Well today, I can show you.
~David Icke
Even though I felt like a real ass for doing it, I let Tristan and Tobias off in front of the drugstore, pissed at my dad for the drama. I wasn’t ashamed of her or Baby-T. Not at all, and if I thought for one second she felt that way, I would have walked her right to my front door for a proper introduction to both my parents. That’s how much of an effect she had on me. Tobias too. I couldn’t get enough of him. It wasn’t a matter of being ashamed of her. It was a matter of my meddling parents who only wanted to meddle, when it was convenient for them.
I pulled right in front of the garage, jumping out with his stupid paper in hand. “Here,” I said, the invoice being shoved to his hand, and my feet already walking away.
“Hold up, I need that can of paint out of the back.”
Great, I thought to myself. I followed, knowing I was going to be stuck in the middle of a conversation that I didn’t want to be in. There wasn’t really a good way to lie about a baby seat in the back. My mom was the only thing that came to mind, and I had already decided to throw her under the bus, say I didn’t know where it came from, and tell him to ask my mom. That seemed like the easiest way to get out of there without any detail.
He didn’t even notice. The backdoor slammed and he walked away, back toward the opened garage doors. “Got it, you be careful. Make sure you wear your seatbelt.”
“Yeah, I will,” I said, my ass leaned against the back passenger door, trying to keep him from seeing inside. Thank God it worked.
I was there and back before Tristan left the store, parked right outside the door. Seeing her with one single bag, not at all struggling, I jumped out to help.
“Oh, my God. He pooped and it smells so bad.”
It was funny until she opened the diaper. “Oh, T-Man. Whoa dude. What’d you feed him?”
Tristan smiled over her shoulder, her eyes sending that trance thing my way. “Breast milk, but I had a whole bowlful of black raspberries last night. I bet that’s it. Oh, man. He had a blowout. Can you get me another outfit from my backpack up front?”
Of course there was nothing boyish in the bag at all. “We’re going to Walmart and buying some boy clothes. My treat,” I assured her, regrettably handing over the pink and white sleeper. It was cute, just not for him.
“There’s a really cool thrift store in Morgantown. I always find nice things there.”
No way. I didn’t want him to have some other baby’s clothes. “No, he’s not a used baby. I want to buy him something new.”
Tristan had Tobias cleaned and fastened in his seat in like three seconds. For a first timer, she had this mom thing down to a Tee. The look she gave me when she tossed the stinky diaper into the outside trashcan was unclear. Until we were seated in the car that is. “Yeah, I’m not going to be a part of that.”
Part of me wanted to let it go, move right on by that one, but the part of me who wanted to know every single thing I could about her wouldn’t let me. “Apart of buying Tobias a boy outfit?”
“He doesn’t need much, Ty. He’s not even a week old. I planned on stopping at the thrift store, but not because of what his clothes look like. The only reason I’m buying anything is because he’s a tall boy. His little toes poke out of his sleepers when he stretches.”
“And you don’t go to Walmart?”
“I do, but only when I have to. I’m still a work in progress, too, you know. Admitting you’re part of the problem is the first step and I know I’m still part of the problem, but I strive to be better today than I was yesterday every single day.”
“Why? What do you have against the biggest department store in world?”
Tristan slid her hand beneath mine on the console, a deep breath filling her lungs. “Okay, I’m going to try to give you a wakeup call. Just hear me out, and stop me if you have a question.”
“Okay,” I agreed, my fingers tightening around her hand. “But can I ask an unrelated question first. It’s kind of personal and none of my business.”
“What?”
“The pads. You just bought a whole bag yesterday. Is that normal?” Her head tilted to the side while her free hand ran up my arm. “You’re worried about me?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, I don’t really know. I don’t know anyone who had a baby.”
“I’m fine. I had a coupon from the last bag and you needed a minute with your dad. I don’t need them yet.”
“Okay, that makes me feel better. Now you can give me your Walmart story.”
