Probably a fantasy

I have a memory that could actually be a fantasy.  It’s been so many years that I’m not sure if it actually happened or if it is/was just wishful thinking.

It’s the early 80’s.  I am about middle school age – a pre-teen.  My mom and I live in a two-bedroom rental outside Waikiki.  It’s an old neighborhood – not a luxurious one by any means.  Demographically, it is a mix of elderly, long-time Asian residents (Japanese and Chinese) and recent Asian immigrants (Vietnamese, Thai, Laotian, Korean etc.). 

Likewise there was a mix of local-born Asians and immigrant Asians in my 6th grade class at Lunalilo Elementary.  I was the token haole, or white – even though I am only half white; so it is no stretch of the imagination that none of my best friends in 6th grade spoke English as a first language:  I was, I think, reaching out and identifying with the outcast.  They were good friends to me.

But this memory – one of only a handful that I still retain – took place at home.  I was piddling around in my room on my bed, probably lying on my stomach in bed writing in my diary, and my mom – who conscientiously and responsibly supported us by giving voice lessons in our living room and teaching aerobics at the gym – had a free moment for a change. 

She came into my bedroom.  This was unusual, because most of the time there was no reason for that.  And then she sat on my bed and talked with me.  And it was a wonderful, warm moment.

The other version of this memory – which one is true?  I honestly don’t know – is that she came into my room and stood by my bed and spoke to me, and I wished so much that she would have taken the time to sit down on my bed because it could have been such a wonderful, warm moment.

I am currently living with a man – my lover and my best friend.  Our relationship is fraught with baggage and complexity; suffice it to say that sometimes I share his bed, but yet I have my own bed in my own bedroom in his former office.  In my room there is an odd dynamic of privacy and yet nothing to hide.

There is a Lazyboy, two fluffy office chairs, and a papa-san chair in my room.  I have recently come into the habit of making my bed every day.  And, just today, having recalled this memory/fantasy in which I learned that warm moments can be surprisingly simple, I have cleared everything off all three chairs.

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