Reverse Atlantis – Saph’s Tale
By Laura Chechak-Roy
Copyright 2011 Laura Chechak-Roy
Editors: Subir Roy and Julius Gomes
Published at Smashwords
Table of Contents
Chapter One: Skip To My Lou-Lou
Chapter Seven: And Then It Happened
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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When this book was originally written I had no intention for it to be published. Less than a year after it’s completion I met my future husband, Amit. After a decade of just keeping it on the shelf and Amit reminding me of it’s existence every year, I finally decided to put it out there. He said it would make me feel better to share it. I wasn’t keen to have to put this into print but… he was right.
This story, Saph’s tale is meant to be fun and relatable and I hope it comes across that way. This book is dedicated to my overwhelmingly supportive husband Amit and my sweet and patient son Aiden. They gave me space and left me the me time for this to be completed. I love you both more than I can properly express, so I am afraid Thank You will have to do.
This book (as well as future publications) could not have been properly finished without the tireless efforts of my editors, Mr. Subir Roy and Mr. Julius Gomes. Mr. Gomes being a respected journalist himself, took time away from his work to assist in this tedious process. Thank You, Jules! Mr. Roy’s involvement is very dear to me. He is my father-in-law and a man who’s opinion I greatly respect. Even though he is officially retired, he still finds time to privately tutor, edit and continue with his own publishing ventures. I could not have asked for a more endearing and supportive father-in-law. I appreciate all of your help and most importantly your time.
There is also one man who has been behind the scenes and always keeping me focused and that is my husband, Mr. Amit Roy. A man who wears many hats. A professional in every sense of the word. He has been with me through the process from the very beginning. He is currently editing work to be released in the near future. His meticulous part machine ability and outlook to stay focused, kept my ideas flowing. He has been a constant supporter and I honestly think my additional work is a credit to his optimism. I hope this gratitude can cover all of your support. Thank You Amit.
Chapter One: Skip To My Lou-Lou
If you can imagine me: with fire red hair, a 26-inch waist, weighing 115 pounds, a 38” bust and green eyes… Well then I would say you’re just a little isolated. I actually look more like a man. I have a five o’clock shadow and hair growing like forest everywhere on my body except for my head.
Ha! Okay not really. I did have you thinking though. I really have brown hair (just the roots) and hazel eyes. I thought I would start this book off with a little humor.
My friend AC once told me, “Humor is a cavity and that’s why dentists miss the boat for great jokes.” I personally love dentists. After your check up, they always give you a sugarless, cavity preventable lollipop. Yum, yum…
AC has been my friend since a few years before his mom was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. His mother, Ana, was a very gracious lady. I admired her. She was so strong and levelheaded. At her funeral everyone spoke of how Ana Corin was like a second mother. I was under the impression that AC’s name derived from his mother’s initials. When we first met he neglected to mention what AC stood for. He was too embarrassed to say that it stands for Antony Caesar. I once overheard my mom and sister gossiping that AC was named after two men who could possibly be his father. It just so happened my mom hated Ana with a passion and AC was in the middle of this ongoing cat-fight. Actually AC was named after Cleopatra’s husbands, Julius Caesar and Marc Antony. Ana was very excited about ancient history. She was always reading or writing stories about it.
Ana also named her cats after Cleopatra’s four children: Ptolemy (Caesarian) XV, Alexander Helios, Cleopatra Selene II and Ptolemy Philadelphus. Ironically they all died except for Alexander, who survived up until the very day Ana died. In her final days Ana came home to pass away. Alexander stayed with her the whole time. They died a few hours apart.
After Ana’s death AC and I decided that it was time to go. We left West Moreland and moved to Somerset County. I commend AC for being so supportive during Ana’s illness. AC’s experience with Ana can be seen just through his actions. Whether she was feeling bitter, happy, scared or anxious, AC was by her side through everything. If she felt strong enough to be out and be seen, he always went with her. AC protected Ana wholeheartedly and Ana deserved him. Ana was an angel in disguise, unlike my own mother, who was heartless.
In fact I acknowledged Ana as my real mother unlike my biological mother who was a jealous harlot. When I was 11 my mother gave me a pack of tampons and said, “You bleed, unwrap, and plug, and don’t get it on the floor.” That was pretty much the extent of our mother-daughter conversations for the rest of my teen years. With the exception of my eighteenth birthday when she got me wasted and left me behind a liquor store dumpster for two days… It is a wonder that I didn’t pass away from alcohol poisoning. When Ana died my mother leaned over towards me, ever so gingerly and said, “See what chubby gets you Lou-Lou.”
I forgot to tell you my mother nicknamed me after the British name for toilet. My name is actually Saph. [My father chose my name]. I still haven’t figured it out how she came up with Lou-Lou. She was also the only one who called me it.
