The Moth - The Moth Radio Hour: Live from Jackson

Episode Date: October 11, 2022

In this episode, we present four stories all about coming to the precipice of catastrophe. A vicious rumor shakes the foundations of family and home, a potential romance takes a dark turn, and a woman’s heritage dangles over oblivion by a thread. Hosted by Tara Clancy in front of a live audience in Jackson, Wyoming, with additional hosting by Jay Allison. Hosted by: Jay Allison Live Host: Tara Clancy Tara Clancy is unprepared for a conversation around sexuality with her son. Cristina Briones faces down a housing crisis. Terrance Flynn attempts to catch the romantic-interest of an enigmatic stranger. Nina McConigley clings to her heritage with a safety pin and a sari.

Attention Houston! You have listened to our podcast and our radio hour, but did you know the Moth has live storytelling events at Wearhouse Live? The Moth has opened Mike's storytelling competitions called Story Slams that are open to anyone with a five-minute story to share on the night's theme. Upcoming themes include love hurts, stakes, clean, and pride. GoodLamoth.org forward slash Houston to experience a live show near you. That's the Moth.org forward slash Houston. From BRX, this is the Moth Radio Hour on J. Allison, producer of this radio show, and this time we're bringing you stories from a Moth main stage, we held at the Center for the

Arts in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Cara Clancy was the host, she's a writer, comic actor, and a frequent host and storyteller at the Moth, the theme of the night was flirting with disaster. Here's Tara Clancy. Why, Omen, how are you? Oh, wake up, baby, wake up. Welcome to the Moth. I am so, so excited to be here, as you can tell, I'm a native'm a native right now I am from New York

this is my first time ever in Wyoming thank you thank you I love you back I'm blown away I'm blown away it's like so beautiful here. And last night somebody told me that this is the least populated state. And I was like, wow, man. Now that is a tagline. Wyoming. Less people. I'm in.

So tonight, our theme of the night, our theme of the night is flirting with disaster. Flirting with disaster. So all the stories are going to tie into that theme. And so I have to tell you that when I thought about that theme for myself, I just sort of instantly I think, well, when did I most flirt with disaster? And it's when I decided to become a parent, right? That's it, right? You become a parent and you are just sort of perpetually flirting with disaster. I have two kids. They are four and seven, two boys. It's two little boys, right? It is two boys, two little boys, right? It is two boys, two moms.

It is like the universe's little joke on the lesbian, right? He's like, flirting with a disaster. So I have these two little guys, all right, so a little, a little, a little quick story here. So we are all in the car. We're in the car.

I am driving the car. There are other moms in the passenger seat. They are in the back. And we are having a conversation, which we think, they're not paying attention to. And I used the word, dyke. We were talking about water and immigration systems. Anyway, of course, the second it comes out of my mouth, my five-year-old in the back,

I was like, what's diet? Kind of like, jack! But I spit right out. I'm like, it is a pejorative term for lesbian. He's five. And I wish I could tell you that the next thing he said was, what's prejudiced, right? But he doesn't. He says, what's a lesbian? Like, really, can't we both raise our hands? So I'm kind of shocked. That right, kids missing the farce with the trees here, right?

You know, he doesn't know. But you got to do it. And so I'm stopped at a red light. And so I, you know, I explain. I'm like, well, that's me and the woman that loves a woman and a gay man is a man who loves a man. And when a man and a woman love each other, we call them straight people. And I kind of like, you know, I can hear the wheels turning, but that, you know, there's

a little bit of silence. And so me and we look at each other and we're like, all right, all right, seems we got out of that one. But then all of a sudden, I hear the window, you know, I hear like, and I look in the rear view mirror, and I can see my son and he's got his head. And he's sticking it way out the window and he's looking at something.

It's a now I look forward, right? And I see a man and a woman pushing a baby stroller coming down the street. And he's staring at them. I look again in the rear view mirror and he's got his head all the way out. And then all of a sudden he goes, Hello straight people! And I'm talking about... I'm like these people must think, like those lesbians just drive around Manhattan.

