The Life And Death of Itsy

I've mentioned before that I'm taking a short story writing class for the summer (gotta get this degree, son). Anyways, I don't usually like to post my stories because I plan on something big for them one day in the future. This week our last short story of the summer is due and I feel like this one is so silly and cute to not share. This short story assignment is supposed to be flash fiction with means around 750 words or less and I decided try my hand at formulism, which just means that the story is formatted to look like something else. For instance some ideas I came up with was to write a story that looked like a text conversation, a to-do list, or like a tweet or Facebook status. Ultimately, I decided to do a story in the form of an obituary of a spider that currently, and actually, lives at the stop of my stairs. So here's my silly story and I hope you enjoy.

*No spiders were harmed in the telling of this tale...yet*

The Life and Death of Itsy

By: Asia Anderson

Itsy started his life as a youngster in a waterspout. As he got older he grew tired of always getting washed out. He soon found his place at the top of a worn-out staircase. A summer home that Itsy thought he could call his own. A frequent creak from anonymous feet would sound from his staircase. An unexpected roommate who Itsy thought he’d hit it off with right out the gate. Itsy was the type who liked to be alone enjoying the space that would unfortunately be his last home. He spent his days being what most would call being a normal spider. He prided himself on being the peaceful kind and not a fighter. Upon the top of the staircase of his very last summer he had more fun than most with his web when he spun her. In her he caught all sorts of pests. Ants and flies he gathered them all for breakfast. There were some left over for lunch and dinner too. His roommate was even so kind to throw him a few. As soon as it started summer was ending. This summer home Itsy thought was time to stop renting. His meals were starting to become too few and so it was time to look for somewhere new. As insect Armageddon was coming to a close he unfortunately met the bottom of his roommate’s soles. See, his services were no longer needed and with the whack of her shoe it was as if she stampeded. Itsy the spider will be sorely missed and all who loved him would want his family to persist. For this lovely creature no services will be held because with his body his roommate expelled.

