I cried today when I heard that Maya Angelou had died. Not little rolling down my cheeks tears, but gulping snotting sobs of grief. That response surprised me. A lot. I didn't know this woman. She was a world renowned poet. She was a public figure for chrissake. So why?
I "met" Maya Angelou in 1977, a Catholic high schooler required to read I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. That book. That book. What do you say about a book that transforms your life? I still can't believe it was assigned reading, not in that place, not at that time, not by those nuns. What did my classmates know of physical or sexual violence, of silence. They lived in a perfect world filled with laughter and golden light untouched by anything dark. They blew their perfectly upturned noses in silken handkerchiefs and wiped their asses with $20 bills or so it seemed to me.
Only I knew different. For me their world was fake, every smile forced over bared gritting teeth. Teeth gritted to keep myself from screaming. The greatest and most ill lit carnival ride I have ever taken. It was a place with a skim coat of pretty over a pail of grave worms as I tried unsuccessfully to conform to something narrow and small.
Then I was assigned that book. I devoured it in a single setting. Here on the page was truth. It both was my life and wasn't. I couldn't believe that someone had that kind of courage and honesty. I was glad-angry that I was not alone. Finally, I was not alone. I was not alone. In that moment, I stopped trying to conform. I no longer needed to. I WAS NOT ALONE.
It would take me 25 more years to muster that kind of courage, to speak my own stories of sexual abuse and silence. Those stories made possible by that thin little book I was required to read, made possible by Maya. For that I love. For that I grieve.
Ah, Mary. This is a beautiful-sad piece of writing. I love you and Maya more for having read this today.
ReplyDeleteRead backs galore.
Especially: The greatest and most ill lit carnival ride I have ever taken. It was a place with a skim coat of pretty over a pail of grave worms...
I lived and worked in Portland, Oregon, in the summer of 1971, after I graduated from the University of Portland. One afternoon I was sitting in the living room of the apartment i shared with 2 friends, listening to Judy Collins singing "Who Knows Where The Time Goes" and finishing "I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings". When I finished the book, Judy was finishing the song, and I broke down into uncontrollable sobs. I never understood why that song and that book had such a powerful affect, but your beautiful writing may have answered that question after all of these years. Thank you again, Mary.
ReplyDeleteWow, Mary. Thank you for sharing this.
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