It's strange working with a comedian. My last and first day.
It's Bi__s first day with me, working at the church.
By the end of the day he is wondering if something is going on with me, but for the most part he is a comedian and I am reeling from the contrast.
My memory of boyhood and my future of manhood are doing battle inside my body, all my hopes and dreams merging with all the days of the House and the worst ones after when the bottom fell out.
My Wild years. E__. That's my only man mystery, all the others are boy mysteries that took place in the house and were solved slowly but consistently by the rememory that began on June 1st.
The only mystery left is my own, and why after eighteen years of doing extraordinarily well suddenly the first months I am free from the House the bottom falls out, and I'm a mess, barely hanging on, losing my previous powers just as fast and consistently as I lost my memory and could not tell you where I was from.
All I could see was this badness that was like a blur in my mind of colors that at first seemed still but as I looked for a second longer suddenly they begin to move violently and more violently and I shake it away and stop trying to answer the question put to me by whomever. Where did you go to high school? Where did you grow up? Who your people? And all I can see in answer is colors, no words, just colors.
Today was supposed to be the last day, now it’s not. I wonder if such promises are kept anyway. Like in that movie Final Destination: fate is fate; what's already been decided will happen, regardless of any other promises like the second one I made when I was sixteen.
It wasn't really a promise not to commit suicide, but a promise to get it together in time so I wouldn't face that birthday with suicide proven the only self-honoring option.
The details were already worked out. A letter sent by mail to Ms. M__ saying that my body was in the bathroom and that I wanted cremation and where to put the ashes: over the side yard at the House, despite W__’s other name for it: Hell. And the front hill, where the dogwood tree still is.
When I was sixteen I would keep the pills under my pillow and simply assumed I would off myself with pills.
Over the years I learned how I want to rest. I want to lie down and know I never have to get up again. This Roaring Soul and this Exhausted Body want that moment.
With pills you lay down and you'll wonder if you will wake up in some hospital. That problem is solved with blood.
W__ would have never known maybe, and if he did he'd curse my name, everyone would, they'd call me stupid, but I know the secret now: you keep your promises to yourself.
I didn't use a knife for the first slice I used a razor blade. I went and found the heaviest box cutter to solve the problem of how supple the skin is around the wrist, hard to puncture without a good grip.
Dave Matthew Band is performing Crash Into Me, it's always been a death song to me, because when I first noticed the song on the radio I was reading the final chapter of The Chamber by John Grisham.
I was surprised how perfect the timing was, they'll all be out tonight at their Christian concert at that biker church.
The timing is oddly perfect, no surprise rings at the doorbell and Bi__ calling my name and saying Hey, girl!?! in his hilarious-fake-gay way.
Then come to find out they all canceled at the last minute, didn't go to the concert, they stayed home same as me, but I didn't find that out til next morning.
No comments:
Post a Comment