Like it's a safari, you know? Like, look son, they're the indigenous straight people. Don't speak loudly, you know. Flooding with disaster. That is my experience flirting with disaster with my kids. All right, are you ready to start hearing some stories? You're ready? So here at the mouth, in lieu of reading people's bios, there are bios in your programs, and we want you to read them maybe at intermission take a look. But in lieu of doing that, what we do instead

for a little bit of fun is we ask everybody the same question, and then we bring them up on stage with their answer to the question. And so tonight, since our theme was flirting with disaster, the question was like, tell us about your last close call. When I asked our next story, tell us the question was like, tell us about your last, you know, close call. When I asked our next story, tell us the question, she told me this little story and I love it. So here it is.

She loves to watch those, you know, those videos you see online were like people are doing something stupid, basically, like they've been asked a question and they don't know the simplest question, right? So she was loves like sit and watch and laugh at these stupid people. And so one day one of the questions came her way. A friend sent her a question. And the question was, which animal would be the first to get the bananas out of the palm tree?

A giraffe, a monkey, a cat, or a lion? And she sat around thinking about it and thinking about it. And finally she's like, you know what? I think I'm going with the monkey, going with the monkey. And she puts in her answer and she gets to the end. It's like palm trees don't have bananas. Oh, stupid now.

Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Christina Breonis. Cheers. Cheers. Cheers. Cheers. Cheers. Cheers. Cheers. Cheers.

Cheers. Cheers. Cheers. Cheers. I apply for a job here in Jackson cleaning houses. And I was living in Banderan. And finding a house to live here in Jacksonville is hard and expensive. So when the woman who interviewed me said, she had a place that I could run from her, I took the job.

I worked for this woman for 11 months, cleaning houses and rental properties. And I liked the job because pay well and I had a place to live in Jackson which was the best. And it was close to my girls' school. Everything was perfect. One day my boss called me and she said she didn't approve my hanging now with one of my coworkers, a guy, the maintenance guy, who happened to be married with the manager.

And I tried to explain her, my friend and I had run into him in a coffee shop and had coffee with him. There wasn't anything more, but she didn't believe me. She accused me of having an affair, which wasn't true. I was sad, and it felt unfair. But there wasn't anything that I could do. So I tried to stay away from those people and hope it would go away. But being in that small town rumors spread out fast.

Eventually this rumor got back to my 13-year-old daughter. One day she said, she knew about it. Just because the man of your decided she needed to tell her. I couldn't understand why they did it. Why they wanted my daughter to hear those things about her mother. That was evil for me. And I thought, this is it. I grew up in Lexgala, Mexico with my mom.

And there, if someone is saying, damaging things about you lies, you could report them to the police and they will help to put an end to it. You can sue for the information of character. So I remember going to Jackson Police Department. There was this John and kind officer who helped me. I had so much frustration and I felt desperate and miserable and I had started explaining to him what's happening.

He asked me why I was still working there. I said, I'm giving her my two weeks notice. He asked me why. And I said, well, I think is what you have to do when you're quitting a job, right? He said, there's no law that is said, you have to give through it's notice. So he said, you don't need to work for this person anymore. And he also said he will help me to find a job if I needed to. So I went home and I called my boss and said, I quit. She got very angry. And she said, if you don't work for me, you can rent my apartment anymore. So she

gave me three days to move out. Finding a house to live here in Jackson had difficult, especially for a single mother of four girls. And I didn't have any money saved because I had been paying her $2,300 a month. And the money that I made working for her was barely enough to cover bills, food, and things I needed for my girls. And sometimes it wasn't enough. But there was nothing that I could do. And to move to a new place, I needed first month, last month, plus security deposit. There was no way that I could have that money in three days.

