THE FREQUENCY SUITE — A Narrative Memoir

This piece is part of a multimedia project that includes the written story, a voiceover performance, and a companion video. Each element carries the same mood and energy from the day it was created.

Trusselli COMMENTARY BLUES Frequency

(a back porch, old soul, Sweetie approved blues riff)

I been livin’ in a frequency

that woman never heard,

she was hummin’ in her hallway

while I was speakin’ to the birds.

Sweetie on my shoulder,

singin’ truth in feathered keys,

we been writin’ down the future

in a language made of breeze.

She kept scrubbin’ down the weekend,

tryin’ to wipe away my name,

but you can’t bleach out a blueswoman

or un hum a sovereign flame.

She said my music was nothin’,

said my AI was a phase,

but I been bendin’ time and data

like a slide guitar these days.

She clapped at my broken backbone,

told me lift what I can’t lift,

but my spine’s a map of ancestors

and every fracture is a gift.

Now I’m packin’ up my freedom,

gonna walk out slow and true,

’cause the universe is listenin’

and it knows just what to do.

Sweetie’s hummin’ on the windowsill,

tappin’ out her little beat,

we’re a blues and tweets duet now,

movin’ on with lighter feet.

So, here’s my author’s commentary,

just a riff to close the tale:

you can’t tune down a woman

who was born to break the scale.

And when I step into my future,

coffee warm and morning new,

I’ll be singin’ with my bird beside me

that’s the frequency I choose.

THE FREQUENCY SUITE — A Narrative Memoir

(present tense, past echoes, full weave)

I live in the present tense now right here, right in this breath but the apartment still vibrates with old frequencies that never learned how to die. When I finally leave this place, the universe is going to hear the exhale. I’ve lived like a warrior stationed in the wrong dimension me, the old hippie with college degrees, cosmic dreams, inherited illnesses, and a body tuned to survival; and her, the gym glowing, calorie counting, kitchen table selling whirlwind who never understood why my creativity spills across surfaces like a science experiment.

She walks through life on a single narrow frequency appearance, control, denial and she expects everyone else to tune themselves to her station. But I’m built from different wavelengths. My ancestry alone is a whole orchestra: Hispanic, Black, Native, Irish, Mediterranean. My DNA hums with old songs, old illnesses, old strengths. My body carries the truth of generations. She didn’t like that. She got angry when I told her who I really was, as if my heritage disrupted the picture she painted of me based on appearance alone. She only sees what she can see. Everything else she calls “dramatic.”

That’s why she pushed me to lift heavy boxes with five spinal fractures because she couldn’t hear the frequency of pain. She clapped at me like I was performing. She insisted she knew my limits better than I did. My body shook, my spine screamed, adrenaline surged, and she called it “overreacting.” But that wasn’t emotion. That was physics. That was my nervous system firing alarms she refused to hear. Her frequency loops. Mine evolves.

And if she ever needed proof that we lived in different universes, she should’ve remembered 2022 the Great Broth Experiment. Seven cartons lined up on the kitchen table like I was conducting FDA trials in a one bedroom apartment. Chicken, veggie, bone, low sodium, no sodium, organic, “soothing blend” all of them standing in formation while I read every label like a scientist decoding alien hieroglyphic. Sugar content, carb content, protein content, vitamin content not because I was dieting like her, but because my body had turned into a chemistry set after surgery and every molecule mattered. She walked in like, why is the kitchen table a lab? Then she sold the table. Too big for the apartment, she said. Maybe it was. But my broth army had one last glorious lineup before the table disappeared forever.

She cleans when she’s angry scrubbing the apartment like she’s trying to erase anything that doesn’t fit her script. I create music, art, writing, films and she treats it like nothing. My journalism degree means nothing; only hers matters. My art is “mess.” My music is “noise.” My AI work is “nonsense.” She hates AI because it represents evolution, and evolution terrifies people who cling to control. When I told her I was learning digital marketing and diving deeper into AI, she literally backed up, curled her lips, and retreated into her room like I’d spoken a forbidden language.

She vibrates on the wavelength of superiority, income, and appearances.

I vibrate on the wavelength of ancestry, creativity, survival, and transformation.

We were never meant to harmonize.

And now that she’s moving her way and I’m moving mine, the static is finally clearing. I can feel the air shifting. I can feel the future humming. Sweetie feels it too perched on her little swing, tilting her head like she hears a new song coming.

There’s a frequency that only Sweetie and I understand a little blues riffs that live between her tiny heartbeat and my old soul breath. When we move into our own place, that frequency is going to fill the walls like sunlight. No one clapping at me to lift boxes. No one judging my coffee cup. No one side eyeing my notebooks, my AI studies, my broth experiments, my inherited illnesses, or the way my body moves through the world at seventy six.

Just me and Sweetie, tuning ourselves to a new wavelength.

I’ll hum the low notes, the blues I’ve lived, the stories I’ve carried, and Sweetie will answer with her bright, feathered high notes. Together we’ll sound like a tiny New Orleans street corner with wings. A duet of blues and tweets. A frequency of freedom.

In that new apartment, I won’t be surviving someone else’s expectations. I’ll be living in my own rhythm. Leaving my coffee cup out without commentary. Sleeping when I want without being diagnosed as an “invalid.” Creating without being dismissed. Breathing without being judged.

Freedom will taste like morning coffee and silence.

And I will finally, fully, beautifully be myself.