Poem- Reinventing the Wheel

by Crystal Torres on January 6, 2012

I have reached a whole new level of geekery, I am writing roller derby poems. Yeah, what else is there to say about that?

Reinventing the Wheel

I am not reinventing the wheel
I am just skating in a circle
counterclockwise as counterculture
finding my own way
Hermes had wings on his sandals
because wheels were not a luxury afforded to the Gods
But in this woman’s sport we know the value
of dangerous curves
the round of our wheels
the round of our track
the round of our bodies
strengthened and toned
reforged in warmups and drills
I am not reinventing the wheel
I am just rediscovering myself

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TV Dads and Red Vines

by Crystal Torres on November 29, 2011

When I moved my blog here, from LiveJournal, I deleted the website I’d built before. It was such a depressing little website filled with the things I wanted to say before I died, the things I needed to say instead of dying. This essay is one of those things. I’m posting it now, just for the sake of having it here, archived. I don’t want to go back to feeling that way, but I don’t want to lose this record either. That’s all.

TV Dads and Red Vines

He was the perfect father in the way that only TV dads get to be. He was Pa, tender enough to cry at his little girls’ heartaches and strong enough to battle hailstorms and dynamite. He was one of the good guys and I wanted so badly to be loved by an honest to goodness good guy.

Instead I was loved by one of the bad guys. He kept telling me it was love anyway. Years later when I told another girl, a neighborhood girl who knew who I was talking about, she looked at me eyes wide and said, “God Crystal, you were molested by Santa Claus.”

That was his public image. Not just grandfatherly, he was a grandfather. His wife was a retired teacher and he was a security guard on the set of that perfect family TV show. He was an upstanding pillar of a man, but kind enough to have candy for all the little girls, candy he’d sneak to us, even if our mothers didn’t allow us to have sweets. The candy was the first secret.

I hate myself for it, but I still love red licorice. It used to be my favorite. He’d buy it just for me. I was barely four, I couldn’t have imagined what those Red Vines would cost me. They were the flavor of so many painful Saturdays. That was the day his wife spent at the beauty parlor and my mother did shopping and housecleaning for an elderly relative. On Saturdays it was just me and Santa Claus. He and I were alone for hours. The candy hardly seemed worth it, but it was the only choice he gave me. I could always choose my candy.

What’s done is done so I tried to enjoy my reward. I would suck the sweetness out of those sticky, red, spiraled straws and try to forget why they were mine. I still do that with candy. I can close my eyes and for a moment nothing exists but sugar, melting, filling my mouth till it puckers. It always feels so good for that moment, but it’s never as easy to swallow. Going down it loses all sweetness, becomes syrupy, like glue. For a moment I can’t breathe. Then I open my eyes and it’s gone. All that’s left is guilt.

I hated being bought so cheaply, but there were no higher bids. As I got older I learned words for who I was and the sins I was participating in; adultery, promiscuity, prostitution. I held onto those words even after he’d lost his grip on me. Eventually, I started going with my mom on Saturdays. That’s when he tried to up the ante. He started offering to take me to the set with him. He knew it was my favorite show. He just didn’t know why.

My mother had never married the man who conceived me. The man she did marry worked on the road and was seldom home. He was well intentioned, but he wasn’t a hero. My Dad could never settle anything with his fists. Pa was a genuine good guy and good guys fight the bad guys and the bad guys lose. I loved that show because Pa was my one chance at having a champion of my own. Someone who could promise me that I was good, because they were good too and they knew. There was no maybe with Pa.

I always believed that Pa could save me. The problem was I would have to tell him first. I was too afraid of the car ride there. What if Santa Claus thought we were alone in the car? What if he did something? What if someone saw? Then they’d know that I was all of those awful words. If I knew for sure that I’d meet Pa, and that I’d tell him, then it would be worth it. I had my doubts though; what if he wasn’t there or if I was only allowed to see him from a distance? What if he just didn’t take the time to hear what I had to tell him? I never went.

Years later, when the actor who played Pa died, my heart broke. I knew he would never be there to defend my honor. I’d moved away from the neighborhood; Santa Claus was no longer a threat. It’s just that part of me needed to know that Pa would’ve taken my side, even against his friend. I needed him to show me I was worthy of that. I needed to be as precious as his little girls on the show. Pa is gone now. I’m left with the guilty comfort of my Red Vines.

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Mass Consumption

November 26, 2011

I have an intermittent habit of submitting to contests. Usually, they offer just enough prize money that I can imagine digging out of my financial hole to somewhere that I can breathe easy again. The entrance fees are low enough that I feel like I can take the risk. Sometimes the entrance fee buys a [...]

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Personal Demons for Sale

November 24, 2011

I want to be a writer because when I am very anxious I find myself going over my chore list, “laundry-trash-recycling-compost-catbox-dishes-counters-sinks.” I think it as one long word, spoken quickly, like a panicked incantation against evil. I think it, because I hate doing housework and there is just enough Catholicism etched into my DNA that [...]

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Biography

November 9, 2011

When I’ve lived my life and died, what will the biographers write? Will they know that the thread running through every chapter has always been nights like this, dancing alone in my living room and kitchen? Will they know to write the ring around the moon in these cold desert skies, or what a mixed [...]

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Playing Nice

October 31, 2011

There’s a joke I heard some years back- Q: How do you find the Canadian in a crowded elevator? A: Step on everyone’s toes until someone apologizes to you. That’s when I realized I must be at least part Canadian. I am the girl who will apologize for carelessly allowing my foot to be stuck [...]

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Peace Be With You

October 26, 2011

I have never had much to call a faith. Still there are artifacts of my family’s catholicism that seem to stick with me. My favorite part of the mass was always shaking hands with strangers and saying, “peace be with you,” or answering “and also with you.” I liked that. I shouldn’t have. People terrify [...]

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The Merry Go Round Broke Down

August 17, 2011

“Up and down and round we sped, That dizzy pace soon went to my head, Now you know why I’m dizzy And do the things I do I am askew and you’d be too If the merry-go-round broke down.” —Daffy Duck I’m stressed out. The desk top has been performing poorly, and no wonder since [...]

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Poem- A Card for That

August 11, 2011

I’ve been hesitant to post this. Things have been so civil lately. Do I really need to go there, that dark place? Sometimes I do. I can feel guilty and let it ping about my skull indefinitely, or I can just post it and move on. On August 9th, 1997 I married one of my [...]

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Into the Broth

August 9, 2011

I’ve been following this project, A Summer from Scratch, since it started in June. Every post makes me wish I was eating dinner at her house. I love fresh, and wholesome, foods. It’s just that running a kitchen is work and sometimes I live up to my menu plan and sometimes I don’t. My intentions [...]

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