The Ramblings Inside My Creative Mind: My Daddy’s Gone

        Father’s Day 2018 marked the two year anniversary of my father’s death. That was a double gut punch. A day dedicated to him and the day that he left all in one. That day I spent in bed. If not for work that Saturday I would’ve been in bed the whole weekend. The anticipation leading up to that weekend was nerve-racking and by the time Saturday hit I was emotionally exhausted. At work I couldn’t stop the tears from randomly falling. I finally got fed up and went to our break room just to take a breath and cool my mind. Not 5 minutes after I’m called to the front where my Uncle just decided to randomly pop in because he was in the area. It was as if my dad sent him. When he hugged me I became a blubbering mess. Like an idiot I apologized for having emotions and he reminded me that I’d see my dad again, the healthy him, and that he was proud of me. Which was the perfect thing to say to make me cry harder. Father’s Day I hardly left my bed. I didn’t want to see anyone. I didn’t want to talk. I just wanted to be. Even now 10 days later I still feel emotionally exhausted and just spent. 2018 seems to be a harder year than the last, dealing with his death. I think the reason for that is that my boyfriend reminds me so much of him. The fact that they’ll never meet makes me sad. I feel like I’m finally on a path to somewhere and he’s not here to see it. If we get married or start a family, he won’t be there. That hurts.
       Today I saw my therapist, the first time since that weekend and we broke it all down in a way that I’ve thought about in fleeting, but never unpacked it the way I did today. She took me back to the feelings I had when he died and how our relationship was before that. I didn’t realize all the feelings I had about him, his later life, and his death until today. I also barely thought about how he must’ve been feeling all that time too.
        From 2008-2012 I was living away from and most of our interactions were through phone because I could barely afford to visit in those years I were away. When I returned late 2012-2016 my feelings about him changed. I got to see first hand his drug abuse (that I’ve talked about several times before). I saw how his body was breaking down and how he truly wasn’t the man who had raised me. He was in there somewhere, but his soul was weak. A few years before he passed I remember completely losing my shit on him. I caught him actually doing drugs in our home and all of the anger of seeing dealers come to our house, his total disregard for the safety of his family, and just the overall feeling of “this wasn’t supposed to happen to our family”. One day overhearing him deny his activities to my mom, I lost it. I came in screaming, hollering, crying, and cursing. I’d had enough. Everything bubbled to the surface. I don’t remember everything, but I do remember saying “I wouldn’t care if you died.” Yeah, those words still ring in my ears. I carry a lot of guilt because of it. I wonder if when I said it, he thought “I don’t either.” Although that happened a few years before he passed I wish I could take it back. I don’t know if those words stuck with him as long as they stuck with me.
        When I was much younger, around four or five, I think, he had an accident at work. He came in contact with some chemical that really fucked him up. No, he wasn’t deformed or anything like that, but he’d have times that his hands and feet would swell tremendously to the point where it would break the skin. There was lots he couldn’t do for himself. Even toddler me would comb his hair because he couldn’t so much as grip a comb or brush. I was so young at the time that I had no concept of the possible severity or time. I can’t tell you if this went on for months or years and I can’t honestly tell you how much pain he may have been in because I don’t remember him showing any signs of being in pain, ever. As I told my doctor, it wasn’t until my sophomore or junior year of high school that I noticed something was off. He never had any money, always behind on bills, gas tank forever on E, and would always borrow money from me as if I had a job, so essentially just asking to borrow my allowance back. It wasn’t until I was about 24 that I knew for certain something was going on. My dad had frequent trips to the ER and on one of them the doctor let it slip that he found cocaine in his system. There it was. The truth laid out in front of me. Not until today did I wonder, did this start when I was five? I remember around that time always going to the doctor with him and getting scripts. Did it start with the pain meds from all those years ago, and by the time I was 16 he was into a full addiction, and by the time I was 24 he was in a I don’t give a fuck phase of his addiction?
        While I was still living in Chicago, maybe around 2010, he had to be rushed to the hospital again. I didn’t rush home because my mom told me it was just more of the same. She told me that he had finally admitted that he was doing heroin. I look back on that reveal of the cocaine and think was he doing cocaine and escalated to heroin? Was he just taking what his dealer had available? Or in true Dayton, Ohio fashion when it comes to these sleazy dealers, did he maybe by weed or pills and it happened to be laced with something? At the point of his heroin reveal I didn’t really care because in the end of the day he was still an addict. That time I wrote him a loving letter letting him know how proud I was of him for taking that first step. I wonder if he truly absorbed those words I wrote. One time my mother told me he admitted he thought he was depressed. If so maybe it’s possible my words felt like lies or just blank words on notebook paper. That’s what depression does, after all. It turns love into lies. We never really discussed it and naive me thought the best was ahead of us instead of the worst.
        In those final years his health was completely shot. In 2011 he had a stroke. He had developed COPD as well as congestive heart failure which lead to him getting a pacemaker in 2014. The following year after that he was on oxygen, and followed a diagnosis of an aneurysm in his stomach. Looking back it was a miracle he lived as long as he did. As my doctor said, with the COPD and congestive heart failure alone he had to be in constant pain. By then were the drugs to numb the pain, out of addiction, or both? With my begging him to quit was he afraid that if he did the pain would never stop? In the end even if it did numb the pain the drugs only accelerated the damaging of his health.
        Today I looked back on how alone and helpless he must’ve felt for years. I remember when my mom told me about his self diagnosis of depression and I didn’t know what to say because I was trying to understand my own. I can’t imagine what it must’ve felt like to be a man, and feel like if he were to reach out for help he might of been seen as less than. Not only just having it not make sense because he was of a generation who definitely didn’t talk about depression. It was just suck it up and get on with it. I can’t imagine being so lost that you become something that is the complete opposite of yourself. My dad was creative. He loved to draw, build things with his hands, and play music. He taught me a lot. He was very in tune with his culture, black empowerment, black knowledge,  black history, etc. He drilled these things into my head, that at the time, I didn’t want to hear or didn’t understand, but I completely get now and plan on drilling into my kids heads. He was the epitome of black excellence so to see him deteriorate the way that he did doesn’t make sense to me and makes all of the sense at the same time. It is unfortunate. I see that he was a complex human being. He wasn’t always strong. That’s the image I always had of him. Strong, but he was human. He had weakness. He had emotion. He did hurt. If only he had opened up, but perhaps he was too busy trying to be strong. But good or bad, strong or weak, he was my father. I loved him then. I love him now. And I will love him forever.

-Asia Aneka Anderson, 2018©

The Ramblings Inside My Creative Mind: I Only Like You For the Nostalgia... Probably

