Mayra Lazara Dole's Blog - Posts Tagged "satan-ha"
On a thunderous night at a thrift store, a girl about my age (seven at the time) kicked my shin when I asked her, “Is your name Maggie?”--I thought I had recognized her and was trying to be friendly.
My eyes watered as I stood like a rooted palm, gulping down pain, trying to smile as if nothing had happened.
She beckoned me with a wagging index finger to get closer, but I wouldn’t. She neared me. “My name isn’t Maggie,” she said in a harsh whisper. “It’s Natasha.”
At the time, I had a knack for speaking backwards with friends and realized that the first part of her name, NATAS, spelled backwards was SATAN. The second half spelled backwards: HA.
My voice cracked, “Pleased to meet you.” My dad had taught me to be courteous at all times.
When I didn’t become upset, Satan-Ha http://www.skepdic.com/satan.html placed her hands on her hips and dug holes into my eyes. “You’re stupid, fat and ugly.”
My stomach twisted. Even though I was tiny, cute and thin, her anger was so fierce that her words stung. I hung my head low and tried to back away.
She followed. “Hey. Where do you think you’re going?”
“I’ve got to find my dad.”
“Are you scared of me?”
My voice quivered, “N…no.” I took a baby step back.
“If you’re not scared, then you’re retarded. Are you a retard? You look retarded. I bet you’re retarded.”
I took small steps backwards as I turned the gadget isle. My mom and dad seemed to have disappeared. We had recently come from Cuba and my beloved father had found a job at a gas station. He needed a few pairs of inexpensive pants, tube sox and light shirts with ¾ sleeves. We couldn’t afford to shop at fancy stores and I was sure they hadn’t scurried next door without me, to Bargain Beast, for expensive clothes.
I kept walking backwards, but getting away from the Devil wasn't easy.
“My mom is rich,” Satan-Ha said. “We never come here. This place is for poor people. It’s for bimbos and dumbos like you and your family.”
I had to invent something radical to veer her thoughts from me. “Do you want to play a game?”
She stopped cold and I stayed put. Her eyes widened. “What game?”
“The Sniff Game. You close your eyes. I pick something from the shelf and have you smell it. If you guess, you get one point. Whoever gets five points first, wins.”
“What kind of a stupid game is that? Who plays for points? I play for money.”
"I don't have money on me." My eyeballs scanned the store for my parents. My mom was way in the back, gesticulating to my dad in her usual, exaggerated way. I could make a run for it but didn’t want to seem chicken. And besides, seeing my parents made me feel empowered.
“That’s because your dad’s middle name is Broke.” She let out a shreiky, evil laugh. “What’s your name, retard?”
“Vampira.” I squinted and put on my most serious face as I visualized pointy fangs sprouting out of my mouth. I really wanted to scare her.
Silence.
I grabbed a box of band aids from the shelf. “Smell.” I opened the lid. “That’s what my grandparents use to cover fang marks after they feed on mean people.” http://www.skepdic.com/vampires.html
A mom carrying a kid in a basket strolled by. The boy waved his hands uncontrollably while sticking out his tongue at us.
“Not so.” The Devil grunted with her nose up in the air.
“So,” I swore with my back straight and head up.
The air traffic controller kid turned the corner and disappeared. A thick woman’s voice yelled, “Natasha, get over here now or you’re in big trouble!”
Satan-Ha took off faster than a hummingbird.
As I walked to my parents, I saw the Devil's mom in flip flops, raggedy shorts and disheveled hair. Some of her front teeth were broken. She was pulling a large boy with Down syndrome in a wheelchair. My heart dropped. I could not believe that a poor kid with a special brother would use such cruel words.
I saw the Devil on and off, here and there, a few times but she never spoke to me again.
Years passed and I bumped into her at Books & Books. “Hey, Natasha. Remember me? Vampira.”
She stuttered. “I… I… was just a kid, you know? Kids were bullying me at school and calling my brother retarded.”
I told her I’d forgotten all about it. “No worries.”
She portrayed herself as a high school teacher who loved to read. I had heard through the kiwi fruit vine that she had prostituted a few years and I wasn't sure if she was spewing lies about her new life. My heart went out to her, though. Satan-Ha had obviously had a difficult life.
I struck up a conversation about teen literature and how difficult it must be to get boys in her class to read. “Teen males enjoy reading G books: Girls, Guns, Graveyard, Gruesomeness and Gross Humor. Later on in life, they might enjoy literature about Women, Wine and Wit.” If she really knew anything about literature, and teaching teens, she’d know how to respond.
She plucked a few thrillers from the shelf. “Boys like blood, cadavers, the grotesque, murders, assassinations and killing rampages. These are the books I have them read, otherwise they get bored.”
Although her statement was true (only 2 percent of boys read unless it's gruesome or gross humor), something about the way she expressed herself disturbed me and brought me back to when she kicked me.
I expressed being in a hurry. “I came to get books on Sacred Babylonian Harlots. You should read about them. Fascinating.” I simply wanted to let her know that I knew about her and I would not be mean about it.