But the law was on her side, and she could legally evict us with nowhere else to go. The officer put me in touch with one organization that helps woman, a shelter. So we moved to the shelter, and it was a very nice house. We had our own room and it was cozy, but I knew it was only temporary. So I managed to find a new job

that I could start saving for my new home. And thanks to one of the local organizations, 122, and people at the shelter, I made it. During one of those days, I got introduced to a group that was trying to bring people together to get involved in the community. So they invite me to join this Latino leadership program,

where we talk about all kinds of issues the Latino community was facing here in Jackson, like education, housing, public safety, ATC. And because what I had been through, I decided I wanted to focus on housing issues. And I learned that I wasn't the only person who had experience being affected from their home with no notice. So during one of those meetings, someone mentioned that there were opportunities to go to the

TAN Council meetings and talk about and raise these issues. So I got the idea to go there and propose landlords be required to give 30 days notice before they can evict a tenant. So the tenant could be prepared for a move. Many Latinos, I was crazy. They said, the law wouldn't be there to protect us. Usually, these meetings are attended by landlords and people with power.

And they said, no one would listen to me. Nobody would care what I have to say. But I wouldn't have a voice. Alatina. I was disappointed. I thought, well, maybe they are right. But at the same time, people who was supporting the housing group were still in me, the attending those meetings

would be more effective. So I decided to go. Town Hall, it's a very formal room. And it was full with people who has issues to discuss on the agenda. And I was a little intimidating, but I wasn't alone to all the amazing ladies from the housing group were with me. We were the last item on the agenda. And when we were called, I was very nervous like today.

And I was worried about my English and speaking in front of the mayor and the council, but I knew I have to do it. So I started speaking. I told them my history when I got evicted from my home and how hard was to be out there with nowhere to go with my four daughters and I wanted to avoid more people could live this experience and when I was done, genemously, town council members and mayor agree that this was something that should be made into a law. They told me that they needed two more hearings before they could, before it could become a law,

but they all agree. They heard my story. They did care, and that was amazing. And on November 17th, no, November 21st, 2017, it became a law. Landlords have to give Pudite's notice before they can evict a tenant. After that, I went to more meetings with the House and Department, county commissioners and Town Hall. And I were to try to help people in our community to find and keep

safe affordable housing. This days, my girls and I still live in here in Jackson. I love my job. Still a expensive to live here. Right now we share one bedroom apartment. But it's home and it's safe and it's ours. And I am so grateful to be here in Jackson. Thank you. in Jackson Hole and in her spare time she engages local community organizations to raise awareness about issues facing the Latin American community. You can see a picture of Christina and her four in Jackson, Wyoming when the Moth Radio Hour

continues. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts, and presented by PRX. You're listening to The Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Jay Ellison and we're bringing you a live event from 2018 at the Center for the Arts in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. The theme was flirting with disaster. Here's your host, Tara Clancy.

When I asked our next storyteller, the question, tell us about your last close call. He said this and I loved it. He was going through airport security with his daughter. And TSA decided to talk to her and they said, is that your dad? And she said, no. And he's like, oh my God, right? And they're like, that's not your dad. And she's like, no. And the real third, this is not your father. And she's like, that's my dad, dig.

Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Terence Flynn. So it's the middle of the 1980s when I arrive at college. Marquette is a Jesuit Catholic university located in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. My first event is my freshman dorm orientation. And the resident RA gathers all the guys around. It's an all-male dorm. And he introduces himself and he says, he's got a joke to help us relax

and to break the ice a little bit. And he's like, you guys know what gay stands for, right? Got AIDS yet? He was right. You know, the ice was broken. Everyone's laughing, including me, because I'm just thinking, oh man, I've been in the closet for 18 years. You know, I guess I can do another four more.

It's not going to kill me. But by second semester, I started getting this reputation that nobody in college wants. I'm known as a good listener. And it's only because that I have nothing to add to the conversation, which is all about my friends burgeoning love lives. And since I lack one, I become this repository for all of their dating details. And by Valentine's Day, I really was like, oh, you know, I just felt like I needed to take a risk and to do something. So what I do is I go into my dorm room, I lock the door, and I did the 1980s version of

Googling something which is to dial 411, the number for information. And a woman answers, and my throat just goes bone dry. I mean, I'd never come out of the closet to anyone, not even some voice, you know, on the phone, is the 1980s. You just didn't do that kind of. It wasn't a thing yet, you know. The thinking was like, you know, if you're not caught, red handed being gay, why would you just turn yourself in so I just hung up the phone?