My mother wasn’t known for compassion although she had a knack for embarrassment. I grew to have no feelings for her. Ana once told me, “People do not pull you down; you just give in too easily.” She was absolutely right and I miss her so much. She built my confidence up.
I have only had two role models in my life, Ana and LeRisa. LeRisa was my paternal grandmother. I’ve never met my mother’s parents and my grandfather died two months before I was born. I used to follow my grandmother around like a lost puppy. She never called me Saph, but Lily. She said I reminded her of the first Native American to become Catholic. Her real name was Kateri Tekakwitha. She is also referred to as Lily of the Mohawks [Lily stands for purity] LeRisa was always kind to everyone she met but that courtesy was not always returned.
She was a very heavyset paraplegic woman with six amputated fingers. Unfortunately, after many years of suffering, LeRisa had to have an emergency kidney transplant. After the transplant, her new kidney left a visible bulge on her right side. For two years she slept on her left side to relieve discomfort, but in time she was forced to sleep on her stomach.
LeRisa once told me “You wouldn’t believe what nurses whisper under their breath when they write you off as incompetent. But later caught in a ring of fire, they discover otherwise.” Just because LeRisa was physically disabled one should not have assumed she was mentally also. For 45 years LeRisa suffered. She died 93 years young.
I depended on LeRisa a lot. I ran to her for every personal problem I had and so did my friends. One time my friend Clare tried to insert a tampon and it got stuck. LeRisa helped Clare to relax; she talked with her, until the tampon finally slipped out. However Clare wasn’t embarrassed because LeRisa wasn’t. LeRisa had a special way about her; and I have many fond memories of her.
Before LeRisa resided at the hospital she owned an apartment in the city. It was a very nice home; designed quite like a maze. The den was next to the bathroom. Every now and again I would hide in the den and wait, then jump out and scare her. She would immediately begin screaming and yelling but in mid-sentence give into laughter. She is the one who got me addicted to crab hot water baths (it is when the water is so hot your skin turns red) as a child, which I still take to this day.
I felt angry for LeRisa as she was constantly ridiculed about her weight. She was obese. Children would laugh at her, but kids can sometimes be cruel. The thing that hurt the most was whispers of adults behind her back. I wasn’t ever really embarrassed of her being my grandmother because I was taught to accept her, all of her. She had an uncontrollable bladder problem. She often urinated on herself. In an odd way, she tried to lighten up the situation by saying she wet herself. When she wet herself, I was right there to wipe it up. When she used the bucket as a makeshift toilet, because she couldn’t make it upstairs to the restroom, it didn’t bother me. I guess it was better I grew up around that atmosphere so I would be prepared when I got older, just in case. That way I would know what to expect.
There was also a negative attribute to LeRisa’s personality. She had a bad temper. I remember when I was younger, my sister and I were arguing, wrestling, yelling [in LeRisa’s living room] and just being rotten to one another, when suddenly I felt an excruciating pain coming from my forehead. Then I realized [after many minutes of shock] that LeRisa had come down the stairs and literally banged our heads together to stop the fighting. Trust me, my sister and I never argued around her again.
We may have been a tad annoying but she loved our company. In fact LeRisa loved having company as often as possible. She always had people over for dinner. She loved to cook. Every time she made cookies she would give the freakies to us kids. [Those are the funny shaped or burnt cookies]. We didn’t care deformed or burned. They tasted the same to us. She knew how to cure simple problems. When my tooth was loose, she would have me eat toast and sure enough, my tooth would come out. Of course that didn’t always work.
I remember when I first started to really develop and she told me I didn’t need a training bra yet. Obviously I did because boys would make fun of me. This one boy in sixth grade said my clothes were dirty so how could I afford a training bra when I couldn’t afford laundry detergent. And I said, “At least I’m not walking around school with a donation haircut.” Then we physically fought. Ironically, two years later, we became boyfriend-girlfriend and didn’t break up until our senior year.
It’s sad because I’ve always been teased at school and he wasn’t the first or the last to pick on me. In the fifth grade, I borrowed a pair of shoes from my cousin for Gym and they stunk so bad that nobody would sit by me. They would talk about me and say I had greasy hair and head lice.
At one point I did have head lice because I remember scratching my head while reading my history book and a tick fell on the page just as the teacher was coming past my desk. So I popped the tick open and blood smeared on the paper. I flicked the tick and turned the page just before the teacher glanced over my shoulder.
Until the age of fourteen, I used to have a very bad dandruff problem and my sixth grade art teacher would always send me to the nurse’s office complaining that I had had lice. I remember that teacher distinctly because every time she finished her sentence she would close her mouth and you could see her tongue, literally bouncing up and down as though she was still talking, but to herself.