“It’s not really a Walmart story. It’s a Packy story, but I’ll get to her in a minute.”
Rather than interrupting to question the Packy story, I hummed, beckoning her to continue.
“Remember how I told you I know things most people don’t know.”
“Yeah.”
“This is one of them, and it’s not because you’re ignorant either.”
“Watch it now,” I teased.
Tristan giggled, continuing with my first lesson in what I like to call humanity. “Where do you think your shirt came from, theses shorts, or your flip-flops?”
“Um, I got this shirt at the mall, my shorts from—.”
“No, that’s where you’re brainwashed into thinking you got them from there. I mean really think about it. Does the name Lana Plaza or Tazreen mean anything to you?”
“No, should it?”
“It should, but it doesn’t because it’s not worthy of the news you’re told.”
“What do you mean?”
“Basically, you’re brainwashed. You live in a nation of sheep and a government of wolves. Everyone lives in this illusion of freedom. You’re not free, Ty. You’re asleep. Eat, sleep, consume, and die. That’s it. Oh, and get an education that you’re going to pay thousands of dollars for and probably never use. You’re led by the media, the illusion of choice. Six companies own all of the media. Six, Ty. Doesn’t that scream, scam to you? Three decades ago that number was over fifty. They decide what you see on television. They get to choose. That’s why you don’t know anything about the Lana Plaza collapse or the Tazreen fire. They don’t want you to know that. It might actually alter your thinking process and you might not buy that shirt. We wouldn’t want that now, would we?”
“What is it, the plaza place?” I questioned, more interested about what I was wearing, an awareness that I was suddenly opened to.
Tristan was on fire and she knew what she was passionate about. “It’s not some factory in America where people are making a fair wage, working a forty hour week job, and going home to their families. It’s in Bangladesh, the number two exporter of apparel after China. My friend Packy just turned nineteen. She worked at Lana Plaza since she was twelve. Twelve, Ty. Can you imagine that? Guess how many hours a day she worked.”
“Ten?”
“Until her job for the day was done. If it took sixteen hours, so be it. She either did it or got fired. Guess how much she made in one week? Twenty-two dollars a week. And that’s seven days, not five.” She zealously exclaimed, answering her own questions.
“Why didn’t she just quit?”
“Because there’s nothing else. She’s poor, and now she can’t even work. Over a thousand people died in that disaster, yet you never even knew about it. That’s because you’re blinded by the illusion. You get to see the hot cover model on the front of some superficial magazine, also controlled by mainstream media. You think they’re going to show you twelve-year old Packy in some poor sweatshop in Bangladesh? Do you think they want you to see the charred dead bodies from all the workers who died in the Tarzeen fire? Do you really want to think about all those people screaming to get through the bars, their bodies being burned alive, trapped with no way out? Do you think they’re going to show you that? Fuck no, they’re not. Or the nineteen-year old girl with one arm and no legs, amputated from an unsafe building. Do you think they want you to see the rows of dead bodies pulled from the wreckage? You could be wearing something a kid made. I
mean come on, Ty. Wake the fuck up,” Tristan exclaimed with great conviction, the pause calming her excitement and lowering her tone.
She took in a deep breath, looked out the side window, and back to me. “Would you buy that shirt if you were given the opportunity to see where it came from first? If you saw the way she lived just to survive, to eat? Packy didn’t work to go to the mall with her friends. She worked to stay alive so sheeples like you could consume more. Over four million kids, work in garment sweatshops just in Bangladesh alone. That’s not even touching China and the other countries. Haven’t you ever heard of Santa’s workshop? Of course not. That’s a whole other story, just so you people can work some more over time, to buy more stuff for people with spoiled kids who don’t even need the stuff. Doesn’t that hurt your heart just a little?”
“It does if you stop calling me a sheeple. How can you be a sheeple if you don’t even know you’re a sheeple?”
“When was the last time you researched a product?”
“This phone.”
