by Marie Simas
Did you ever read Dante Alighieri’s Divine Comedy? I did—I read all three parts. Everyone likes the Inferno the best, because that’s where Dante settles all his old scores. But I liked Purgatorio the best. It’s all about Purgatory. It’s the place where sinners go in order to cleanse themselves before they get admitted to Heaven. Catholics do believe in Hell, of course, but we also believe that there is a “middle zone” where semi-bad people go to get punished before they’re allowed to enter Heaven.
Most Protestants don’t believe in Purgatory.
That’s because Catholics basically invented the concept. Catholics need a middle ground. People need to believe in a place like Purgatory. It gives assholes some hope. I know I’m not going straight to heaven. But I don’t want to go to Hell, either. So there’s Purgatory. It’s a place where we can go and take our lumps and then, hopefully, we’ll be able to move on up.
I think most of it is bullshit, but there’s nothing wrong with hedging your bets.
I have dreams about Hell. In my dreams, Hell is a shitty, dirty factory, like a Chinese sweatshop. There’s no fire, no brimstone. Just millions of boxes on a long conveyer belt. In my dreams, the Devil is really young. He’s blond, with a nametag, and khaki pants. He’s a douchebag middle manager ordering everyone around and micromanaging the assembly line. The factory is huge and poorly lit.
There’s no emergency exit. I’m just stuck there, working in this shithole factory with this asshole teenage manager for all eternity. That’s my vision of Hell. I’ve had this dream at least a dozen times, and each time I wake up in a cold sweat.
I know that burning in eternal flame might seem worse, but really, it’s not. At least burning in eternal flame is poetic. The nightmare is an eternity of mindless labor.
The sad reality is that millions of people live their entire lives this way.
People sell their souls for whatever material bullshit they’ve decided they can’t live without. So you spend ten years working for an asshole so you can afford to buy a Mercedes or a designer purse or a new condo or whatever.
Maybe tragedy is what we need in order to see our lives in better perspective. I’m just saying that real clarity comes to us when our toes are at the edge of a cliff, not when we’re pounding away on our laptops in a fucking Starbucks.
Our experiences may shape us, but they don’t direct our future. Tragedy is just God’s way of forcing you to make changes. That’s all. The point is; don’t ever be afraid to make changes. You can always walk away, do something new, and reinvent your life. Don’t live your life stuck in hell with a manager in khaki pants.
The Break-In and Finally, the Break-Out
2008, AGE 35
I broke into my father’s house a month ago. It wasn’t the first time I’d done it, but this time I had a mission.
I went back to my hometown and drove to the old house, parking in the driveway. I knew the house would be empty. The backyard was overrun by blackberry brambles and untrimmed fruit trees. The fruit lay scattered on the ground, ignored. Father used to take good care of everything, but now he has a girlfriend named Ursula, so he isn’t home much.
I snuck in through a rear window, climbing into my old bedroom. It smelled like mold. I pissed in the bathroom and walked through the house. It was the same as always. Beige walls, beige drapes, and dark burgundy carpeting. The house was superficially clean, but everything had a weird layer of dust. My steps echoed in the hallway, tapping on cheap linoleum. The beds were neatly made. The house looked abandoned.
Faded wedding pictures still hung in the hallway. My mother’s eyes smiled at me from those yellowed photographs. The last time I was there, Father had taken the pictures down, but my brother Johnny said that Father had a fight with Ursula last year and he put them all back up in a fit of anger.
After the fight, he told Ursula that his wedding pictures were staying put.
“I don’t know why you have to have those up on the wall—it makes me so uncomfortable looking at them! Why can’t you just put them in the closet?” She quibbled.
“Ursula, don’t even think about touching my wedding photos again, or I’ll beat your fucking head in! If you don’t like it, you can take a hike!” Screamed my father, jerking his thumb at the door.
The argument was over, and Ursula never said anything else about those wedding pictures. So Ursula got to look at my mother staring down at her every time she came over.
