i remember the rickety hand shaken fist, the worried expression, as the voice plastered through the cement, echoing through a minute speaker…”early dismissal,” the voice stammered: just two simple words that became a redeemer, a sort of relentless sigh, as the trembling quickly faded into effortless, unnecessary air.my sister was there too, sitting in the office, as we both quickly smirked upon the acknowledgment that no one was in ‘real’ trouble.you see, life always finds a way to deceive you; to make you feel inferior without your own consent.it hands you a bunch of lemons yet doesn’t really give a shit what you do with them. and there she was, my grandmother, as she grappled us from the office, (without a struggle however) and placed us in her car, to only ride home in complete tranquility.there was not a sound heard; not a breath released.yet I somehow heard her sorrow.i somehow heard how distressed she was, and I somehow wanted to clench my fists into the jaws of whomever caused any of this for such an innocent, respected, and beautiful woman that today gave me my own womanhood.as we arrived to 1101 leisure lane, there lay a compressed umbrella.there was still not a sound heard, except for the beating.my sister and I still managed to gasp in silence.my baba, the warrior. my baba, the hero. a woman so strong that even a few muggers couldn’t bring down.
not my baba.
you take her purse, you take her money, hell you take whatever else deemed you so damn successful that night. but no, you will never take my baba.like a ripened face that speaks so gracefully through each wrinkle, this opaque, beaten umbrella that lay so silently spoke for every woman capable of fighting for anything they deemed once worthy.
you will never have my baba...go on and try.she remains in my heart forever, and no one has managed to take that…just yet, not now, not ever.
