Madison Awakening

The sun is hot today by the lake. The rays are searing into my skin. I look out and see the emerald green trees sparkle in the reflection on the water. We walk to the edge of the dock but the decking is starting to burn my feet and become unbearable. Daddy is standing next to me holding my hand.

“Maddy, all you gotta do is put your head down and dive right in. Nothing bad will happen. Just close your eyes and jump.”

I look down at my toes and they are gripping the edge. The water is murky and dark. It’s terrifying. I’m shaking in my favorite purple sparkle bathing suit.

“What if I dive all the way in and can’t come back up, Daddy?”

“Baby, you will always rise. Now…jump!” And he lets go of my hand and dives gracefully into the water. But I’m stuck and my feet are still burning. Daddy pops back up out of the water and calls to me. I back away from the edge and close my eyes. Then silence… I open them back up and Daddy is gone.

I wake up with a start. I look over at the clock and it is 9:30 am. This is the third dream about my dad I’ve had in as many nights. My skin is moist and my heart is racing.  I roll onto my back and stare up at my ceiling. I think about calling my mom, but I don’t want to upset her. I think about calling Ashely, but she is on the red-eye flying back to New York. 

As I sit up and swing my legs over the bed, a book with a red cover on my shelf grabs my attention. Typically, I’m OCD about maintaining order on my shelves, but this one was just poking out. I was racing around like a psycho before leaving for the trip, so maybe I knocked into it somehow. I get up and walk over and pull the book out to see what it is and realize, it’s my book. 

When I first began my masters a few years back, I had started writing a Young Adult novel about an immigrant girl growing up in Brooklyn. That was three years ago. Back then I was so overwhelmed by teaching and getting my degree, I put it to the side. I focused on staying the course and locking down my teaching position. That was the right thing to do. 

Writing as a creative outlet was no longer on the radar. Becoming an actual writer was a pipe dream. But today of all days, the story is back in my hands. I run my hand over the cover and try to remember that version of myself. The version that wanted to create and felt inspired. Three years feels like a lifetime ago. I walk back over to the bed and open it up. Nervously, I start reading my story again.

By the time I look up from the last page, the clock says 11:04 am, and I am scrambling for a pen. My mind is racing with ideas on ways to elevate and progress my original story. There is still more to tell. I go into my school bag for a pen, sit on the floor and start writing. I get into an easy rhythm and flow, guided by spontaneous inspiration. I would have outlined and planned the next chapters but this time it just ebbs through my fingers and onto the page. My hand begins to feel sore, but I dismiss it because I need to keep going. 

The light in the room begins to shift, breaking my concentration. I look over at the clock, and it’s 1:30 in the afternoon. I hear my phone buzzing but I don’t want to break out of the zone. I forgot how good this feels. I forgot what that side of my brain is capable of doing. I keep going, until my bladder demands release and I walk to the bathroom half delirious. My mind is swirling and I decide I better shower while I’m in here once I saw my reflection in the mirror. 

After a brisk shower, I throw on a sundress, close my notebook and put it on my dresser. I’m starving and hyped up from the creative energy I haven’t felt in years. I grab my phone, head downstairs to the kitchen to eat something. My juices are still flowing, so I open the fridge and decide to cook one of my favorites.

About ninety minutes later, I pull my grandma’s Mac and cheese out of the oven. Thankfully, it’s not that hot today so the house doesn’t feel like a sauna. Since Mac and cheese can’t be made for one, I text Nathaniel that I cooked. Five minutes later there is a loud, rhythmic knock. I walk into the foyer, open the front door and Nathaniel shuffles in with a bottle of Pedialyte in hand.

“Mamaita, you are saving my life right now! I’m starving!” He says with a flourish of his hangover cure.

He swaggers his 5 ‘7, thick curly black hair, slim frame, with chiseled cheekbones, full lips self towards the kitchen.  He’s wearing a stretched out tank and baggy sweats, which is a far cry from his alter ego and most fabulous drag queen self.  

