Hurricane

Hurricane

When I was I little I used to sit in this tree by the bay. I would look out over the water and imagine myself years from now sitting in this exact spot. I used to envision who I would become. I was going to be successful. I was going to be great. People would know my name. I would sit there and I would see it, it was so close I could taste it. That spot, was special. It was quiet, something I most certainly am not. It was restful, peaceful, a spot to cherish. I loved that tree. I loved the bay. That place was home in a way the word home can never capture. But I was little then.

Then Katrina happened. Katrina came and she took my quiet, peaceful bay and she turned it into a monster. The pier was gone, the house was gone. Our stuff had to be fished from the canal a half a mile back. Hurricanes are funny things. They come in and they destroy. The winds beat you down. The waters wash everything away. And the salt from the sea kills the life from the plants. My beautiful oak, my big lovely, perfect spot…that was gone too.

You. You are my hurricane. You came in and you destroyed everything. You took my home and you trashed it. You crashed into me like the giant waves on bulwarks. You beat me down. You took my peace. You took my sense of safety. You poured salt into a wound. Your winds blew away my sense of self. And for the first time in my life I sat down and I wasn’t able to envision myself in a future- not a future I wanted to be a part of anyway. You came and like a hurricane you took your dear sweet time to make sure everything you touched was ruined.

And here I am in the aftermath- I’m picking up the pieces, I’m left fishing what I can find of myself from the canal a half mile back. I’m left looking at the empty slab where my house used to be and wondering where to start. I’m standing here looking out at the bay and wondering how the storm can pass and yet I can still feel like I’m in it. I’m stuck looking at my bay and trying to keep the anger, the hurt, the sadness, the confusion at bay.

I thought after Katrina my oak tree had died. I loved that tree, I built a treehouse in it with my own hands when I was five. When I was seven I put a swing on the limb that reached out over the water. When I was ten Katrina happened. When I was fifteen my grandmother died and I cried there for her. When I was 21 I had my grandfather’s 95^th birthday party next to that tree. I have so many memories and feelings wrapped up in that tree. I’ve spent the last 12 years watching that tree- it took a lot. The salt killed most of it, we had to cut down the limb with the swing. We had to nurse it back to health. But a few years after the hurricane we saw leaves…on the very tippy top. That tree is resilient let me tell you. It took a long time, years and years, but that tree is flourishing- its not quite as big or grand now, but its not dead. It survived. It came back. Its still standing. And I can still sit in my spot and look out over the bay.

So if the damn tree can make it then so can I. It may take some time to fix what you have done. It may take years and years of struggling to make sense of me again. It may be hard and I feel like I’ve already had to cut off some limbs. But I refuse to let you win. I will have my peace. I will have my safety. I will have my success. I will be great. I will have my future. I will have my vision. I will sit in my spot and it will be special again and not tainted by you. Because its not for you. Its for me. Its mine. I am all mine.  You don’t get to have me, my mind, my future. I own that. And don’t you forget it. I feel a little like CardiB sometimes when I think about the hurricane- “you know where I’m at. You know who I be. I don’t give a fuck who’s in front of me”. So I got one little four letter word you- move. Cuz I still got room to grow. And last time I checked I’m still awesome. I’m still a badass. I’m still Amanda Motherfucking Watters.