But I didn't have the information. I needed. And so I paced the room. I summoned my nerve. I call back. She answers again. It sounds like the same lady maybe, just a little more annoyed. And I'm able to get out.

Like, is there a way that you might tell me the name and address of a gay bar and there's just this silence. I'm sure she's gonna hang up but mercifully she just mumbles this name and address and then she hangs up and that very night I am standing in the freezing cold industrial southside of Milwaukee and I'm just staring at this really dimly lit door. There's no name on it and the numbers are kind of peeling off and I'm thinking myself, you know, how can this dump possibly be a gay bar named Sayla Vee? I know I walk in and there's a handful of mostly older men there and they're standing around drinking and

smoking and pretending really badly to ignore each other and I think well, why don't I join them? You know my people all ten of us. I'm sitting there and after a while I just realized that you know, it's not gonna be a night where I'm gonna meet the love of my life That is until the door opens and this other guy comes in. And I was just so relieved. I remember thinking like, man, I did not know gay men could look like that. I mean, this guy, above the neck, he looked like a young Kennedy.

You know, he had the square jaw and his cleft chin and these really intelligent blue eyes and this wind-swept blonde hair, you know, like he'd been sailing or canvassing. But below the neck, he was just all blue collar realness. I mean, he had on a factory uniform, you know, with these chunky work boots and had this work shirt on with his, you know, sleeves rolled past these pop-eye-like forearms

and no coat. Listen, no coat in February. Emil Wocky is really saying something. And what it said to me was that he probably had a car. And he obviously had a job and maybe he had a place to go back to. And so he walks over to the bar and I think there's going to be a stampede to get next to him but there isn't so I do. I go stand next to him and he orders a whiskey so I order a whiskey which I hate but who cares? And eventually our elbows make contact and he doesn't pull away and I don't pull

away. So there's this moment that there's this warmth building between us and I think let me try something here. So I moved my elbow slightly and when he moved his in response, it was just like the best male conversation I never had. I mean, to me, it was like a relationship, you know, being that close to a actual handsome gay guy, you know, and I was so close to him that I noticed this wonderful smell. And I thought it was mistaken at first, but there is no mistaking the iconic smell of chocolate. I mean, in a bar that just reaked of chain smoking and too much stetson, this guy smelled of chocolate, you know, and it made him seem familiar, almost like approachable.

I wanted to say something to him, but all I could think of to say was like, is that you that smells like cookies? Which is so weird. And I'm so glad I didn't say that. But I did smile and he just gives me this look that was pure confidence. There's just nothing extra in it, you know.

He looked like a guy who knew what he wanted to be doing and what he does, is he orders another round. And it comes and picks him up. He turns around and he looks at me and he walks away. And in the bar mirror, I see him give what I thought was going to be my drink to some other guy in a brewer's cap. And they chat for a while and they leave together. It was pretty disappointed, but I thought,

all right, I'm gonna go back. I go back the next weekend. He's there, and I'll be damned if the exact same thing doesn't happen, and the weekend after that, and so on, and so on, for, I don't know how many weekends. And the only thing that's different is that he just gets faster, you know, and more efficient at picking guys that aren't me

and leaving with them. So during this whole series of rejections, I get to know the bartender as you do in those situations. And I said to him, what is the deal with that factory guy? And he's like, oh, is he your type? And I'm like, yeah, he's my type. And he's like, well, we call him ET. I was like, ET. And he was like, everyone's type,

but he not just yours. And then he proceeds to tell me that the factory guy's type is actually dark and skinny, like the bartender. And I had to admit, I did kind of notice that. So I think, well, okay. If I'm not going to be with the factory guy yet, maybe I can kind of be like him a little bit, at least copy his style.