I opened my father’s closet, and sifted through old photographs and records. I found a little diary that I had written. The journal was dated; I was eleven. I read all the entries, which I don’t actually remember writing. The teacher had given us a prompt and told us to write about that. Here are some of the entries. Everything is written in bubbly cursive.
My Diary
First Entry:
What I Admire Most About Myself.
I try to like myself but sometimes it’s difficult. I like when I help my mom because then I feel proud. I like to get good grades because then my dad smiles. I like to be good in class, then my teachers smile wide. I like it when I keep secrets; I have about fifty of them.
Second Entry:
What I’d Like to Improve About Me.
I would like to improve on me, my schoolwork, and my actions. I would like to get A’s and B’s in school. I would like to improve my drawing and writing. I would like to improve my diet. I eat lots of candy and barely any of the good food that I am supposed to eat. I would like to improve in these ways.
Third Entry:
What’s On My Mind.
I’m thinking of my grade. I feel terrible. I’ll get in trouble if I get a bad grade. I’m so worried. I’m hoping to get a B or C and an S in behavior at least. I’m nervous, very, very nervous...
Fourth Entry:
If I Could Meet Someone Famous.
If I could meet Princess Diana or Prince Charles, I’d like to tell him or her that I don’t want to be rich. I personally would be afraid of it, robbers, muggers, and after all, what’s money when you can’t use it all? But I want money for my mom’s huge doctor bills. Also for other needed items.
Fifth Entry:
What I’m Thankful For.
I am thankful for many things at this Thanksgiving time. I think God is most important because at the end of life I’ll meet my family in that big house in the sky. My family are very important to me. I am so grateful for my mom being alive. I hope my mom gets better. I think it’s important to be healthy.
Sixth Entry:
If I Had Three Wishes.
If I had three wishes, I would want my mom to get better. My mom is so sick. I would wish for money to pay the doctor bills. Then I would go back to Portugal. We have lots of fun there and mom gets to pray in fancy churches with Mary.
Seventh Entry:
Gift to the World, and Why.
Peace is what I would give to the world. I really want it. With all the bombs I might not reach my late teens (Yes, I really wrote this—I can hardly believe it myself). There is a song called “Let There be Peace on Earth and Let it Begin With Me.” I can make peace on Earth day by day. I want to help! I want to help everyone!
Eighth Entry:
Resolutions.
My resolutions are easy to keep. My first one is to help my mother around the house more often. My next resolution: I try to stop biting my nails. My last resolution is to try and keep quiet in class. I want to be good, and I want to help my Mom because she is so sick.
Ninth Entry:
My Feelings About Myself.
I hate myself. I hate myself for my big mouth and my behavior. I have tried so hard for seven years but my trying has no end. There is nothing good about me. I’m not being sorry for myself because there is nothing to feel sorry for.
Tenth Entry:
The Best News I’ve Heard All Week.
The best news I’ve heard all week was that I could make a clubhouse in the tree in our backyard. It’s all made of long sticks. Nobody can tell
it’s there because it’s surrounded by trees and bushes and long grass. We picked that tree because it has the best protections from predators. Me and my brother love it.
Eleventh Entry:
The Science Fair
Yesterday’s science fairs were pretty fun. A few of them were vulgar. The one that was the funniest was the one with meat digestion. I saw all of them. If you missed the science fair, you missed a lot. I loved the science fair and I hoped you did too.
That’s it. It’s odd how the entries alternate between desperation and happiness.
I kept sifting through the closet and eventually I found our old home movies. There were 12 of them. Jackpot! I stuffed them into a bag and under my jacket, and I left.
All of the movies were from the seventies and early eighties; the old fashioned “reel-to-reel” type. I don’t have an old film projector, so I took them all to Costco for conversion. A few days later, I got the call that the converted films were ready. I picked up the video, but didn’t have the stomach to watch it. I was too nervous.
