Sunglasses, marshmallows and triggers Monica Ramirez

Have you ever noticed how sometimes the world looks better with sunglasses on? How the colors are just the right tintnot too bright when its sunny, and not as dark when its cloudy? Adriana was just that for me... she was my sunglasses. It doesnt really sound like much, especially when people say shit like youre the sunshine of my life or the air I breathe and stuff like that, but for me, sunglasses meant everything. I heard a lot of teachers first -and shrinks later- talk about how people wear masks. They would ask me about what masks I wore, but the truth is I only wore sunglasses. I never understood the point of a mask why hide your entire face, when all you need to do is cover your eyes? Arent eyes supposed to be the windows to the soul? I always wore sunglasses, even though they would get me into trouble. Sunglasses let me walk around life without really having to look at people and without allowing them to read me but most of all, I started wearing them because they covered the bruises and the red, puffy eyes. The thing was that I started wearing them as a shield but the other kids interpreted them as a signal of superiority. I never got that, but I went with it. Why not? Why Adriana was ever happy being my sunglasses, I could never understand. She was an angel. Educated, smart, nice to everybody. She knew stuff that normal people didnt know. Im not talking about math and science and books Im talking about life. She knew things would happen before they happened. She knew how people would react and behave and she always justified everybodys crap by saying stuff like you dont know what theyve been through and you shouldnt judge them because you dont know whats going on in their life. I wish I had met her when I was a kid maybe that would have saved me. She wasnt that pretty at first glance, but once you got to know her you were sold. She was such a nice person that everybody described her as beautiful. She always saw the best in people, and just because of that, people actually acted their best around her, if only not to disappoint her. She had a soft, melodic tone to her voice. It was a bit Marilyn Monroe-ish, but without the hidden sexiness, just the naivet and sweetness. She melted people left and right, children and grownups, men and women alike. And obviously I wasnt the exception. What nobody ever understood, including myself, was what she ever saw in me. I, on the other hand, was the guy that everybody knew would be a screw-up. Starting with my mom. She probably knew there was no hope for me all along, but I guess as every mother, she expected a miracle. The first time I realized this was when I was around 4 or 5. My mother had taken me to participate in an experiment or research that this guy, some Professor Walter Mischel, was doing at a University in town. It had something to do with marshmallows and patience. Marshmallows, a favorite; patience, not my strong suit. He sat a bunch of kids around a table with a marshmallow in front of each of us and he said that if we waited a few minutes without eating it, we would each get two. Needless to say, I was the kid who ate the marshmallow right away. The others stared at me disapprovingly, but I always thought there was a little bit of envy there also. How were we really sure that this guy would keep his promise? That he wouldnt screw us so wed end up with nothing? I was used to getting screwed I wasnt going to sit around and take it. I ate my marshmallows and all of other kids too! After that, this guy in a white lab coat came in and asked me to leave so they could start the test all

over again. Something about me not being a suitable test subject. Whatever! My mom just covered her face with her hands and sighed. She should have known better than to drag me along to some research about behavior, even if they were going to pay us for it. She was the one who taught me to never trust anyone. Even the people you trust and that are supposed to love you end up screwing you, she always said. But in the outside world you can make your own rules, she said. This is not real life, she would say... This is only a part of who you are, but it doesnt define who you are. Outside, you can be strong and you can shout back and you dont have to take it. Your Dad does love you, you know; hes just not good at showing it. Poor thing, my mother. I had school to get me out of there and then graduation to look forward to. I knew I would leave the minute I was done with school, but I always wondered what outside world she had to make it through each day. My mother pissed me off. She had this absurd idea about suffering being the entrance to heaven. She believed that the more she put up with shit, the better the reward would be when she died. Whats the freaking point of being miserable while you are alive to then be happy when youre dead? You probably wont even know