You know, I can be hot like him a little bit. So I think, well, what I'll do is I'll start with the shoes. I went back to campus and I bought these chunky work boots at the Army Navy surplus store. You know, they kind of slowed down the way I walked and made my walk more of slowed down the way I walked and Made my walk more of a lumber and I bought these tight work shirts and because the factory guy was muscular I started working out and even my friends noticed a difference and when one of them was like, you know You're not such a good listener anymore and I knew I was getting somewhere, you know

a couple months later I I knew I was getting somewhere, you know. A couple months later, I get a buzz on campus, and I think, let me just go to Salovese. So I went to Salovese, and I have to say, the first time I was feeling kind of hot, you know? Let's say warm, and I go in, and the factory guy is in the corner, and he's drinking alone, but he looks somehow different.

And I think it's that he's drunker than I'd ever seen him, but you know, like most really handsome people, it only suits him, you know? So I turn to the bar and I order two whiskeys, you know, because that's gonna be our drink. And I'm feeling like, you know, maybe I wasn't ready before, you know, it's just that as easy as that

is something faithful about this night,, I pick up the whiskeys and I turn around just in time to see the factory guy do something I'd never seen him do before, which is to leave alone. And I just wanted to take those two whiskeys and chuck him at the closing door. To him I wasn't even better than nothing. I wasn't even like consolation prize material. So I drank the two whiskeys, which I was acquiring and taste for, but I left, say La Vie,

and I never went back. And college ended, the 1980s ended, and I got my ass out of the closet, and I took my slightly better body, and I moved to New York City and I got a job teaching English as a second language in Washington Heights. And I had an apartment and friends and roommates and even my first serious boyfriend. And I'm teaching one day.

And what I did was I tried to expand my students vocabulary and comprehension by using the TV. We'd watch current events and get new vocabulary that's ripped from the headlines. You know, excited. So we were watching the TV doing this. And there is this news bulletin that breaks out of Milwaukee. And it shows this guy. And he's got his hands behind his back. He's doing this perp walk.

And there is this close-up on his face, and I'm like, that's him. That's the factory guy. And, you know, it's not every day that you see an ex-crush get arrested. It's not like I was proud of it or anything, but I was a little bit excited. So in my class, I'm like, I know him.

I know that guy. And then I had to sit down because of what they showed next, which was, it was a hazmat team in gas masks, and they were hoisting these blue 57 gallon drums down some steps. And the drums were later said to contain acid and the undesolvable remains of Jeffrey Dalmer's love life. My students struggled to comprehend this story.

I mean, everyone knew the term serial killer, but other words escaped them like Rahibnall in stench. And the words with cognates, they just got right away, like dismemberments and decapitation, but the word that just brought the silence down and this chill in the classroom was cannibalism. And eleven of Jeffrey Dahmer's 17 victims spent their last unimaginable moments of their lives in room 213 of the Oxford apartment building, just a short drive up Wisconsin Avenue from Salavie. They were all young men of color.

They were his type as the bartender hadn't formed me. And I was just feeling nauseous and just confused trying to like take in this information. I stand up and I turned off the TV and I just canceled class and I decided I'm going to walk all the way home to Chelsea. It took me like two hours, but I had to sweat something out of me. I felt so confused by what I'd heard. And so I'm walking along and I thought, you know, I'm trying to keep down the details of this story, which just kind of keep rising up. And one of them was that I was right. He did smell of chocolate. And it was because he put in these long hours

at the Embroze of Chocolate Factory in downtown Milwaukee. And so I make my way all the way to the Columbia campus. And it's so, so hot. But mostly my feet are hot. And I noticed that I'm wearing those boots that I bought in Milwaukee six years earlier. The ones I bought to make myself more rugged like him. And they are slowing me down these boots.

And I don't want to be slow down because every time I'm slowed down, I just think of how I yearned, not just for Jeffrey Dalmer's attention, but specifically for an invitation to get in his car and to go to that apartment. I was sure at that apartment that he would jumpstart my love life, but he didn't. Choose me. And it might sound callous, but unlike any of his 17 victims, I was alive and living in New York City and young.