Lala Sanchez is the headlining drag queen at the “Fox and Hound” in the Lower East Side. She has a huge following and has appeared on a few reality shows. We met years ago at a Halloween Party through Ashely, and we stayed in contact. When Miss Glenda moved out of the garden apartment to take care of her grandkids, Nathaniel just happened to be looking for a new place, and here we are.  He sits at the island and I put a big plate in front of him. He takes a deep inhale and digs in. Once I see he’s enjoying it, I sit down and join him.

“Delicioso! I love when you cook. So, how are you doing? I haven’t seen you since you went to the Hamptons. Butttt… I don’t really have to ask if you had a good time since I seen you on Page Six ….” He says twisting his neck and giving me the side eye.  

Of course he saw it...I roll my eyes at him and smile shyly. The rumble about me being in the paper did die down and I was past it. But Nathaniel brought it back to the forefront.

“Hunty…stop. Let’s just say the Hamptons was everything and nothing like I expected.”

“Girlll… Spill the tea…I’m waitin’…” He says as he continues working on his plate.

“Ashely and I had a great time. We just happened to be at that party.”

“And this happened like…how?”

“I met a guy and he invited us. Simple.” Nathaniel puts his fork down, crosses his legs and arms and gives me a blank stare. Clearly, I am not going to get away with being vague. I roll my eyes then I give in and share the full tea of my Hamptons getaway. 

I feel an internal warmth run through me while retelling my adventure, making my face feel flushed. By time I’m done with the rundown, he is fanning himself with his napkin.  

“Girl…I can’t believe you just left him like that! Especially after all that good D!”

“Now you know, I am about my business. I was on vacation. I had my fun and now I’m just living my life. I’m even writing again.” I say proudly.

“Fabuloso! I know you love teaching but you’ve got to be bored by now. You are a creative soul! I’ve always felt that energy from you. You need to express yourself.”

“Not all of us have Lala Sanchez energy.”

“Darling…There is only one Lala.” And he stands up from his stool and does a twirl. “I need to get ready for work. Thanks for the food, love. You need to come down to the club soon.”

“I will babe. As soon as the ball is over, I’m there.” I say and I give him tight hug

“See you later doll.” Nathaniel says and he sashays out of the door.

I start cleaning up the dishes and think about Nathaniel’s words. I’ve never considered myself a ‘creative’ really. I was a pretty intense kid growing up. I always focused my attention on perfection. Flashbacks of tears at the kitchen table falling on school projects still haunt me. Inherently, I wanted security in my life. I never wanted to be like my mom.

I never wanted to ask the man in my life to give me anything, especially money. I saw how she would ‘prep,’ in order to get my dad to agree to something. A special meal, a certain dress, or sending me downstairs to my grandma’s for a few hours were always her M.O. After a day or two, something new in the house would appear as a result of her efforts.

Teaching was a sure thing and I love every aspect of it. It was a way to take control of my future, while also doing good in the world. But Nathaniel’s right, I am bored.  The renovation sparked a little life in me but it was short lived. There was some guilt in altering my grandmother’s legacy. But today was more than a spark. I genuinely felt joy in writing and developing my story. I got none of my tasks for the ball done today, and I don’t even care. I massage my hand because it’s still a bit sore but appreciate the work that caused it. I put the mac and cheese in the fridge and then my phone starts ringing. I grab it off the island and see Ashely’s face.

“Hey girl! Welcome home. How was the trip?”

“Hiiii! Yes, I’m back. Trip was great and I can’t wait to tell you everything! What are you doing?”

“Nathaniel popped by but just left. I was going to do some more writing. Why what’s up?”

“You’re writing again?! That’s amazing! We have to celebrate. Meet me at Sutra at 8. We’ll catch up!”

“Bet. I’ll text you when I’m in the Uber.”