I waved goodbye and never saw Satan-Ha again. Have you?
My eyes watered as I stood like a rooted palm, gulping down pain, trying to smile as if nothing had happened.
She beckoned me with a wagging index finger to get closer, but I wouldn’t. She neared me. “My name isn’t Maggie,” she said in a harsh whisper. “It’s Natasha.”
At the time, I had a knack for speaking backwards with friends and realized that the first part of her name, NATAS, spelled backwards was SATAN. The second half spelled backwards: HA.
My voice cracked, “Pleased to meet you.” My dad had taught me to be courteous at all times.
When I didn’t become upset, Satan-Ha http://www.skepdic.com/satan.html placed her hands on her hips and dug holes into my eyes. “You’re stupid, fat and ugly.”
My stomach twisted. Even though I was tiny, cute and thin, her anger was so fierce that her words stung. I hung my head low and tried to back away.
She followed. “Hey. Where do you think you’re going?”
“I’ve got to find my dad.”
“Are you scared of me?”
My voice quivered, “N…no.” I took a baby step back.
“If you’re not scared, then you’re retarded. Are you a retard? You look retarded. I bet you’re retarded.”
I took small steps backwards as I turned the gadget isle. My mom and dad seemed to have disappeared. We had recently come from Cuba and my beloved father had found a job at a gas station. He needed a few pairs of inexpensive pants, tube sox and light shirts with ¾ sleeves. We couldn’t afford to shop at fancy stores and I was sure they hadn’t scurried next door without me, to Bargain Beast, for expensive clothes.
I kept walking backwards, but getting away from the Devil wasn't easy.
“My mom is rich,” Satan-Ha said. “We never come here. This place is for poor people. It’s for bimbos and dumbos like you and your family.”
I had to invent something radical to veer her thoughts from me. “Do you want to play a game?”
She stopped cold and I stayed put. Her eyes widened. “What game?”
“The Sniff Game. You close your eyes. I pick something from the shelf and have you smell it. If you guess, you get one point. Whoever gets five points first, wins.”
“What kind of a stupid game is that? Who plays for points? I play for money.”
"I don't have money on me." My eyeballs scanned the store for my parents. My mom was way in the back, gesticulating to my dad in her usual, exaggerated way. I could make a run for it but didn’t want to seem chicken. And besides, seeing my parents made me feel empowered.
“That’s because your dad’s middle name is Broke.” She let out a shreiky, evil laugh. “What’s your name, retard?”
“Vampira.” I squinted and put on my most serious face as I visualized pointy fangs sprouting out of my mouth. I really wanted to scare her.
Silence.
I grabbed a box of band aids from the shelf. “Smell.” I opened the lid. “That’s what my grandparents use to cover fang marks after they feed on mean people.” http://www.skepdic.com/vampires.html
A mom carrying a kid in a basket strolled by. The boy waved his hands uncontrollably while sticking out his tongue at us.
“Not so.” The Devil grunted with her nose up in the air.
“So,” I swore with my back straight and head up.
The air traffic controller kid turned the corner and disappeared. A thick woman’s voice yelled, “Natasha, get over here now or you’re in big trouble!”
Satan-Ha took off faster than a hummingbird.
As I walked to my parents, I saw the Devil's mom in flip flops, raggedy shorts and disheveled hair. Some of her front teeth were broken. She was pulling a large boy with Down syndrome in a wheelchair. My heart dropped. I could not believe that a poor kid with a special brother would use such cruel words.
I saw the Devil on and off, here and there, a few times but she never spoke to me again.
Years passed and I bumped into her at Books & Books. “Hey, Natasha. Remember me? Vampira.”
She stuttered. “I… I… was just a kid, you know? Kids were bullying me at school and calling my brother retarded.”
I told her I’d forgotten all about it. “No worries.”
She portrayed herself as a high school teacher who loved to read. I had heard through the kiwi fruit vine that she had prostituted a few years and I wasn't sure if she was spewing lies about her new life. My heart went out to her, though. Satan-Ha had obviously had a difficult life.
I struck up a conversation about teen literature and how difficult it must be to get boys in her class to read. “Teen males enjoy reading G books: Girls, Guns, Graveyard, Gruesomeness and Gross Humor. Later on in life, they might enjoy literature about Women, Wine and Wit.” If she really knew anything about literature, and teaching teens, she’d know how to respond.
She plucked a few thrillers from the shelf. “Boys like blood, cadavers, the grotesque, murders, assassinations and killing rampages. These are the books I have them read, otherwise they get bored.”
Although her statement was true (only 2 percent of boys read unless it's gruesome or gross humor), something about the way she expressed herself disturbed me and brought me back to when she kicked me.
I expressed being in a hurry. “I came to get books on Sacred Babylonian Harlots. You should read about them. Fascinating.” I simply wanted to let her know that I knew about her and I would not be mean about it.
I waved goodbye and never saw Satan-Ha again. Have you?