And I was filled with ambition and passion and all sorts of ideas about the kind of man that I wanted to be. And my first idea was just to go right away to a sporting goods store. And I went and I walked in and I bought the first pair of white sneakers and I put them on, and I lace them up and I paid and I left and I took

the laces of those boots I tied them together and I just chucked them into the first garbage can I could find. And with each block that I passed, I just left them further and further behind. Thank you. Terence Flynn lays in gentlemen on more time. Terence Flynn is a writer, psychotherapist and contributor to the Wall Street Journal. Terence is currently working on his memoir, Dying to Beat You, and you can see pictures and find out more about Terrence on our website, TheMoth.org. [♪ Music playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in background, playing in this live event in Wyoming, when the Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts, and

presented by PRX. The theme that night was flirting with disaster and here's your host, Tara Clancy. All right, so when I asked our last story, tell her the question, tell us about your last close call. She told me this story. She said that she had her dog, was out running, and was chasing, and she had to explain this to me because I'm from Queens, was chasing some wildlife.

And that is a punishable offense. You are not allowed to harass the wildlife here. The very close call was that her dog, even though he was only 20 pound puppy, did not get arrested for harassing the wildlife. There was no mug shot with the dog. Everything's fine. Don't worry about them at all. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Nina Mechanically.

The first time I ever wore a sorry, I was 13. Now, I grew up in Wyoming, which is not only the least populated state, it's also probably the widest. And so, there's no place to buy a sorry. So I wore my moms. When we had moved to America, she had brought boxes of them. They're not the most practical thing for Wyoming winters with the wind and the snow, but that's okay. Growing up I always thought I was the wrong

kind of Indian. When people would ask me, what are you? I would sort of say Indian and I wouldn't correct them if they thought it was a rapho or shashoni. The other thing about growing up in Wyoming is that you as a kid get to visit a lot of forts and historical futsites and you can always dress as cowboy or indian and I would be indian because it was easier. And I liked dressing up until on a fourth grade trip someone tried to scalp me while we looked at the Oregon Trail Ruts. The thing I wanted when I was 13 was to be Dorothy Hamill. I wanted to be a figure skater. That summer, I had taken a picture of Dorothy Hamill

to the master cuts at the mall and asked for her haircut. And when they were finished, I pretty much looked like a mushroom or a helmet, whatever you want to say. And my mom, when she picked me up, she'd beautiful, long Indian hair, she didn't say a word. But I didn't want to be a good Indian girl. I wanted to be Dorothy Hamill. That summer, I also got my period. Now I wasn't surprised by it.

I had read a lot of Judy Bloom, so I knew what was supposed to happen when you got your period. But I knew that what was coming was that I was going to have to have a coming-of-age ceremony. In the part of India where my mom comes from, they do a sort of ceremony to shepherd you into womanhood when you get your period. And the ceremony is you have a ritual bath,

you get clean, you get your first piece of gold jewelry, which I think is supposed to, which goes to your dowry. You drink an egg to be fertile, a raw egg, and you wear a sorry for the first time. And I knew that was coming. So I waited for about three periods before I said something to my mom. And sure enough, soon after on a Saturday morning, she and my aunt woke me up and they said,

today, you're going to have your ceremony. It started with the ritual bath, which when you're 13, being naked is a very horrific thing, being naked in front of other people, even worse. So I put on my speedo, which was purple and blue stripes. And my mom and my aunt went through and they put some baby oil on my hair, usually would be coconut oil, but they rub my hair. And then they put me in the bath and dumped water over my head.

And after that, they spent about half an hour trying to make the Dorothy Hamill haircut into a bun on water over my head. And after that, they spent about half an hour trying to make the Dorothy Hamill haircut into a bun on top of my head. They used a bunch of bobby pins, like probably 50 of them. And they strung my hair with carnations. And my mom kept telling me, like, if we were in India, you'd be having Jasmine. We would just walk outside the door and pick this Jasmine.

