My Name is Inigo Montoya

inigo montoya

“My Name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die!” from Princess Bride

I have been compared to the Ferdinand the bull who prefers to sit in the meadow sniffing flowers, but will charge at a red flag. Mr. Husband refers to me as “his little terrorist.”  Before we go one step further, this does not mean that I bomb buildings, or threaten people. Ok, I swatted my dog with a newspaper after she crapped on the Persian rug for the 87th time because she refused to go out in the rain, but that doesn’t count.

The nickname comes from when we play computer games together and I forget that his character is the “tank” and I’m the artful dodger and barge ahead of him into the 7th level of gaming hell, guns a blazin’. But it’s a game Mkay?

Maybe it’s because I’m the oldest of 6 siblings in a 1 parent household and fell into the role of the family protector. Who knows? When I was 13 years old I looked out the front window and saw the neighborhood bully beating up my little brother. I charged out the door in a rage and slapped him opened handed across the back so hard that he went flying into a somersault. It didn’t occur to me at the time that he was almost twice my size. It was momma bear coming out. I saw that kid a week later and he still had a red hand print on his back.

I also have a big mouth, figuratively speaking. I tend to blurt the obvious when I should remain silent.  I vehemently object to the intolerable. I get up when I should stay down, even when bullets are flying. I know this because at 18 years old I witnessed my boyfriend gunned down and killed on the streets of New Orleans and ran towards him in the hail of bullets. Not so smart, but what was on my mind was to pull him down between 2 cars or stairwell for shelter. It’s a miracle I’m still alive and have all of my permanent teeth.

It’s surreal to see someone shot. Soldiers and gangsters know it. But the average American suburbanite usually never sees such a thing. It’s not at all like it is in the movies. People don’t go flying 15 backwards and slam against a wall. It happened at night, and to me it looked like a firecracker exploded out of his back. He went to his knees and then fell over sideways.  He said 2 words, “I’m hit.” Those were his last words.

Why do I dredge up these memories? I think it’s because I try to understand why people do the unthinkable. What is their motive? Sure some people are just stone cold killers for no good reason. I hope and pray that those are the minority. Perhaps it’s more of a morbid curiosity inspired by my need to write about everything that was ever thought, said or done.

14 responses

  1. […] post “My Name is Inigo Montoya” was still fresh in my mind, so this story is dark and violent. Be warned – if […]

  2. Oh my gosh – your 18 year old self … I want to cry and protect her. I’m like the reader above who went from laughing to gasping for breath and then sad through this post. I too love Inigo Montoya and the whole Princess bride cast. And understanding motivation for the unthinkable? It will drive us crazy and beyond. Thanks for this post Trinity.

    1. Thank you for commenting, Marilyn. I want to protect her too. It’s occurred to me that sometimes I have let go and mother myself, kiss the hurts away. Tell myself that sometimes bad things just happen. But writing about it helps a lot, it scrapes it out of the dark corner, holds it up to the light and somehow heals the wound. It borders in miraculous.

      1. This reply is worthy of a full blog post…really beautiful. Would you consider doing a guest post for CAB?

          1. I’d be Thrilled.. I’d love to have you do one whenever you can but no pressure 🙂 communicatingblog@gmail.com

  3. I think you’re perfect just the way you are. Never change.

    1. Oh, Mister Hook, we can’t keep meeting in public like this! On a serious note, thank you so much. I been called many things in my life, but I don’t ever recall being called perfect. You have put a smile on my face 🙂

  4. I identify with your description above in the paragraph starting with this sentence. “Maybe it’s because I’m the oldest of 6 siblings in a 1 parent household and fell into the role of the family protector. ”

    I’m an introvert but I too am eldest child in a large family. Due to family circumstances I was compelled to function as an ambivert and encouraged to be a free thinker who stood up for what was right. Due to birth order I was the protector of my younger siblings, in essence, I was their mother. I had many situations like the first one you describe when I immediately sprang into action and took on bullies and big mouths.

    Despite the fact they were all larger than I was, I gave 3 big girls who teased and bullied me and my siblings a drubbing with a shillelagh that I’m sure they have never forgotten. How dare they pick on a cripple! I made short work of those city girls who didn’t have a clue what a country girl could do and that earned me the nickname “Fearless”. After that neither I nor my siblings were ever harassed and the tough older boys all loved me.

    Though I’m not a large person and though I’m quite reserved, without doubt, I have always been and remain a strong woman.

    1. I can so identity with your story, obviously. Perhaps it’s the fact that we only fight when we have to that scares off the bullies. Nothing scarier than a small women with a huge rage.

  5. Love “The Princess Bride.”

    1. I think I’m going add that to our DVD Collection. It’s always a feel good watch 🙂

  6. I’m so sorry about your boyfriend. I didn’t expect the second half of this post. I went from smiling to sad in a minute. But it’s a good post.
    I like women that can stand up for themselves, who don’t watch as people be pushed around in front of them. I understand why so many do nothing in situations though, completely. The few times when my friends have been in need of some back up I’m there yelling out ‘hey!’ and showing that they’re not alone. Of course that’s in a verbal fight / argument / abuse. I’d be useless in a fist fight since I’m a scrawny person. Doesn’t stop my urge to push arseholes picking on people though.

    Great post, and I am sorry again.

    1. My post did sort of spin in a direction I didn’t anticipate. But it’s part of the roller coaster of my life. my brain has sort of separated my time with him and the final incident into 2 different memories so I feel more of an outrage over the senseless shooting than grief for him. Mostly I remember his smile like the Cheshire cat in Alice in Wonderland. And his love of telling tall tales and his occasional stories of his time in Viet Nam, and I’m sure they were edited for content.

      He was one of those war veterans who never really made it home in his heart to readjust to everyday life. When we walked through a park he were always skimming the trees looking for snipers. My Mom hated him and never could see why I loved him. She passed it off as a teenage crush. But she was there for me when it all came crashing down.

      Thanks for stopping by 🙂 It’s always a pleasure to have a visitor.

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