we’ve lost the current that would have carried us through. We could drift aimlessly here for weeks. I had been kidnapped from my home by the crew when they heard the local legend of me being a Windspeaker. I verified the legend by calling an out-of-season squall to nearly dash the ship to pieces when I woke up bound and gagged in the Captain’s room. I don’t need a voice to speak to the wind.

When it was clear they had placed themselves in mortal danger by kidnapping me, the captain untied me quickly and brought me a plate of rations and some of his private stash of rum. “Look, I’ll make a deal. We have… something… that absolutely must get to a certain place in less than a month’s time. Two weeks, really. That’s impossible, even if the Good Lord had his angels helping us. But you, and your devil winds, you can get us there. Get us there, and I’ll get you home. Please.”

Naively, I believed him, until a few nights ago, when I overheard the Captain discussing with a crewman whether to keep me as his personal girl, or to sell me at the slave market as well. “As well”? I snuck down into the hold, to see for myself what this certain “something” is. More women. Shackled, dirty, beaten, bloodied. They looked at me, some with pleading eyes, some with solemn despair. A few were angry, that the island “pet” wasn’t the one shackled. Many of them were white, like the Captain. The fear coming from them was palpable. I felt ashamed for being used to further their abuse. I vowed this ship would never arrive in port again, even if it meant my own destruction.

The elders teach us there are spirits in the depths of the waters. Ancient ones that were old before man was made, before land was piled up in heaps of dry dirt. The elders teach us that in certain areas of the ocean, the ancient spirits still hold sway. In these areas, man is weak, and the ancients rule. Where the Wind cedes to the Ocean, is one of them. I heard the call in my bones two nights ago. A deep rumbling that shook my heart. I called out to them, and told them the evil that is this ship. I begged the ancients to come destroy the ship. There was a silence. Then a Knowing followed. We are coming.

There are no winds, but the ship is starting to lean ever so gently. Something large is approaching under the water. The ship suddenly shudders and lurches to the side. The ancient ones have come. I know they will dash this ship to pieces. Last night, I found the shackle keys and snuck them to the women down below. I told them to be ready to swim. When the ship begins to break apart, they will have a better chance. I do not assume I will survive this myself. The ancients are angry.

The sail is ripped off of me. “There you are!” Before his raised fist can come down on me, a sudden spray of water blows him backwards as an ancient rams into the side again. The impact breaks the ship. I hear timbers loudly cracking under me and the portion of deck I’m on gives way. I’m dumped overboard along with the sail, the rope, and the crewman that found me.

When I land in the water, I intentionally swim deeper. There is a lot of debris directly over me, and I need to swim clear of it before I try to surface. I lose my bearing and can’t tell which direction is the ship. There is too much movement and froth. An ancient rises under me, lifting me to the surface. As it slowly swims away, another ancient comes along side. On it are many of the women. Some are crying and clinging to each other in fright. One yells her thanks at me for bringing them the keys.

The ancients lowers us into the warm water gently. The frightened women start to shriek even louder. They are answered by a large pod of dolphins. A dolphin comes to each of us, and offers its fin to hold. I yell at the women, “Grab hold! They will take us to safety!”. The sterner women have to help the more frightened, but each follows my lead, and the dolphins start to swim away from the sinking ship.

I don’t know where the dolphins are taking us. I do know sharks have already started to gather at the broken ship. I count the number of survivors with me, and note not all the women escaped. I hope those that didn’t join us, have had quick deaths. I hope the Captain and his crew are still alive. Let them be my offering to the spirits of revenge.

Some time later, we see a series of smaller boats in the distance. Fishing vessels. The dolphins bring us close enough for the fishermen to throw their nets at us. We let go of the dolphins and grab ahold of the nets. As the men pull us to their boats, we give our thanks to the dolphins and say our farewells to them. The men think us to be water spirits ourselves, until we are pulled out of the water. They hear our story and decide to bring us to their village.

I’m a long way from home. This will likely be my new home now. The winds here do hear me, but this time, I keep it a better secret about being a Windspeaker. Some of the women adjust to their new life. Some don’t, and waste away pining for the very peoples that betrayed them into slavery.

A few months later, a strange cloth that had floated ashore is brought to the surviving women. Do they recognize it? We all do. It’s the Captain’s coat. The brilliant colors are faded by exposure to sunlight and sea water. It has a strange hole in the side, that doesn’t make sense until one of the boys puts the coat on to mock the Captain. (The village knew most of the story.) It is very clear that a shark had taken a large bite out of the torso, and that the bite had been taken while the coat was being worn. Our revenge now verified, we poured offerings into the sea as thanks. Once the coat had dried out in the sunlight, we threw the sharkbitten coat into the fire as a final act of freedom.

~~~

There were more dreams that followed, but I kept being woken up about every hour or so. The scenes would fade in seconds, and I felt like I was being kept in a non-sleep, non-awake state intentionally.

I’m tired and sleepy as fuck, and my Bullshit Tolerance bucket is bone dry.