And then it came, I got my first piece of gold jewelry. It was a little necklace and earrings. Came from Zales at the mall. And I didn't really like it because, you know, it was the 80s. I wanted to wear jelly bracelets and silver. I didn't really care. But then it came time for me to pick and wear a sorry. And I picked one of my mom's most simple sorry's. It was a pink one. It had sort of a gold border. And I had

to wear one of her blouses because there weren't, there wasn't a place to get one. And it poofed out in front. And they slowly dressed me in the six yards of cloth that it takes to wrap you in a sorry. And when they finished, I looked at myself in the mirror and I didn't know what I thought I looked like. After that, my mom ushered me into the living room where she had invited a bunch of friends over to celebrate the fact that I had gotten my period. And I think that a lot of our Wyoming friends didn't get it. They thought they were coming to a birthday party because I got some gifts and we sat around and ate semosas and some carrot cake and celebrated that I was a woman and you know if getting your period isn't excruciating enough is celebrating it you know. Not good. And I wore the sorry for about an hour and then after that I went into my bedroom and I rolled it up in a ball and I went back to reading my biography of Dorothy Hamill and I didn't...

the ceremony didn't mean that much to me. I didn't really care about it but I knew it was my mom's way of trying to keep our Indianness. You know in Casper where I grew up there's no Indian restaurants, there's no Indian grocery store and we like knew like five other Indians and it was her way of sort of keeping a bit of home of keeping that. When I was 23, about five days before I was supposed to leave Wyoming to go to graduate school in Boston, my mom was diagnosed with stage 3B cancer. And I had my bags packed, and the day before I was supposed to leave, I asked her oncologist, I said, if you were me, would you go to graduate school?

And she said no. And I thought, okay, so I didn't get on the plane. And our life after that became this sort of round of going to chemo and radiation and doctor's appointments. And all of our Wyoming friends were great. They brought us a lot of food. Our refrigerator was heaving with like lasagna's and casseroles and chicken noodle soup.

But my mom didn't want to eat. She just stopped eating. And one day she said, I just want some curd rice. Now, I never really cooked Indian food. That's what your Indian mom is for, is to cook cooked Indian food. That's what your Indian mom is for, is to cook you Indian food. So I, you know, I didn't, I kind of thought I think that for the rest of my life,

I would just show up and rice and curry would like magically appear. So my mom, I set my mom down at the kitchen table and from the table, she directed me in the kitchen. She told me how you make the rice, how you sort of brown the mustard seeds and you wait till they crack and how to temper the spices.

And I slowly but surely made her some curd rice and she ate. And over the next few months, I made a little rotation of Indian dishes. One day I went into her bedroom and she was really agitated and she said to me, I had this dream that I died and that you and your father and your sister buried me in a frilly pink nightgown. And she didn't even own a frilly pink nightgown.

I like to point that out for the record. But she said, I don't want to be buried in Western clothes. Now, at this point in my life, we hadn't really talked about what would happen if she didn't make it. We just sort of had been going to a lot of appointments. And you don't talk about that. We didn't, anyway. And if my Indian cooking skills were low,

my sorry skills were lower, much lower. I hadn't really worn Asari since my coming of age ceremony. A few months before when she had first gotten sick, she had to go to the emergency room. And when we got to the ER, she had been wearing Asari. And of course, they tell you, like, no, you can't come in, wait in the waiting room. And about 10 minutes after she was admitted,

a nurse, a really flustered nurse, came out, and she said, you have to unwrap your mother. It's like she was a gift. And I went into the hospital room, and I slowly started taking the sorry off of her and putting her in a hospital gown and you know sorry six yards of cloth and I tried to fold it in the little hospital room and I couldn't get it folded and I just ended up shoving it in the plastic bag, bawling it up in the plastic bag they gave you in a hospital

to put your things. So that day when my mom said to me I can't be buried in western clothes, I said, okay, but you're going to have to teach me. So I went to her cupboard and my mom's sari's are all kind of stacked up. When you open it, it almost looks like books stacked up. And I pulled out a sari, it was a green chiffon one. And from the bed, she directed me on how to put the Sarion, how to tie the petty coat really tight, and how you can put a knot in one corner and tuck it in, and how you pleat it and drape it. And I put the Sarion, and then she had me take it off, and then she had me do it again, and then she had me take it off, and she had me do it again.

