*Written January of 2011
Distracted, I don’t answer immediately. I attempt to distinguish between Puccini booming from my speakers and the incessant tapping. It occurs to me someone is outside, wanting in.
It’s her.
She does this.
I sent her a key, in part because if/when I am returned to prison I want there to be enough people to have access so I don’t lose everything (again), and she kinda sorta took it the wrong way.
She was flattered, and I was flattered she was flattered. Flattered we were. But she went on to interpret the key as a pass to come over whenever she pleases.
I honestly don’t mind it most of the time. I can use the company.
She’s funny. She’s passionate. She’s a blast. I also adore my privacy, what little of it is left, and sometimes when I get into something (book, writing, studying or whatever) I hate to be distracted for even a second. It is very, very tough for me to summon the mental discipline needed for concentration. It takes an awful lot for me to focus. And when I finally get into a groove, into a mindful motion, I do not want to leave it abruptly.
Too late.
I groaned at not wanting to get up, Ugh! You have a key!
Yes, she laughed, and I heard the screen door screech in its widening. She struggled with the key, and said hurriedly, But this is an emergency. A musical emergency.
Like me, she loves music. We share that.
She digs exposing me to new things in part because I know she knows I appreciate the effort and her taste. Once she latches onto a new, new thing she rushes over. A movie (the latest was Scott Pilgrim vs. the World, which I enjoyed). A book (Cutting for Stone, but I already read it in prison – GREAT novel). Whatever. She comes with a purpose each visit. She rarely gives me a head’s up she’s intending to visit, and that’s annoying.
She just appears.
Well, she answered my look of annoyance, you always let me in, and you’re always available when I drop by, so stop complaining. And since you’re too poor to have a cell phone, it’s not like you’re easy to get ahold of.
She’s right. We laugh. Get up, mister, she pokes me in the side, and then takes my place at the computer terminal. She pops in a CD.
Up comes a female voice.
Alluring. Searching. Eager. It’s the band, Girl in a Coma, and their collection of reinterpretations, Adventures in Coverland. They’re from San Antonio, Texas. Three Latinas.
They cover punk, country, and everything else in-between. They come from a mish-mashed culture of southern, somewhat central Texas. They prove Latinas don’t have to be sex kittens in order to get a record contract. They prove American Latino culture isn’t a drunken, pompous ass party nor an excuse to scream about revolution (enough already).
Girl in a Coma is that perfect blend of reality and progression. They rock. They’re ambient. They eschew preaching. They’re DOers. They exist, and for now their existence IS the revolution, breaking racist, sexist, and homophobic barriers without trying.
I am glad she came over.
And I mean it.
*
checalaloskelsos@gmail.com
Craig Edward Kelso is the author of Anarcho-Capitalism (2014), a primer on the philosophy of peaceful, stateless cooperation. His curriculum vitae include a Bachelor of Arts in Political Science from San Diego State University, and a Post-Baccalaureate secondary education credential in both Social Science and English Language Arts. Kelso taught for nearly a decade in the American public school system, and was voted by colleagues Teacher of the Year, twice in his short tenure, earning numerous accolades from chambers of commerce, mayors, state assembly persons, governors, congresspersons, senators, and even Wal-Mart. Currently he struggles to earn an opportunity to be employed, working as a laborer, dishwasher. He is deliriously happily married to Myra Kelso, living in Southern California with their adorable children.
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