youre dead and if you do, you probably wont remember the life you had while you were alive anyway. This fucking idea of heaven. Then there was my sister who believed that heaven was not a place you went after you died but a place you found during your lifetime Its inside you, she said. Its always there, no matter what the outside looks like. How the hell was anyone supposed to find heaven in that shithole that was our house? A fucking nut-job is what she was. But if I didnt understand my sister, my father was a complete mystery to me. I hated his guts and never quite figured out why the hell he even had kids in the first place. He treated us like crap. Tough love, he would say Youll thank me for it one day. Ill make a real man out of you. Real man MY ASS A fucking bully is what he was. His idea of love was pretty sick to me At dinner we would all have to be seated and wait for him to arrive. Before he sat down, he would take off his belt, roll it neatly and place it on the table as a centerpiece. When my mother set the table, she had to make sure there was always space for his belt. This was his way of letting us know we would get the crap beat out of us if we didnt finish everything, down to the last grain of rice. He would also ramble on about how there were millions of kids around the world that had nothing to eat, and that we had to be thankful of the fact that we were able to have a full meal and how it was a sin and an insult to God if we didnt finish everything. To me, the only thing that mattered was that that belt would make me bleed if I didnt finish everything on my plate. He ruined food for me forever. And school, and sleeping, and talking, and living Hed beat the crap out of us if we got bad grades or if we talked back to him... or if we got into a fight at school or if he was drunk or just because. During weekends we werent allowed to make any noise until he was awake, which could be around 10 or 11 in the morning. We couldnt play or watch TV or even have breakfast, because the sound of a spoon hitting a cereal bowl was enough to drive him crazy. My sister just read and meditated, but that stuff wasnt for me. When I was about ten I realized I was better off not being at home at all, so Id get dressed and leave without even taking a shower. Id be gone all day and no one would even bother looking for me. I know my mother wanted to and sometimes she cried, but the first time she tried to go looking for me my father beat the crap out of her so hard that she just gave up. So she

prayed the entire day until Id show up. After a while she knew I was fine, but she never stopped praying. The first day I decided to leave my house for the day I closed the door behind me and just ran. As fast as I could and as far as I could. And I realized that running kept my mind off of things I didnt like and I figured out it could take me places. And it did It earned me a fancy scholarship, which was my ticket out of my house and into college. Thats where my moms miracle eventually happened in the shape of Adriana. After a few weeks of taking some classes together, she walked up to me and asked why I always wore sunglasses. I made up some stupid excuse about having some condition that made me sensible to light and all she said was thats such a pity you must have the most beautiful eyes I can just tell. For the first time in my life I felt off guard and I didnt care. She made me feel at ease, and that gave me a whole new perspective on life. For the first time in my life I experienced happiness, and for the first time in my life I could take my sunglasses off. I know it sounds corny and all, but she made me a better person. The type of person I never thought I was, because nobody had ever really given me a chance to be. I was born bad in my fathers eyes, doomed in my mothers, incorrigible in my teachers, asocial in the shrinks and a plain asshole in everyone elses. Adriana was the first person to ever see me without labeling me. When we decided to get married, everybody I knew was in shock. Nobody could believe that a girl like Adriana would ever choose a guy like me. I got lengthy sermons from everyone I knew about how I should be thankful every day of my life for such a gift. But what nobody ever knew was that Adriana considered me a gift. Things were good for a while. We were happy. We both finished college and got good jobs. We had fun and things were easy until they werent. Something happened, I dont even remember what. something really stupid. We got into a big fight (or I created a really big fight) and I ended punching a hole through the closet door. I had never in my life seen Adriana so scared. It happened in a fraction of a minute. I lost it. She was driving me crazy. She was being stubborn. I dont know what happened, but I felt a rush of electricity running through my head and I just had to let it out. Adriana started crying and I went to hold her and