Reverse The Curse

“Bienvenidos a Pensacola!” That was the sign that I saw as I drove into what would become my own personal Twilight Zone.

Of course that was somewhere around three years ago when I first arrived here. Now, I write this letter in hopes that the right person may pick it up one day and read it. Perhaps they will take heed to the warning of allowing themselves to get trapped in a desolate soul-sucking town as I have allowed myself to be. People always talk about the thrills and excitement that must come with visiting or living in Florida, but if they knew the real truth, they wouldn’t allow themselves to be consumed by their delusions.

Florida, at least Pensacola, is a cursed place. The curse can be seen in the way that people here live their lives, the way they react to the mention of more liberal ideas such as human rights and equality. Freedom doesn’t live here, liberty doesn’t live here, love doesn’t live here.

They are held back by the curse which was first put on this place when an Apache warrior named Geronimo and a band of Native Americans were forced to come to this town on October 25th in 1886. They were sent as a result of their surrender to the treacherous U.S government who pursued them in the western states due to Geronimo’s evading of 5,000 U.S soldiers. Geronimo was only trying to defend his land, his heritage, and his people from losing their culture since the U.S targeted them shortly after the Civil War ended which meant the government could no longer enslave African-Americans.

With these things in mind, it makes complete sense that Geronimo would curse this land, this place that they exiled him to. Pensacola’s curse has a long history of causing its most ambitious residents to want to leave and then almost inevitably desiring to return once they do. One might say that this feeling is common when it comes to moving away but no, here in Pensacola it’s different.

See, the residents here have not seen what I have seen. I went away for some time and came back to investigate the validity of the curse. I saw something that chills me to the bone to this day. I saw old friends, family, turn into what I can only describe as soulless beings. Their passion, their intensity, it was all gone. They became to me as empty vessels. The joy which I carried with me and I saw in my younger years in those around me had been vacuumed out and torn apart by this black hole of a city. They had no recollection of the old times, the times when we would flee the city and go out of town. We’d travel to places of great vibrance, places where art thrived. Now, everyone had been murdered by the city itself.

I stand in guilt as I wish there was something I could do about it. I wish I had saved them before it was too late. But I couldn’t and as a consequence this city has placed its judgment on me. Just as Geronomino was, I am now. I sit in this jail cell writing this letter hoping that somehow the magic from my pen will be the key to my escape. How could I have allowed myself to be so gullible, blind to the possible consequences of investigating such a desolate land! I lament over my freedom, over my dreams which have exchanged themselves for an eternal recurring nightmare. Will anyone hear my cry, will anyone free me from this bondage and servitude which entraps me?

But, I digress. I sometimes lose myself in my own pain and forget the importance of what I’m doing right now. This isn’t just a letter of my tears and pain, this is something that I’m documenting in hopes that people will realize that the true horror of this town is the town itself. When I left long ago, I told myself that I could figure out a method to defeat this beast, this monster of a town. I set out on a mission to do well for myself and indeed I did for some time. I became a well known reporter, opened up a newspaper that is as successful as the New York Times. I traveled the world. I saw the stars and I burned brighter than the morning star himself, Lucifer.

Somehow I let that power go to my head. I let it convince me that this town was no match for me. That I could do the impossible. Yet I am imprisoned, an “enemy of the state” as they called me. Their accusations against me shows their lack of perception and enlightenment. I was charged with mass attempted murder through the use of witchcraft and brainwashing. These charges were not only preposterous but also nonsensical in their very nature. I wouldn’t even think about witchcraft, at least not in the form they’re thinking. What they label as “witchcraft” is what I call prosperity and abundance.

I brought all of my riches to this city, I poured millions into having new restaurants built, new schools, places where people could celebrate their lifestyles no matter what they identify as. I gave them buildings of pride, centers of worship, and what do I get in return? Sentenced to life! I had no jury, no right to trial, they locked me up with no evidence of the accusations they had against me. How can a city be so cruel? It is only because they do not know good fruit, they do not know harvest, they only know the ways in which they have walked for centuries. Traditions that need to be broken. They’ve set up systems of massive oppression, forcing the soul to become darkened until there is but a flicker of light left. But I wouldn’t let them take my soul! I will die in this cell if need be.

