Caroline Almuina June 5, 2012 ENC 1101 T/R 3:20PM-5:00PM Scorcher You know, I can’t say that I ever truly listened to Mama when she spoke. It was not that I was ignoring her or that she had nothing useful to say. To be honest, I suppose I just didn’t see the point in listening to her. She always knew just what to say, and I think that itself might have been the problem. It was just… How should I explain this? It was just too played out. Ever since I can remember, she has always had this way of always commenting everything I told her with a quote. The little boy next door with the messy, unmanageable hair can’t keep his dog? “If you love something, set it free,” she told me. That popular girl from school who has a bow for every day of the week does not like the way you talk? “Those who mind don’t matter, and those who matter don't mind.” Mama always made herself sound like a never-ending book of riddles that someone decided to record and play after everything I said. Her words, though always well placed, never really affected me. Growing up, I just thought of her words as piffling quotes. At the age of eleven, I remember marching right up to her and declaring my love for
Nicholas Montessino, the transfer student from California with, as I recall telling her, “the golden blonde curls that was more beautiful than all the freshest and healthiest of sunflowers combined and eyes as blue and luminous as the full moon itself as it holds it’s rightful place in the night sky.” Now that I recall back on that, I can’t blame her for laughing at me as she simply added, “At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet.”
Of course, I rolled my eyes this and pushed her comment aside, rather peeved that she had nothing more to say about my newfound ‘love’ than yet another one of those sayings of hers. “Oh Mama, will you ever be tired of those silly, little quotes of yours?” I asked her with a sudden huff at the end of the question as I crossed my arms over my chest, showing her that I was clearly displeased with her response. She just ignored my visible irritation and merely spoke in a tone that could be best described as a matter-of-factly, “Everyone hears only what they understands.” Twenty-three years into my life and for the first time, it was today that her words from that day truly made sense to me. It was earlier this afternoon to be more precise. The atrocious, yet notorious Floridian heat was engulfing everything and anything that was so unfortunate as to be outside. As that bright ball of fire hung high in the sky with not a cloud to be seen for miles, the day was a scorcher and one would curse at the thought that it was only the middle of spring. Driving down the busy street of Flagler to the local grocery store to pick up a few things for dinner, I had the broken air conditioner from inside my 1997 Isuzu Rodeo on the highest of settings in hopes that it would cool me down but alas it did not. My cheeks were flushed from the hot air that was being blown into my face and as a few beads of sweat ran down the bridge of my nose, I could only recall cursing to myself for not being able to have money to repair the horrid thing that never seemed to work. Upon turning into the parking lot, I quickly stationed my car into the closest possible opening and rushed into the building, seeking refuge from the heat in its cool surroundings indoors. I was greeted with the delightful cold breeze that grazed my burning, rosy cheeks, but what accompanied it was far from welcome. That strong, overwhelming stench that can only be described as that odor from garbage that had been out in the sun for far too long overcame me, which caused my hand to instantly fly over to my face and cover both my nose and mouth in disgust. The foul smell was so strong I could tasted it at the back of my throat, and it made me question what the heck had died in the building and strongly consider leaving somewhere else to get my necessities. I was sure there were other places that have two boxes of pasta that I needed.
Deciding against it, I hurried my pace down the aisle to a speedy walk, finding it unnecessary to relocate myself elsewhere when I would not be in the store for long. Just as I was paying for what I came for, I caught the scene that had unfolded from the corner of my eyes. It seemed that the smell was coming from a homeless man that had come into the store. Whether it was to purchase an item or to just take in a minute of the refreshing, cool air, I didn’t know, and from the looks of it, the store’s security did not care for it. The man was thrown out, and to my astonishment some of the customers had the audacity to cheer for this mistreatment. Though the cause of the smell was gone, my disgust remained; it now caused by the people I was surrounded by. I remained quiet though, keeping the odium to myself as
I stepped out of the establishment and reminded myself that I would not be returning there. The moment I stepped out, I spotted the man a few yards away from me, hunched over by the sidewalk and staring off past the cars that held a few others that gave him either looks of pity or revulsion. I couldn’t help but pity him myself, and though I wished to return to the comfort of my home as quickly as possible, I found myself wanting to comfort the man more. The closer I got to him, the more his appearance as visible. His hair was matted down, the grease from the lack of wash causing it to gleam under the sun’s light as the frizzed, dark curls of his hair stuck to the back of his thick neck. The man’s clothes were clearly rags now from being worn so often and lacked as much wash as the rest of him. The sole of his left shoe was torn completely off along the front and was barely hanging on. I held back the urge to cover my nose again from the odor that was emitting from him and offered him a half-heart smile and the other five dollars that I had with me. He simply looked up at me, his eyes dark and dim as he looked to the floor. I did not understand it at first, so I stretched out my hand more towards him and spoke in a soft tone to not upset him. “Here, take it. I don’t need it.” He looked up at me once more and once again looked back down onto the floor, hiding his grimy hands from me. It was then that I realized what he was telling me. He was motioning for me to place the money on the floor… because he didn’t think himself worthy of taking in from my hand in worry that his dirty hands would touch mine. Overcome with woe and compassion, I kneeled down and placed the money where he requested me to leave it. Just as I was about to stand up once more, my eyes caught something glimmer on the man’s jacket. To my surprise, they were several pins colorful pins, ones that you would see on a soldier or a lieutenant. It was there that I took a closer look at his garments.
Once taken a closer look, under the layer of grime that had built itself on it, it was a military uniform. I did not say a word to him as I turned away and got into my car and drove home. With the bag at hand and my long, dark hair sticking to the side of my face and neck with the help of my sweat, I reached into my pocket and called my mother. The moment she picked up, I did not even greet her as the first words that left my lips were, “Mama,
Everyone hears only what they understand!” In which she simply replied,
“Finally, It’s about time you did.”