The Birth of the Best

La vaca Lola, la vaca Lola
Tiene cabeza, tiene cola
La vaca Lola, la vaca Lola
Hace moo!

I can never tell what year it is.  Recently, our school put on a 50 years of hip-hop presentation for Black History month.  I thought about my decades.  I was born in Michigan in the early seventies.  Moved to Georgia by the early eighties.  Atlanta Child Murders.  By the early nineties, I was at Georgia State and working in restaurants.  There was a lot of great music in Atlanta at that time.  It seemed normal, but I didn't realize it wasn't until it was gone.  By the 2000s, those were travel years.  By the 2010s, antidepressants and massive weight gain.  The 2020s, I don't know.  I just don't know.  

My mom texted me last Wednesday.  Early in the morning, which isn't unusual.  She said that she woke up on the floor of her bathroom and didn't know how she got there.  Her arm was injured and her glasses were broken.  She said she had been there for hours, trying to get up, and that her face wasn't working right.  She feared that she had had a stroke.  

I stared at the message.   It had come through about twenty minutes earlier, while I was doing morning phonics.  
"Call your doctor."  I texted back.
And then, I called her.  

"Mom, what the fuck?"

"I'll call them as soon as they open."  she responded.

"They open at eight."

"Okay," I said.

"I have to got to my first class." 

I don't know why I said that.  

I called my sister.

"You have to go to mom's house, now.  She thinks she had a stroke."  

And then, I started walking to my class.  I slowed down as soon as I made it to the cafeteria.  I went by the principal's office, but it was dark in there.  I stood in the lobby and texted the principal and vice principal and said that I needed to leave.  I saw the vice principal in a side classroom and waited in line to talk to her.  When the person before me finished, I said that I needed to go because my mom thought she had had a stroke.  

"Go now."  she responded.

"Do I sign out, what do I do?"  I asked.

"GO NOW." she repeated.

"Okay, I have to Uber, our car is in the shop, I got dropped off today."  I responded, shell shocked.  Papi and I were getting the car ready for Mexico.

"Let's go, I'll take you."  my arch nemesis responded.  

"I have to get my stuff."  I replied, and ran to the trailer to get my bag and purse.  And my lunch.  

When I came back, the safety patrol that my arch nemesis coordinates was standing at the doors, opening them for me, directing me out front to the bus lane where her car waited.  

She took me to my mom's house.  I had to use Google to get there, because I don't go over there much.  

"So Wagner, where are you from?"  she asked.

"Michigan.  But I've been here since I was ten."

"Okay, Detroit. "  she responded.

I'm not from Detroit.  

"So, we're driving toward Bouldercrest, the Flat Shoals exit."  I continued.

Yes.  My mom lives on the Crest.  And apparently, I'm from Detroit.  

She pulled into the driveway.  I tried to just jump out, but then she asked if the car in the driveway was my sister's, and I said no.

"It's my mom's.  I can drive it."

"I'm coming in."  she responded.

And came up, onto my mom's porch, that was covered in wine boxes and dog pee.  

"Do you have a key?"  she asked.

"Yes, but I don't know the alarm thing."  I responded, trying to stall for time.  I knew my mom was not on the floor at this point and I could not have her going into my mom's house.  It's a difunctional mess, to say the least.  I knocked on the door.

"Get back!"  I called to her.

"Her dog's mean!"

My mom poked her head out.  

She left.  And I went inside.  

"They said go to the emergency room."  my mom said.

My sister was there within minutes and we took my mom to Grady. Barricades blocked most of the emergency entrances.  My sister dropped us off after we finally found the entrance.  She went and parked the car.  I took my mom in, through the metal detectors and police wands and went to the desk.  They were very nice.  My mom answered all of their questions and showed her all of her insurance cards and when they asked for emergency contact information, I had to speak.  I told them my name, spelled it, and when I started saying my phone number, I started to cry.

"It's okay, it is okay."  they told me.

"We have her.  We will get her all fixed up."

Lola would have been twelve today.  She should have been twelve today.  But me, us, all of us, we are trying very hard.  

I am, I Cried

It's funny.   I never really know what I'm doing.  I am always flying by the seat of my pants.  Like, my whole life.  When we got Temple, I sort of assumed she would be like Lola, because I have never owned another dog except Lola.  And, I didn't really think.  I just needed to get her out of the shelter.  Temple doesn't cuddle like Lola.  She has separation anxiety;  I can walk out of the room for a couple of minutes and she will jump up and hug me, frantic, acting like I've been gone for ten years.  But at night, she curls up on the end of bed.   Tight, like a ball.  Lola used to push me out of the bed, pressing up to me so hard that I broke my arm once, I fell out in the night.  But Temple has extremes, heart pounding fear when we leave the room, and then independence when she knows that we are here.  

"Lista, mamá." Joya announced, slapping her hand on the table.  I burst out laughing, as she did.  I thought she was being sassy, but it turned out, she was calling me mom, by accident.

I am struggling a bit.  I want to be at my best with my students, myself and my dog and and my partner. My schedule at work is wearing me out, even though I am completely on board with teaching kids that are new to the U.S.  They are actually the ones I wanted, all along.  Maybe it's the short days.  Maybe it's gross winter.  I don't know.  Maybe I just suck ass.  I want to be the best I can be.  Maybe I am being the best I can be.  But, it's not good enough.  

I watched Jon Stewart talk about the passing of his dog.  It was so well articulated that it brought me to tears.  I watched when his dog ran in the snow, with Jon Stewart saying "Get your ball,"  over and over again, while the dog ran and played in the snow.  Alec told me that one of his best memories was one time, when he and Lola were walking together, in the snow, it was all silent and they just walked together.  And it was beautiful.  

The Flave ran up the stairs to the gym, and turned.

I was standing down below, making sure he and the Joya made it where they needed to go.  
"Ciao papa!"  he yelled.