Please, Don't Get It Twisted.

You are definitely living in a realm only belonging to yourself. No one else lives the way you do. You immigrated, oh about 19 years ago, and fell into a rich man's arms, so what? Why do you get to live without reservations, while your uncle's wife still suffers, with dishpan hands scrubbing away at the baked-on falafel grease that your barbaric family caked unto her finest iron skillet more than a decade ago?
"Don't put the dish in the sink; put it beside the sink so Nina can wash it." You kindly tell me; in what you think is your kindest voice, in the middle of your Calabasas courtyard, on this fine October night, as I wish for a meteor to come crashing down into the epicenter of your Israeli palace from the night's sky.
"Oh right, for Nina… that's right." I respond with the roll of my eyes, as your eyes seem to negatively regress back into the care free days of a childhood, unfortunately not your own, but mine. You bring out a silver tray of pineapples, papayas, strawberries and cream, while your mother trails behind with a tray of 10 tea glasses and cinnamon rugelach for us to nosh on. Someone brings up the past and you and your brother mention my fascination with the color purple and how annoying I sounded when I was a child, and my facial expression depicts the notion that I am wondering where you people get off?
"What Leila, it's our childhood we're talking about here, come on now, we're all grownups just looking back on a time where things were simple." you state with this narcissistic naivety about you, that lives, unfortunately, unbeknownst by you.

I drift off and think profoundly of how I'd like to take you out with a 45 and a shovel.How on earth do you know what kind of life is simple? My parents cooked and clean after you, my father divorced my mother because of his brother, your fucked up excuse for a father, and his incessant triumphs at brainwashing him into paying more attention to all of your family rather than my mother! Please Maya, do not get any of this shit twisted.
Your younger sister's fiancé compels me to snap out of it as I hear his voice echoing, "What was it like immigrating to America back in the 80's?"

You answer him with such pride and lust towards yourself, I think to myself, looks like someone needs a cold shower. Please Maya, don't get it twisted.
"I was a senior in high school and listen Tal, I was attractive. I mean I had the looks and Americans in 89' didn't have the fashion that we had overseas, so of course I was just getting hit on by all the boys left and right, and for someone who didn't know the language, it was pretty degrading. I mean they all just wanted to do me." You rant nonchalantly making yourself seem like the victim, and I'm still thinking of that sweet 45 as the thought of your daughter's pail and shovel turns on the light bulb above my head, a figment of my imagination.
I have held you and your family like one holds the concept of taste aversion in hindsight. I refer briefly to how I drive daily past the intersection of Mayall and Mason in blustery pleasure of my days before you dictators overthrew my mother and took over her thrown and the attention of her King, and again I am starred down upon, by your brother and you, both probably wondering what a nutcase I am.
"What did you say?" you ask me in shock and before I can reiterate my gleeful moment of mesmerizing memory, your dumbass interrupts, "Oh my gosh, how could you miss that place, and that house??" you question, obviously looking for an answer, yet I just sit waiting for you to ramble on again, "Every time I find myself anywhere on Lassen, my body cringes. God, that was a horrible time for us."
Your sister's fiancé asks why, and I try to hold in my tears thanks to the bitch that you obviously are as your husband answers him,"It was just a tough time for Maya, her siblings, and her parents, for all of them."
Up until that moment, for the past ten years I wondered what your husband saw in you and your horrible terrorist-like family, and amidst his monetary wealth, I saw him as a the epitome of a male St. Theresa, but my respect for him has sunk at an all time low, and who knows if it'll ever regain its stamina.

I laugh within, thinking of how to mend the pieces of my subsistence back together in hopes of robbing you all of your undeserved wealth, prosperity and happiness. What about my mother? You remember her don't you? The woman whose 84' Chevrolet, which was lent out in mint condition, your damned brother return totaled to her? What have you done to deserve everything the man in the clouds has blessed you with? My father opened his heart and his home to you, and appointed my mother, his queen, as a servant for all of you to wrongly use and neglect showing any respect towards, and this is how you repay her, by brainwashing the only human being in your family, your husband, into thinking that she ruined your lives? It's quite amusing; you came from nothing into everything. My mother was born into everything till the day your uncle lied to her, and chose his brother over her. My mother stayed home instead of furthering her Cosmetology career to feed you motherfuckers, and all your ass did was open your legs to the next rich man who came your way, and sure enough it has given you a life that many would kill for. Some say, you were the source of my mother's disease, and I say you always will be. My mother is sick and has no insurance to tend to the Carpel Tunnel Syndrome that your family caused her to endure, but you; you've got the means to purchase insurance for her and everyone else whose life suffered tremendously because of you.

You may call me spiteful and merely upset at my own life and therefore I choose to take it out on you, and by all means, you may do so, but I know it's not true. There's something called Karma that you unkind Israelis think will never come to haunt you, but that's where your wrong. There's something called an Education and it goes along with Self-sufficiency, and that's what you lack.


You see, someday, I will give myself the life that only your husband can give you.
Someday, I will give my mother the life you robbed her of.


So tell me, what can you give anybody? And by you, I mean YOU, and not your husband.