“Perfect. There you go. Did child labor build your phone? You don’t know because you only researched the phone, how good the camera was, and what other people said about it. I bet you didn’t research where it was made, did you?”
“No, I never thought about it I guess.”
“That’s because you’re being told what is truth by the mass media. Most people wouldn’t care about the latest greatest phone if they witnessed for themselves the assembly of it.”
“I’m pretty sure there are laws about that stuff now.”
“Ha, yeah, there is, and the big money department stores don’t know that it’s going on either. Right? Give me a break, Tobias. Look for yourself. We’re living in a time of great technology. Research something worthwhile.”
“Yeah, but you say it like I’m your enemy. I don’t know this stuff. I didn’t know.”
“No, but I bet you went to YouTube and watched a few videos on what your phone was capable of. That’s all I’m saying, Ty. You’re so programmed by what someone else tells you to believe, that you don’t even think to research what really matters. That’s what I mean by sheeple, and it’s not your fault. This is what I mean by I feel deeper than most people do. I just find it extremely fucked up that you’re so blind by the lies that you don’t even see what’s going on right in front of you or that it’s just okay. Things affect me differently than normal people. If I don’t know where it was made, I’m not going to purposely be a part of it. I’m just not.”
“How do you know this stuff?”
“One, I learned a long time ago not to let anyone else influence what goes into my mind. Two, my dad. I don’t even remember him, and yet ever since I found that tape, I’ve lived by his every word. If I could get everyone to open their eyes, I guarantee this world would be a happy, peaceful earth in one generation. Ugh, it’s so frustrating. Give them an employee of the month parking spot for doing a good job and people think they’ve achieved something. Come on people, you’re being made a fool of. Feed their ego, make them think they’ve done something good, but really what they’re saying is, way to conform there, buddy. Fucking idiots.”
“Damn, girl. You take this shit seriously.”
Tristan unbuckled her seatbelt with a heavy, defeated sigh. “I know, I’m sorry. This is hard. I’ve always believed in twin-flames, but I guess I thought if I ever found mine, he’d come already awake, more advanced in his spiritual journey than me. You’re so far gone,” she accused with a lighted hearted tone, her voice calming.
I looked at her ass when she hopped to her knees, checking on Tobias, squirming from the back seat, choosing my words carefully. Not because I wasn’t affected by a truth either. I was, and everything she said made sense. I just never really cared to know. She was right, I didn’t think about it because the model showing them off was just like me, like my friends, and like everyone else I knew. There was great interest in what she said, and I planned on researching the information myself later. I did care, I just didn’t know it. On the contrary, I did want her to keep talking, but not on the subject that made me want to burn my shirt. “Tell me more about this twin flame idea.”
“We’re going to have to stop so I can feed him. It’s not an idea. It’s a pact we made before we came here.”
“To West Virginia?”
Tristan sighed, frustrated that I couldn’t be like her. She had this notion that we were somehow connected, yet I knew nothing about her esoteric world, and I didn’t speak her language. “Let’s not go there yet. You’re too—.”
“Don’t you dare call me a sheeple again,” I teased, hoping to move on to the next subject. She was right about us not being able to talk about the same things, knowing I wouldn’t understand some deal she thought we made from another life, another realm, not West Virginia.
Tristan pulled my knuckles to her lips and kissed them, her happy smile moving to the winding road and gorgeous mountain view. “Let’s do something you’ve never done before.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, something you’ve never even thought of doing.”
“Okay, I’m game. Let’s do it.”
“Hmmm, let me think,” she said, her finger bouncing off her chin.
“I got it. I could kiss you right up here at this stop sign. I’ve never done that before.”
Tristan tilted her head, a habit I had noticed she did every time she was about to burst my bubble. “I was already going to do that, and that’s not what I mean. Pull off the next chance you get,” she urged, her lips pursed, shushing Tobias with a gentle rock of his seat.