she wriggled away from me. Please dont touch me, she said. She wasnt angry; she wasnt even disappointed. She was just scared. I knew that look. I had seen it in the mirror more than I cared to remember. I snapped into myself and said I was sorry a thousand times, one after another, like a broken record. I really, really meant it. I really tried not to be my father. Adriana knew that. She saw me struggle with it every day. She never met him but she had heard all the stories. In her calmest possible voice she just said, I forgive you, but you need to heal your wounds or youll never have peace. Heal my wounds. Where could I start? My father was dead and I couldnt make peace with him . Even if he had been around I wouldnt have said anything to him. I hated that man and I was happy the day I left home and even happier the day he died. He deserved to die. He never deserved to have the right to be a father. He ruined my life when he was around and he was still ruining my life now that he was gone. For some reason, I couldnt help myself. The fights kept getting more and more frequent, and they started getting worse. I would never hit Adriana. I had that bit of sense in me. I never wanted to

harm her, but I still wanted to break something, so I usually did. But it was her fault. She always managed to take me there, to that place where I no longer had control. To that experiment room with the marshmallow, and I inevitably screwed up. It always ended the same. Shed cry, Id say Im sorry and she would actually forgive me. Im not sure why. I guess its because I actually never hit her, even though all the rest of the drama was there. Then one day she did say that someday Id go too far... and that scared the shit out of me. I didnt want to lose her. Despite everything that was going on, I still needed her. She made things better. I knew things were going to hell sometimes, but when we werent fighting things were fine and we were happy. I would have done anything to make things better. I hated shrinks, but I ended up going anyway. A waste of money is all it was. You have a lot of anger inside No shit, genius! Avoid the triggers, my therapist would say. What the fuck Id have to kill myself. My parents had made sure theyd ruined every single thing in life for me. I guess in the end it all boiled down to one simple thing. I didnt know what the fuck love was. How could I? I had never been loved, so how was I supposed to know how to love someone else? Im so sorry Adriana And thanks a lot Dad, for teaching me how to be an asshole. Thanks for confusing love with intimidation and respect with fear. Thanks Mom for showing me no self-worth. Thanks for being so weak that I lost all respect for women. Thank you both for teaching me not to trust anybody, destroying my self-esteem, being lousy role models. Im so sorry Adriana So what was bound to happen finally happened. Why am I a person I cant control? Im sitting here, panting, and it feels like dja vu. Ive been here before, but this time Im not the victim. Or am I? My hands ache, my head is bursting. It feels like my brain is going to pop out. Im not sure what just happened, but there was a lot of shouting. Adriana was running away from me, but I was faster. I was always faster at running. Things flew across the room, doors flew shut, my hands flew around in the air. She tried to defend herself, but Im a strong, big man. First I hit her face. She winced and covered her face with both hands. She shouted NO! PLEASE NO! She thought I would stop. I thought I would stop. But I didnt. It felt like it wasnt even me, but I knew where it came from. My fist went for her head and she tried covering it with both her arms, her elbows sticking out like horns. I hit her in the face again. I think I punched her in the nose or busted her lip, because I had blood on my hand and it wasnt mine. STOP. She kept asking me to stop, but I couldnt. I really couldnt. I pushed her and she fell to the floor. I could have left her there but I didnt. I dont know why I didnt. I had never felt so much rage. She tried to crawl away and I kicked her. I kicked her in the back and she curled like a shrimp. I dont remember much else. Shes still there, I dont think shes moving, but everything is a blur. All I can hear is my own breath, and all I can think of is this movie of my life playing in my head. Im so sorry Adriana But she knew better than to provoke me like that. She knew I was fragile. I shouldnt have trusted her. I never should have taken my sunglasses off. I knew I would get screwed. Do I wish things could have been different? Yes... all the time every day. Do I think things could have actually been different? I dont know. I really dont know... I was the guy that ate the marshmallows ahead of time. I was the guy who broke his own sunglasses. I made my own rules and I lost. I dont mean to be a sore loser, bit I sure got dealt some shitty cards to begin with.