And then I did it on a conchie forum, sorry, I did it on a hand block, sorry. And then finally, I helped get her up out of bed and I undressed her. And I could see the marks on her body from where, you know, they do the radiation, they market. And I slowly but surely started to dress her. And she had a sorry on. And we stood there looking at ourselves in the mirror. We put bindi's on and I put my hair in a ponytail. And I realized the whole time that I was lying to her because I couldn't I couldn't dress my mother if she had died, she died.

I couldn't dress a corpse. I mean, it's one thing to dress someone standing up, but I couldn't imagine dressing her that way. And when we looked at her, we looked at these in the mirror and I thought I wasn't just scared of losing my mother. I was really scared of losing my Indianness because if she died, who in Wyoming was going to teach me? Like, there's nobody. Sort of miracle occurred in that a few months later,

she went into remission, which we were all really happy for. And I did end up going to graduate school, and I left Wyoming, which was, and it came back. And life went on. And the last time I wore a sorry was a few months ago. I got married. And yeah, yeah, I'm so excited. Not married. And I didn't think I wanted to be an Indian wedding or have an Indian wedding or be an Indian bride, but when I started looking through all the bridal magazines, I didn't see myself wearing a big white dress,

I didn't see myself wearing a big white dress. And I knew I wanted to wear my mom's wedding sari. Now my mom's wedding sari is the one sari that since we moved to America, she's never worn. It's wrapped in tissue paper in her closet. And it's white, and it's got a lot of heavy gold brocade work on it. It's really heavy. When you hold it in your hands, it looks like sunlight.

When I unfolded it to look at it, I could see there was some stains on it. There was some red stain. And I knew it was probably russum or sambar for my parents' wedding 46 years ago. I took it to a dry cleaner in Wyoming, and he took one look at it and it was like I've never cleaned anything like that. So I decided to just wear it, stains and all, for my wedding. And I liked thinking there was a little bit of my parents' wedding there with me that day. And the morning of my wedding, I took a bath by myself this time. And but my mom and aunt came over. And even though I know how to put a sorry on now they dressed me and they slowly pleaded and

They did the draping and they adjusted the palu, which is the bit over your shoulder and My mom put a safety pin in my shoulder and in my on my waist because she was sure I was gonna unwrap during the ceremony And when they were done dressing me My mom looked at me and I looked in the mirror, and I looked Indian. It felt really unfamiliar, but it also felt like home. Thank you. Nina McCann, Elizabeth Laila. Nina McCann, a Glee, was born in Singapore and raised in Casper, Wyoming. Her short story collection, Cowboys and East Indians, was the winner of the Penn Open Book

Award and a High planes book award. She lives in Laramie and teaches at the University of Wyoming and says that while Indian culture isn't exactly plentiful there, her cooking skills have definitely increased. You can see photos of Nina on her wedding day in her mother's sorry at our website themoth.org. That's it for this episode of The Moth Radio Hour. We hope you'll join us next time, and that's the story from The Moth. Your host this hour was Tara Clancy. Tara is a writer, comic actor, and a frequent host and storyteller at The Moth. Her memoir is titled The Clansies of Queens. Meg Bulls directed the stories in the show, along with Maggie Sino.

The rest of the most direct-toil staff includes Catherine Burns, Sarah Haberman, Sarah Austin Janess, and Jennifer Hickson, production support from Jody Powell and Timothy Luley. Most stories are true, as remembered and affirmed by the storytellers. Our theme music is by the Drift. Other music in this hour, from Cronbin, Mark Orton, and Bela Fleck and VMBod. You can find links to all the music we use at our website. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by me J. Allison with Vicki Merrick at Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts.

This hour was produced with funds from the National Endowment for the Arts. The Moth Radio Hour is presented by PRX. This hour was produced with funds from the National Endowment for the Arts. The Moth Radio Hour is presented by PRX. For more about our podcast, for information and pitching, your own story, and everything else, go to our website, thumboff.org. Thank you. you