It’s now been about six months since I’ve been locked in this cell, and my hope has been drained but my spirit continues to fight.

During this time, I’ve thought about a lot of things. The way my parents always loved and supported everything I did even when they didn’t understand me. How I used to spend days going to Pensacola beach, swimming in the warm cozy waters of the gulf. I miss those moments, and I suppose the more I think about it the more I see that this city perhaps wasn’t as bad as I previously thought. But maybe this is just time and complacency setting in, things that I refuse to fall victim to. No, I can’t let this happen to me. I can’t go down the path of retrogressing all of the old times and people in my head, that’s how the trap starts. We always convince ourselves that things were better than we remember them, especially in hindsight. I won’t be a statistic, I’ll overcome this.

I took time today to pray, one of the best things that this town taught me. My parents were never overly-religious, however they did everything they could to ensure that I was strong in my faith. Small towns like this tend to have much religious influence and it is both the blessing and the burden of such a place. I personally believe that most religions have good intentions and teach a person about how to be disciplined and self-controlled. Bad religion comes into play, however, when that self control turns into being controlled by everything except oneself.

I’ve seen Pensacola fall into that trap. So many people here are proud of their pious attitudes and self-righteousness but they quickly prove that they are wolves in sheep’s clothing. Vipers that seek to poison every creature in sight. They are exclusive, pushing out anyone that doesn’t look, think, or act like them and they do it all in the name of God. Even I can confess that for some time I judged the people in my life who did not line up with my idea of perfection. I chastised those friends who identified as LGBTQ+, I looked at my friends of color and somehow came to the conclusion that they were less than me because my all-white Penecostal church was the chosen church by God that is written about in the book of Revelation.

Of course, those were my days of ignorance in my youthfulness. I now know that there are multiple expressions of the Creator in this world and that everything is all about love and energy. God is love and the expressions of God are energy in its many different forms. I recount these thoughts and find myself in a state of bliss brought about by my own appreciation for the path that I’ve been blessed to walk on.

Today I did something interesting. Once the incredibly handsome guard brought me my dinner, I invited him in for a talk. I know that it was an inappropriate thing to do on so many levels but I’d been observing him for months and the way that his muscles popped out of his shirt does something special to me and truthfully it’s not as if I have much else left to lose.

During our talk, he told me a few things that were unexpected but that I needed to hear. He came to me with wisdom that I can only assume was from another world, perhaps an angel took possession of him for the duration of our conversation.

“Thank you for the food,” I told him.

“You don’t have to thank me, just doing my job.”

“I know you are, but you seem to go above and beyond for me,” I responded.

You’re the only person on this cell block, how would you know that I’m going above and beyond for you specifically?” he asked.

“You’re right, I assumed. Guess that’s the privileged part of me. I’ve become too accustomed to my lifestyle.”

“Well, I didn’t say your assumption was wrong. I only pointed out that you did it.”

“Oh. Well, thank you for keeping me humble.”

“You are humble. I think that you have a mind that’s bigger than what this town can contain, much less this pitiful excuse for a jail cell.”

“Thank you. I really appreciate you saying that,” I said.

“Look, I probably shouldn’t be telling you this but I feel I need to say it,” he suddenly said. “There was a scheme planned against you from the moment you came back to this town three years ago. People saw how you came and offered us something that we had not had in a long time, you offered us hope. You took the silly theory that Geronimo cursed this town and crushed it underneath your feet. You revived something that was long dead and because of your efforts, people who thrived off of the depression and sorrow in this town became threatened. They knew that if you continued your mission here, this town would turn into a bustling place. People would realize that they could be successful, they would move away, and the town’s population would dramatically decrease. You were a threat to their pockets, they took you out so the money could stay in.”

“But I don’t understand, I poured money and prosperity into the city. Ultimately the things I was doing would attract more people here, people from all over the world,” I told him.

“It’s not just about the money. The more you put into the city, the less control they had. You were taking their power, their selfish need to ping pong the citizens of this town. You took it out of their hands and put it back in the hands of the citizens and that was dangerous. They wanted to kill you for it, just like they will kill me for telling you this,” he said.