        Last week I got a chance to see U2 for the third time. I know they get a lot of flack and I get a lot also for still being a fan. I don’t know why, outside of fans, they are so hated, but I have a few ideas and a lot of them hit me in the days before the show.
        There is no denying (at least there shouldn’t be) that Bono, Larry, The Edge, and Adam are excellent showmen. And you have to admit they are talented. Say what you want about Bono, but to blow off the skill of The Edge’s guitar playing, Adam’s rhythm with a bass, and Larry’s preciseness with the drums is a little crazy to me. I know for people who aren’t fans, it’s hard to see past Bono’s need to do the absolute most, but trust me these dude’s are talented.
       It’s weird that, even though, I said this was my third time seeing them, this was the first time I felt like I belonged in the crowd. The sad part of that was the excitement for the show had started to die weeks before the trip to Chicago, and had almost completely died hours before the show (I’ll get to that totally embarrassing and probably bratty reason later). The first time I saw them was a little rushed. I’m the type of girl who likes to get to concerts super early, with hopes of meeting the band. Lame, but whatever. This time I had fractured my foot a few weeks before so I was in the dreaded boot. Long story short, a doctor’s appointment, traffic, a few errands, and more traffic later I was later than I hoped to be. The part that bummed me out is that, other than the couple that sat next to me, everyone was kind of asshole-ish. I know the band has a reputation for being sort of pompous, but I thought “Even the fans too?!?” Just the rudest group of people ever. The second time was more of the same. It was the Joshua Tree tour of 2017. I was able to get to Soldier Field early enough for their first show (I had tickets for the show the next day) to get a great video of Bono greeting fans, still no autograph, because in a world of tall people us short folks don’t stand a chance. At the show I had tickets for GA. I’d gotten close enough to the extended part of the stage out in the crowd, with the exception of the 6ft plus women (IN HEELS!) who decided to stand in the way and causally nudge me out of the way any chance they could. To make that even worse is that once the show got started Larry’s drum set was positioned to face the other side of the crowd, and for some reason the rest of the band decided to play that direction as well instead of working the whole crowd. So whether the gargantuan women were in my way or not all I got to see was U2 ass for two hours. Immediately after the show was over staff were complete dicks telling people to get out and even resorted to pushing people, which was unnecessary. Third times a charm I guess. My boyfriend was with me and we were around a group of people who came to enjoy the show, talked and laughed with us and it was great.
        My boyfriend and I had a discussion while waiting for the show to start and it was about something that disturbed me about my favorite band. On their unique stage there were images that popped up saying things like “Equal Rights”, “HERstory”, etc. All things that have to do with equality, ending hate, caring for one another, you know? All the shit we’ve become accustomed to when you think of them and the charities they support. And I looked at my boyfriend and said “Yet our sweatshirts are $75 and buttons that literally say nothing about the band are $15.” Now mind you, I don’t know where the funds from their merch go to. Most of it could very well go to the ONE campaign. All I know is that I’ve gone to many concerts and at none of them have shirts being sold for more than $25-$30, nor are the knick knack accessories over $10. Almost all merch has something dealing with the band on it, whether it be just the name, their image, a lyric, etc. They are also the only band I know of that has a fan club fee. Someone like me can’t afford to give $50+ bucks just so I’m notified early when tickets go on sale and therefore give you MORE money. I wish they were a little more like what they stand for. Realize that not all of your fans are loaded, but also want to be included because they love you.
        My bratty reason for my excitement dying is that they kinda crushed me beforehand. When they’re in Chicago they stay at the same hotel and roughly leave for a show around the same time. That first day Bono stopped, shook a few hands from the car window, and focused his attention on the little girl that he’d let up on stage at a show in the past. That girl wasn’t born to know about the greatness that was Joshua Tree, but I digress. The next day I showed up and was relieved there wasn’t as many people there as the day before. Surely they’d stop and I’d FINALLY get my autograph on this book that I’d been carrying around for years whenever they were near. Nope. They didn’t even stop, roll down the window, wave, honk the horn. Nothing. I was heartbroken. Yeah, I cried. Whatever. My boyfriend hugged when I told him not to cause it would get worse. Cause you know if someone hugs you when you’re already sad it’s guaranteed to make you cry like a baby. That was me. I hate that it effected me so much because at the end of the day they’re just people. It’s a catch 22 because they are just people and don’t owe us anything, but at the same time without fans to buy albums, tickets, etc, then where would they be? People judge me for being a fangirl, but for some celebrities it’s because they mean a lot to me for very specific reasons and U2 fits in that category for me. They are the band that made me comfortable with myself. For me being a young black girl who liked rock music, it was tough. I was bullied, told I was trying to be white, called weird, and just overall made to feel like I was trying to be something I wasn’t and that I didn’t belong anywhere. Hell, oftentimes my own family made me feel that way. It was hard going out in the world and dealing with that type of ridicule and then have to come home to it. I didn’t have a break. My break was Mtv and the radio. The moment I saw the video for “Mysterious Ways”, I was hooked. I started not to care what people thought. I loved U2 and I didn’t care who knew. What made that acceptance much easier was from the video I thought Bono was Latino, so I felt that a nice rebuttal if people teased me for liking “white music” I could say that “Well the lead singer for U2 is Latino! So there!” I later found out I was wrong, but I didn’t care. I was a U2 lover. In some ways I was still ashamed of the music I liked so the only ones I didn’t care about people knowing I liked were U2, Red Hot Chili Peppers, and Aerosmith, (with black people Aerosmith got a pass because of Run DMC). It wasn’t until I was 13 and discovered The Beatles that I threw all fucks to the wind and started being the nerdy rock and roll black girl that I was destined to be. So did I feel hurt when I didn’t meet my idols? You damn right I did.
       Before that concert I had an inner talk with myself, and that talk was along the lines of “Do I still love U2 or do I love the acceptance they made me feel for myself when I was a child? Am I just caught up in the nostalgia?” I honestly don’t have an answer to that. Do I love their music still? Yes. Does it touch me the same way Achtung Baby did? Not really. There will always be a place in my heart for them, but do I really want to keep spending my hard earned dollars to see them? Maybe. Maybe not. Their music will always be a part of the soundtrack to my life. Their music will stick with me.

- Asia Aneka Anderson, 2018©