Fuck you, I’m From Texas

Or I was. Do I even have the write to tattoo this on my skin now? It’s been nearly 20 years since I planned to get these words tattooed on me. I have now been in the southeastern US for 16.5 years. After I moved to Arkansas, in 2008, seemingly yAnKeD from my comfortable life in Tarrant County with a network of lifelongs;built of friends, family, trees, and pets. There was “my” Whole Foods, River Legacy, Sunshine Bar, The Ridgley Theater, The Kimble Art Museum, and the Fort Worth Zoo. From Possum Kingdom Lake to Austin to Sulphur Springs, you could not get me lost in Texas. I came up in the 90’s with answering machines, directions, and maps on paper. My dad worked hard to drill it into me- as if he knew something was coming. Since I moved there, in elementary school in 89, it was always pop quiz time. At any given random moment he would demand,“ Which way are we going?” Me – ever the smart ass might say,”to church,” or “school”, or “The Little Indian.” With an eye roll I secretly really hoped he wouldn’t see because I was forever tired of “the game.” This game he played because he didn’t know what to talk to me about, but he also knew I must be self-sufficient.

What Dad wanted in this line of questioning was a coordinate- a direction- North, South, East, or West. He never got those coordinates from me, but the directions I learned. He taught me I could always know which direction I was headed from the rising and setting sun. Well my sun rose in Dallas and set in Fort Worth, so I always knew anything towards Dallas skyline was East, I-30 to Fort Worth was West. My schools were North and the other side of town was South GP. The GP bario was to my East, and the hood ( I wasn’t supposed to go to, but did) was to my West. Extend beyond any of those two sides of town and there were the cities reaching both ways and they spelled WE. West to East – North to South. My mom lived to the East way, past Dallas. Hollywood, the Sequioas, and The Grand Canyon were to my West past Austin, which was past Fort Worth. Go past Oklahoma and someday you’ll get to Canada and go down to the bottom of Texas, and you can cross the border into Mexico- this was South.

My brain has always been in story mode. I think that is how I made sense of All of The Things that were not making sense this life. The story about about directions is the one I literally had to create in my mind to go lightning fast, so I could always tell my dad which direction we were going. Then he would be proud of me, instead of mad.

My entire life’s direction was based and coordinated around Texas. When I moved briefly to Arkansas, and then Missouri, I was lost;both directionally and my identity was confused. The only thing I really knew was that Texas was West, and I am just Alison.

Moving to back to Arkansas (where I had landed in Texas from in 1989- landed — ha! Lets say launched, thrown, taken, withheld, rejected, betrayed, manipulated and still dejected to Texas.) so – moving back to Arkansas/ Southeast Missouri was in one sense a way of rediscovering my identity – the part from down deep in my genes, the roots I came from. Through legends, lore, and what may have been straight fan fiction, I got to know my grandparents from other people’s tales. The grandparents who I really didn’t know. I was on the land, digging in the dirt, wading in the rivers waters my ancestors settled in the 1700’s. I thought I was lost, but “I was found.”

It took well over 5 here years to become accustomed to the life I had unwittingly chosen. It took over 7 years to decide that I lived in Missouri, not in Misery. There are times I am still not sure, then I step into the Ozark’s again and remember a feeling so deep and old that I don’t even know it by its first name.

I still have “FYIFT” run through my head every month or so. It used to be every day. I still want it tattooed on me as a memory of a part of me that was, and always be because you can’t take out and loose a puzzle piece, or there will be fucking gaping hole, ok! Everyone knows that.

What in the actual hell set me on the rant of reminiscing how the hell i ended up on another Vine St. in another town, in another state, and this time actually finding a Vine Street I don’t ever want to leave?

I’ll tell you what.

My iPhone browser directed to bing rather than typical Google. I tried to type in my blog domain to copy and paste the link to send to a friend through text. When I typed it in the first couple of websites coming up were not my blog. Actually none were, but nevermind that, what was popping off was an art show, an exhibit with the same name as my blog page, the same name as the domain I own. I thought Lordy – loo, I look like I’ve ripped someone off on this tongue in cheek title!(that’s really not that creative- let’s just be honest. I mean a dozen and a half people could have come up with it.) It’s personal to me, so it doesn’t matter. It’s like I’ve said before – everything to be written, sung, or said has already been. There is no new cord to be played, only a different arrangement and new eyes, new perspectives of viewpoint.

So I clicked on this webpage, this art exhibit out of curiosity to see how old the web page and art exhibit were, and LO AND BEHOLD, it’s an exhibit on Montgomery in Fort Worth, across the street from the Dickies Outlet I used to frequent. A city block over from where I lived when my first two sons were born, in the art district of Fort Worth.

That’s how quickly a small thing will throw you back down a long winding road of memories and feelings. One small moment on the internet. This is why I’ve deleted all of my social media accounts. There is no way to be in navigation of your own mind, thoughts, and feelings when you are constantly bombarded by what every one else wants you to see, think, or remember. I will remember on my own time. I will think on my own time. I will write and read on my own time. I will paint on my own time, and perhaps I will visit this exhibit the next time I get back to my other “home” for a visit, Texas, on my own time.

“Home is where my loves and stuff and dogs are.”

Alison –