The Jeep slowed and I met her in the middle, one quick kiss and Tobias reminding us that his tummy was hungry. “There’s an oil rig on top of this mountain. I’ll pull off there. It’s the last one before we hit the highway.”
I pulled off at the clearing I remembered from making my mom stop to let me piss on the way in. “You sit. I’ll get him for you.”
“Okay, but I want to get out. Look at this view. Oh wait. Do we have to hurry?”
“Nope, we’ve got all day. I’ll get him,” I offered again, not even worried about getting my mom’s car back.
Tristan led the way to a sunny part of the stop and I followed with Baby-T, grunting and squirming in my arms. “Do you have something against the shade?
“No, but the vitamin D is in the sun not the shade.”
Of course, I thought, offering a hand when Tristan eased to the grass, her arms reaching for Tobias. Handing him over I sat beside her, and once again, she took me by surprised. She moved. Right between my legs.
“Yes, I know, poor baby. Mommy’s sorry,” she cooed, her hand situating them both.
I kissed the back of her head and moved my hand around her, landing it right to Baby-T’s butt. If it would have been up to me, I would have declined the trip to the city for a book, more than fine with staying right there. Her, me, and Baby-T.
“Have you ever hugged a tree?”
“What?”
“A tree. Have you ever hugged a tree?”
“Why the hell would I hug a tree?”
“We’re going tree hugging the next time you come over.”
“Okay, but why?”
“I can’t tell you. I have to show you,” she admitted, her head dropping to my shoulder.
Whatever, I was fine with that. I’d do anything she told me to do. I would hug an elephant just to be with her. “Look, a red tail hawk.”
Tristan’s hand covered mine over Tobias’s bottom, her body nestled into mine. “How cool is that? Red-tails are spirit animals, divine messengers. That one is letting us know that we’re on the right path. I needed that. You probably did, too. Huh?”
I stared at the back of her head with narrowed eyes, unsure how to respond to her spirit animal hog wash. “We we’re in the mountains. Red tail hawks live here.”
“Fine, he’s here for me, but you saw him first and there are no coincidences. Show me your
video.”
I fetched my phone from my pocket, and went to my viral video, happy to move on past her spirit animal. Although I was shocked at the number of shares and comments, I wasn’t focused on it like I would have been pre-Tristan, and that confused me. I didn’t even care about the stupid video anymore. That’s how crazy my head was. Had I been in Cali with my friends, I would have been eating it up, soaking up every ounce of attention I could get with my big fat ego. Holding my phone out, I let her watch, feeling proud of my talent and the fact that I had actually put that together myself.
“It’s awesome. Show me the painting that sent you here.”
I snickered, happy for the first time that I’d decided to paint a national monument, the hours spent cleaning it off in the hot sun, forgotten, the judges death sentence, long gone from my mind, replaced with a coo-coo girl and a baby.
“Oh my, God, Ty. You’re very talented. It really looks like water is falling down the rocks. How did you do that?”
“Spray paint, motor oil, and water. That’s how I got that ripple effect right there.”
“I expected to see a Tobias plus some chick’s name.”
My shoulders and chest bounced from the half-assed laugh. “It’s on the other side.”
“Oh yeah? What’s her name?”
“Avery.”
Tristan noticeably relaxed more into me, a quick humph like she wasn’t worried a bit. “I had a poodle named Avery once. You should do something with your talent, Ty. You could get all those hits on something besides a skateboarding distraction.”
“Distraction? Are you kidding? It’s a big deal. Look at the skateboarders. You don’t see that every day.”
“Normally I wouldn’t say anything, but I’m going to blame it on the hormones and tell you what really don’t see. You don’t see twelve-year old Packys’ sewing golf shirts for selfish people. You don’t see the kids working long hours so you can buy the next style. You don’t see the dead bodies from the unsafe conditions they’re forced to work in. It’s not fair, Ty. You have the potential to reach a lot of people with your talent. It’s a shame to waste it on a yearly skateboarding gathering, don’t you think?”
Peace Love Resistance Page 11