I placed it on a bookshelf and it stayed there for a month. Each time I stepped into my office, the video drew my gaze. Still, I waited.
Finally, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I pulled the video off the shelf and sat down to watch it in private. There was about one hour of footage overall.
My entire childhood in 62 minutes.
The first scene was my sixth birthday. I was laughing, blowing out candles, eating cake, opening presents. It was gut-wrenching to watch; that endless string of birthdays and Christmases. Everyone was smiling; so cheerful. There were no beatings, no tears. The evidence was damning. How could I have forgotten all those happy times?
I heard my Mother’s voice, talking in the background. It had been twenty years since I’d heard it.
“Marie, honey, open your presents. This one is from your grandmother. There are many more for you. Open, them, open them! That’s a good girl. Smile for the camera.”
“Be careful putting the ornaments on the tree. Don’t fall from the sofa.”
“Eat the plum, my dear. Please eat the plum. Look at her, taking such big bites! That’s my sweet girl.”
I rewound the video again and again, listening to her voice.
Rewind, stop, listen.
Rewind, stop, listen.
Mundane phrases now held a universe of meaning. Her voice reverberated back through time. I walked away from the monitor and came back a dozen times. I stopped, got up, cried, walked into the living room, came back, and started the video again. It took me hours to view the entire thing.
At the very end of the video, our family is at the beach. My brother is sitting by a puddle of salt water and I’m building lopsided sandcastles with a plastic bucket. Mother is dressed in jeans, rolled up to her knees. She’s sitting in the sand, sifting it through her fingers. Her floppy hat has rainbows on it. It’s a beautiful day.
Then Father points the camera at her and says, “Wave, Mother! Say goodbye to the camera!”
Mother looks up, smiles broadly and waves, “Goodbye!”
Miraculously, this is at the very end. I never told the store what order to assemble the tapes—it was just random. She said her final goodbye to me on that grainy videotape, twenty years after her death. Then it was over.
All those years of happy memories had been forgotten. I had chosen to remember only the hate and anger. The proof was there; there were happy times, too. Years filled with laughter and joy. Was there a point where our lives made a dark turn, or had I ignored the positive aspects of my life for so many years that I no longer believed that they had existed? I created a reality where there was nothing but darkness.
Watching those old home movies, I realized that I had forgotten the good times we celebrated as a family. But I never forgot the bad. I’d lived my share of tragedy, but I’d also had some important triumphs. More good than bad, in fact. Maybe it was time to just let it all go and forgive.
My father had a tough job and didn’t make a lot of money. I was a difficult child.
But I didn’t deserve to be kicked and punched and told that I was worthless. My mother did not deserve to die in agony, treated like a slave. She deserved honor and respect. She deserved to be loved.
I endured a terrifying, abusive childhood. But somehow, I ended up with a handsome (and horny) husband who loves me and treats me with dignity. He’s given me two perfect children. They will never suffer what I suffered. I loved my mother and I weep for the horrible life she had. But I also learned from her. She made her own mistakes, and I won’t repeat them.
This morning, I woke up and made breakfast. I got my kids dressed, kissed, and off to school. I kissed my husband and sent him off to work. Then I got dressed and went to work. On my way out, I locked the door, knowing that the next time I cam home, I’d be greeted by hugs and laughter. That’s something my father never had. That’s something my poor mother never had. And I’ll tell you this: it’s something I never expected to have.
I cried watching those home movies, but I reminded myself of one thing over and over:
I survived.
I survived.
I survived.
Then, I put them away. I boxed them all up and put them in the attic.
Human life is a passage—it’s simply a crossing to somewhere else. Most people stay on the highway, but some choose to go off-road.
Don’t ever be afraid to drive off the road and into the grass. You never know what you might find there. And don’t regret your choices. We all make mistakes, and sometimes they’ll be huge ones. But don’t despair. In the long run you’ll travel so far down the road that you won’t be able to see those mistakes behind you. Just put one foot in front of the other, and you’ll do just fine.
