tags Literati! Our own Tiffany Monique has entered our contest, Once upon a Time, but to what end? She is ineligible to win the money and she has already won the love and respect of the staff and readership. These are unanswered questions…O!… Wait! UNTITLED STORIES and UNANSWERED QUESTIONS by Tiffany Monique If my life …
Our own Tiffany Monique has entered our contest, Once upon a Time, but to what end? She is ineligible to win the money and she has already won the love and respect of the staff and readership. These are unanswered questions…O!… Wait!
UNTITLED STORIES and UNANSWERED QUESTIONS
by Tiffany Monique
If my life were a Twitter account, the first ten years would have hashtags– #uglydivorce, #singleparent, #dysfunctional, #black, #abandonment, #VietNam, #siblingrivalry, #movingagain, #TheLastUnicorn, #TheColorPurple, #sing, #draw, #perform, #arts…
I run away to my imagination. Have since the 3rd grade when Mom and Dad told us about the divorce. In my mind sometimes, I would be the same person, only I would have the gift of appropriately measured prophecy, which I would always use in moderation, and never for stock tips. I’d be the black version of every powerful princess, empress or creature that I’ve read about, and I’ve been a reader my whole life.
I also have this extremely pragmatic side, anal-organization and need for order because my life felt so out of control for so long. Reality used to be a friend of mine, but we are on speaking terms now. It helps me cope with some of my weirder idiosyncrasies.
To this day, I don’t get my Dad, and he doesn’t get me, but our relationship is better than ever, considering. My Mom and I have a love-hate thing going, and it’s no one’s fault. We try every day, and we have fruit from those seeds, but the ground is, shall we say, awkward. Mom blames Dad for making her an unnecessary single parent. My Dad, well, all I know is what my Mom told me, up until recently.
Not all that different from any other after school special.
It sounds so melodramatic. But really it’s just my life. I sit down with this thing every morning over coffee. Only now there’s a guy who wants to sit down with me, and I have these words inside of me, dying to come out like some kind of preemptive apology for our marriage being harder than normal.
Here the frick I am in the middle of planning my wedding, wondering what I should do to learn more. I mean, it is a part of my dowry whether I want it or not, this new hashtag, that came about while I was busy looking for a new job and a ceremony venue.
Maybe I’m only telling my story for me.
Maybe I’m writing a letter to my future husband, or better yet, my unborn kids. I didn’t know then about what could very well be the linchpin to my whole life. Or maybe it’s just another bad variable in a doomed marriage from which I am spawn. In either case, I learned that my Dad came home with something from the war. He avoided it, like he did a lot of things— with a stony visage and conversations about the weather and grilled hamburgers. I spoke to my Dad about his time in Viet Nam last month, which he (to this day) never brings up. He says he came back normal. Mom’s journal and my older brother say otherwise.
They say you can’t know where you’re going if you don’t know where you’ve been. They say those who don’t learn from their past are destined to repeat it.
What am I supposed to know?
You can reach Tiffany at firstname.lastname@example.org or at her own websites if you would to hash out some ideas for the website, or visit her here:
Tiffany is our princess, soon to be wed. Our own Princess bride!