“What? No, I won’t tell anyone about what you’ve said to me today. I promise, this all stays between us. You have my word.”

“I appreciate that but it isn’t up to you or me. My father is the one in control of all of this, our family was made filthy rich off of the sorrows of the people in this town. I only started working here because I was ordered to watch over you to make sure you couldn’t escape. They have me chipped, everything I’m saying as we speak can be heard by them. But, this was a sacrifice worth making. I hope that the part I’ve played in this can be forgiven by you and any other higher power that exists out there. Until then, take these keys as my last good deed before I–”

Suddenly I watched as his entire body burst into flames and he screamed for help. I took the keys that he gave me and managed to escape the cell. I searched extensively for a fire extinguisher but he screamed at me to run quickly, and so I did. I ran for my life, I ran for my freedom.

I was on the run for about three days, I had nothing to eat and avoided contact with anyone. Luckily, I managed to disguise myself as a homeless person and sleep underneath the I-110 bridge. I knew no one could find me there because unfortunately this city does little to combat its problem of homelessness. I’ve done what I can to help improve the situation, and hopefully my efforts and funding will eventually be used in the way they were intended, but for now I have no access to anything. In fact, I shouldn’t say that I’m disguising myself as being homeless, because this is no disguise.

Amazing to think that I went from being a middle class suburban girl raised in this city to an upper class individual trying to improve conditions and now I’m somehow at the bottom of the barrel. I now find myself wishing that I’d just stayed away, that I didn’t come back here trying to be superwoman and fix something that never wanted to be fixed in the first place. Perhaps I am the real villain of this city, doing exactly what my ancestors did. Thinking that bulldozing my way into a land and bringing what I perceived to be a better life to a place of simplicity was the right thing to do. I am no better than the oppressive men that Geronimo fought against. I’m somehow becoming the very curse that I claimed to be my adversary. I deserve this, all of it. To sleep with the ones who truly know what it means to have to live off of faith day by day. I accept this as a punishment from the universe itself, this is where I belong.

It’s been more than a week now since my last meal. I couldn’t go and get food as I feared being caught. I’ve just been lying here under the bridge. Luckily, one of the homeless people was nice enough to give me a spare tent that they had, and said they were saving it for a rainy day (which happens quite often in Florida) but they could see that I was in great need of it. I know at this point that I am beyond delirious as I’ve experienced hallucinations without the assistance of shrooms for the first time in my life. I’ve seen flashes of my parents, my ex-husband, and even Geronimo himself. Seeing him had the most significance as he told me that everything I’m going through was for my good. I asked him how, and all he could tell me was that I’ll understand one day.

I do know this, I spent so much of my life hating this city and wanting to fix it. This time back here and being through what I’ve been through has taught me something: I never appreciated the city for what it was worth or had to offer. There is a gift in humility. I was so focused on living my high life full of money and all of the riches of the world that I forgot what it was like to just breathe. Now that I’ve been stripped of everything, breathing is all that I can do. I have to release all of my hatred, my judgment, and bitterness and allow myself to be baptized with a fresh mindset and perception.

It was never the city nor the people who were the problem, it was me. Here I stand, or rather lay, and decide to fully give myself over to something new. As I make this decision I hear the approach of sirens in the distance, but I am too weak to run, too weak to do anything. I hear them fast approaching and I can only assume they are to collect me, to put me back in that cell. But I won’t go, I refuse to go. Not because I think of this city as a trap anymore, but because this has now become my place of freedom. In my freedom I can do whatever I please and I choose to give my spirit to this place. I won’t haunt it, nor will I curse it. Let these last few words be what this city has craved all along.

“The city of Pensacola is not a curse, nor is it a burden. It is a place where you will come to relax, to breathe, to rediscover your roots. It is in this place that you will experience a different kind of prosperity. Not the kind that fills your pockets with mounds of gold, but the kind that hits the soul in a way unimaginable. I was born here, for some time I left, and then I returned. Now I give myself to this place reversing the curse of Gernomino and putting a blessing on it that shall be everlasting. Goodbye Pensacola, I am with you always.” -Hermana L. Amore