A M E L


Amel stood in the middle of this pack of 1989 and my super-powers electrified my limbs. There stood the mom whose child is disabled, looking weary and lonely. In the corner was a crowd of alcoholics drinking heavily until their speech was nearly a single long syllable. Next to me stood a woman whose deep wounds of adolescences caused her to sharpen her tongue and push others aside with it as if it were a sword. Behind me stood a group who was too scared to leave their pack because their pack had power, but alone any one of them would have been hunted like a new born gazelle. My chest burned as my super snuggle sense gave me a type of x-ray vision. Each and every one of us in that room felt uncomfortable. The doors to the room acted like a time warping continuum that placed us all back in 1989.

Amel realized that if these folks could see my super power they would succumb and possibly let me snuggle them until the discomfort abided. Maybe then we would have all talked in depth about our families, our beliefs and our spirituality. Instead small talk ensued leaving nothing more than a trail of jobs, golf scores and false niceties. So many in that room wanted to stay in 1989. That time gave them power and strength. Not me. The wisdom of middle age is a blessing with many lessons placed at my feet. My reunion not only gave me a deeper appreciation for every soul in that room, but also made me feel foolish in my high heels, fancy dress and caked on make-up. Perhaps if I had worn my cape all would have had a better time.

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