"Erupt with Mae"

Dear Mae,

How long has it been, hmm? Almost seven years, maybe even eight? A lot has happened between then and now. You moved back to the Philippines, and I, back from England.

We met towards the end of 2008 at one of Uncle Mike’s prestigious country clubs in Westlake. His brother, Uncle Brett, wanted to introduce you to the family. It had been a while since he had someone to show off. Before you, there was Tess.

Tess was a small Filipino lady. She had been to every Fiesta Stock Horse Show since my Grandpa lead the parade until 2004. She rooted for my younger cousins in the mutton busting events. She became our Aunt Tess, someone we loved, someone we couldn’t wait to see after Brett walked in. My cousins grew too old to mutton bust, so my Grandpa retired–and when he retired, so did Tess. My only girl cousin–bordering the age of ten at the time of meeting you–and I, loved Tess the most.

Then on one rare evening we get to see Brett, you walk in and sit directly across from us. You must have realized it would give you full exposure. And you put us on the spot without hesitation, anchoring us with your probing questions––a poor attempt at playing catch-up. We were not amused by you. It’s not your fault, really, I knew that then as much as I do now, but you should understand…

I was barely fourteen. You entered my life at an awkward time when I was nostalgic, self conscious, and above all, vulnerable. Everything I did was remembered and evaluated. Everything I wore determined which family member thought I was ‘cool’. Anything I said would be held against me.

We couldn’t stop comparing you to Tess. You’re older than she was, you’re not happy like she was, not small like she was, not relatable like she was… You’re nothing a-like,, because you are in fact not her.

We ran away somewhere between the sorbet and lobster. We took our gossip to the ladies’ room.

You see, Mae, your arrival was just unfortunate timing. The family dynamics were suffering at the pain of divorce, international ties, money disputes, and on top of all that––you know what else they were dealing with in addition to adult stuff? Was the kids. You see, Brett may not have had kids––but every one of his siblings did, and we were all still pretty darn young.

I heard some gossip over the year about you keying Brett’s car. Chasing him around the kitchen with a knife? What the heck, Mae? It’s like you wanted us to know you were crazy. You act all suave to impress the family, cool backstory, family owns a resort, all that jargon… Then you go around doing reckless things and expect us to think…wait…what were we supposed to think, Mae? Ah, but you didn’t realize we knew, did you. You see, the Cavanah family spreads gossip like it’s brie on crackers. We could be thousands of miles away (we were) and we’d know the minute it got out.

The second day I met you was when you stuffed your camera in my face for hours, trying to earn some major “family matters” points. Pretending that no one knew about some of your shenanigans. I was fifteen now. More self-aware and even more self-conscious than ever. So, I wasn’t in the mood for another schmoozing event–and especially not up for your camera. Not at this Christmas family-gathering. The last one of its kind. Why was it the last family-gathering, Mae?

I was back in California come the following Spring. I had grown into a better person now––made some friends, felt better about myself, the whole spiel. As luck might have it, while in still in California, Iceland’s volcano erupted with little warning and forced me to stay in Westlake with Uncle Mike for a week in the middle of April 2010––alone, without my parents. Mike’s second son had a Battle of the Bands gig at a local venue–where his divorcing parents stood on opposite sides of the room supporting him. I helped his sister mediate her time between them.

Uncle Mike had invited Brett to give the boy in the band the biggest personalized audience he could. To bring some of the family together again. Mike didn’t realize that this would be his last attempt. Remember I said it would be the last, Mae? Well, here comes the truth.

By the time you arrived, the crowd was bustling. We were busy weaving in and out of tall adults between Mike and his ex-wife. When we got back to Uncle Mike, we sat down in anticipation for the show. I felt a tap on my shoulder and whipped around to see Brett, your future husband. I was elated!

“Hey, Renie, can you come say hi to Mae?” He asked me nicely.

“BRETT! I didn’t see you guys come in…absolutely!” I replied with gusto.

My gusto lasted not a second longer. As I was walking with Brett, I saw your small, scrawny face looking at me from behind a tall table with beer and coke freshly poured. The first words out of my mouth were, “I’m so sorry I didn’t see you come in, how are––”

“HOW DARE YOU!” Your words spit at me.

Brett was laughing at your side. I assumed you didn’t mean it so harshly, so I stuck around to apologize. I may have been a kid, but in those four months between our second meet and this third, I had at least grown enough to understand my previous rude behavior.

“I’m sorry,” I kept repeating to you.

But the laughing from Brett turned slow and panicked. Like a nervous laugh met with an odd sense of ambition to stop whatever might happen next. How was he supposed to know, Mae?

As you continued your rant, the back of my knees got clammy in my tights–I sensed danger was afoot.

My apologies grew quickly weak and useless. I stare at Uncle Brett in hopes of some help or redemption, but his laughing had stopped and he stared at you––anticipating your next move.

If your yelling wasn’t enough–trust me, it was–you had something else in mind.

With a fast reaction, your hand retracted from the finger-pointing and jolted forward. Your grasp went from fist to cup-shaped…My eyes widened as I glared at the icy full-cup of coke in the path of your fast-moving hand and I took a big step back as the glass lifted above the table––and I ran.

My heart was racing; my eyes were huge.

Mike asked me what was wrong, but I didn’t tell him.

Brett came by and apologized before you both slipped out. Mike didn’t know what happened.

But I told my mom. And if a Cavanah knew, better bet everyone knew.

My mom told you that I felt bad for starting off on the wrong foot. I had confessed my wrong-doings, I accepted my consequences. But the family assured me it was still abuse. What did I think? Not so much. It was your stubbornness that was the problem––you just wouldn’t confess that you were even remotely in the wrong for treating me like that. Yelling is one thing, but throwing ice at a kid is another. You wrote paragraphs and paragraphs defending yourself, but didn’t bother to just say “I’m sorry”. Two very simple words, at least in the English dictionary, that have the power to resolve anything.

Maybe you didn’t do it then, that’s fair in my eyes. But I hope you will take my apology to you for not being nice to you in the beginning. I do not believe in first impressions because I know that my perspective will change as I grow. I know I will be a very different person from when you met me, to months later. So, yes, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I was rude and defensive. I’m sorry I acted like a child, but the fact is, Mae, that’s exactly what I was. Just a child.

That’s it.

That’s all I wanted you to know.

I hope one day we’ll be able to reconcile.

Until then,

Me.

---

Prompt, "family".

This is a true account of why a woman from the Philippines hates my guts. It was a crazy family affair and frankly I felt bad about it. "Erupt with Mae" is a pun about Mae emotions erupting on me. I thought this narrative was perfect in a letter format because I often believe writing a letter could solve any and all problems. But the truth is, I never send them. This was the first time I ever actually completed this kind of narrative, and I'm pretty stoked at how it turned out.

Do you have someone in your family that bugs you?