I don’t think she ever liked me. She would always give me a C-… as if I cared! I never liked art anyway. It seemed so distant and depressing to me. It reminds me of sorrowful events that happened in my family, with regard to pregnancies. For instance my grandmother once had a miscarriage and a deformity. In her first pregnancy, she was supposed to take it easy, but at the time she said my grandfather was in heat and she ended up losing the baby. In the second pregnancy, the baby was born with weak lungs and died only five months old from kidney failure. My aunt gave birth to twins but one died because it weighed less than a pound. There was controversy surrounding my cousin, Rosana’s pregnancy. She was nine months pregnant, running to catch a bus when she accidentally hit a phone pole and lost the baby. But she didn’t call an ambulance and nobody outside or on the bus had seen it happen. But after that incident she was no longer disowned by her mother and went back to living at home, less one boyfriend. So I don’t know what went on there.
Anyway back to art, don’t get me wrong, not all art is sad but 9 out of 10 times it is. See AC is the opposite, he will go out and buy a piece of art and bring it home, show it to me, knowing I don’t like it and it ends up in the attic. He must think I would go up and look at those paintings someday. How wrong could he possibly be? I haven’t seen our attic since we moved in, and that was five years ago.
That is probably the last time I saw my sister. When I was sixteen, I was swimming in the backyard and she was laughing at me and calling me names. But I ignored her. Then she spat on me and I jumped out of the pool and she ran. I threw my clothes on and grabbed her by her hair and started smacking her face.
She began laughing so hard that I screamed, “Why are you laughing?”
She cackled, “Because I pissed on your panties and you’re wearing them.”
Oh I was so angry! That night while she was sleeping I tied her hair in knots. And the next day she had to get her hair cut like a boy! My sister Nita, looked like Moe from the Three Stooges. It was so funny! (Notice she was given a real nickname) Her name is Anita.
Nita had the kind of coarse hair that took a year to grow back. And by the time it grew back in, all her friends had cut their hair short. Boy, did she have daggers for me! She always did. I don’t think it’s because we have different fathers. I mean her dad was a great guy and my dad was a drunk who also smoked like a chimney (which he did not start to do until he met my mother). She got knocked up with me when she was 26. My father was 19. Nita’s dad was only 18 when my mom was pregnant the first time at 23 (she was kind of a cradle robber).
My dad would spend time with me, but he made it seem like a chore, like an unwanted obligation. Nita’s dad would tell her a story every night. My dad told stories too. But not like Nita’s. He never told me stories of kingdoms and princesses and he didn’t use my name in any of them, as if he thought it would make me vain. We just recently rekindled a father-daughter relationship. I think that is due to the fact that I left home at 17. My dad didn’t love my mother. He didn’t even like her. He stayed with her because of me. Later in life I realized my father wasn’t such a bad guy. He just wasn’t a man yet. He did take care of his responsibility and I respect him for that.
When I turned 10 my dad stopped smoking and drinking for me. Nita’s dad was married to our mother for three years. After he found out she was cheating with my father they divorced. My father had just graduated from boarding school when he met my mother. She also took his virginity. Which made her seem like a goddess. I mean whom else could he compare her to?
When I turned 19, I realized how kind and smart my dad really is. He actually earned Masters Degrees in both History and Literature. Come to think of it he taught me a lot of facts people don’t know. For instance who was the first woman to receive the Medal of Honor? Answer: Mary Walker. And what was Sojourner Truth’s real name? Answer: Isabella Baumfree. Can you imagine a 12 year old girl surrounded by 20-somethings, asking these questions and receiving “that’s cute sweetie, now go get me some punch” as a response? This one woman even told me “Grow up honey you ain’t gonna be able to act like an idiot forever.” Meanwhile an hour later that same woman was rolling around on the floor, stark naked, drinking out of the candlestick holder. Uh… What was that dear?
AC has a special phrase for those kind of women “all it takes is a $10 steak dinner and you’re in like Flynn” (Errol that is). He is so right. I have a few friends like that. Actually I think everyone does. And if you can’t think of anyone, it might just be you… Just kidding.
I want to tell you about my relationship with AC. I met him on my nineteenth birthday, shortly before I broke up with Loser.
Loser had verbally abused me the whole year we were together. Don’t ask me why I stayed with him. [There is no answer, there never will be.] Loser is the kind of guy you’re so embarrassed to say you dated, that you don’t even use his real name. Loser prevented me from opening up to AC for a long time. But if you knew AC, and it’s really hard not to, all you have to do is look up Mr. Right in a woman’s dictionary and he would be the number one candidate.