Wednesday, October 8th, 2008
Stupid people.
Yellow curb. Means park somewhere else.
Looking for a free lunch, perfect pitch, the holy grail, or a parking spot in front of the courthouse, which for this truck means a 35 foot slot in the lineup.
Not only are they parked on yellow, aCROSS from the sheriff’s office, they hadn’t the decency to close up the gaps. Between every bumper and fender ekes a tantalizing 30 feet, as if they only had so many cars to lock up all the parallel spots so they had to space em out.
Ever since the arraignment for one Charles Haught, middle-aged life drop-out, rapist and murderer of one Wesley Campbridge, seven year-old, ever since every mobile news unit from three surrounding counties had converged and taken up residence in front of Bourbon County Circuit Courthouse, people had ceased fudging the customary ten to fifteen feet of yellow, and now strung all the way across it in the spirit of the old adage about forgiveness and permission.
If Action News 36 can do it, well by George. . .
In my mind I know it’s 9:43 and in my DIAD are 8 uncompleted 10:30 commit stops, two of them bulk, and one of them across town.
Without looking, I sense a looming diesel presence in the fold-out sideview mirror, the same white Ford dualy that’s been dogging me from 10th Street, edging out from behind just enough to make sure I know he wants around.
Knock yourself out, sweetheart. F’you can fit that monster in between my mirror and the half-lane that’s left, you’re more driver than I am. No doubt he thinks he is. More to the point, no doubt he’s been cussin me all the way down Main since I pulled in front of him.
Had to cut somebody off.
Watched twenty cars amble by with that same maddening gap precision. Twenty cars, a minute-and-a-half I ain’t got. The second I nosed out into traffic, he ghosted up to my bumper so close I could see the Ford oval on his grill in my rear camera monitor.
Yeah, now you’re in a hurry.
I can see his mouth moving, so I put words in it. Fool kid, pull out in front of me, and some other words that normally I would never think, were I not forced into providing captions for his thought balloons. It wouldn’t bother me so much if I didn’t feel just a little bit guilty. Guilt pressed in between time and stress oozes out looking like road rage.
A blue Caravan with a bandaged rear window and a bumper just hanging on for dear life pulls away from the curb in front of me, at about the same time the Ford gets the four inches he’s been wanting for ten blocks, and here he comes, loosening the reins of all 350 horses, and billowing acrimony from both 5 inch chrome horns.
The hapless grocery-getter dawdles on out in his lane. He hauls up on the reins, the whistling downshift an automotive curse. If I had time, I’d be laughing. Good thing I don’t. He’s up even with me now, looking right at me, distilling all his frustration with the Caravan and the world in general into the last minute spent staring at the back of a delivery truck. I can see his silent swearing indignance.
He’s a mouth breather. Unfortunate orifice, that. The gaps in between the parked cars should be so wide.
Still, he manages to impart more scorn through his NASCAR shades and the bubbled tint than Estella ever cast down on Pip, Chillingworth on Rev. Dimmesdale, or the parabled Pharisee upon the publican.
Turning my attention to the vast expanse of gleaming yellow curb vacated by the departing Caravan, I cut as close as I can and then back, dimming the luminous paint with my rubbing tires.
The stop I need is half a block back.
Shoving the truck into park, I fall into a habitual series of movements, park, brake, key out, seatbelt off, mirror in, bulkhead door; a succession so varied but seamless, a truly Faulkneresque regimen.
Dodging strategically positioned and scarcely mobile redneck sidewalk ornaments, I finally make it to the intended destination, a lawyer’s office, and pull hard on the door.
It’s locked, and the jolt shakes the glassed-in front wall.
The over-cooked, under-worked (minesweeper?) secretary jerks around so suddenly that her desk chair becomes a tilt-a-whirl, and she steadies herself with a what on earth expression. (oh help, another mouth breather) Sizing up the situation, she then laughs, slaps the desk so hard I can hear it out here, and puts her forehead down on her hand, big shoulders shaking.
9:46.
Odd seconds rush out into eternity while she has a good winding down laugh about how startled she was and how she forgot to unlock that front door again!
She gets up from the chair in hitches and explains the noise over her shoulder to someone in the back room, actually stopping mid-way and, what, turning to raise her voice because they can’t hear her.
When she opens the door, “Oh my land’s sakes, you scared me to death-” throwing her head down and slapping a meaty thigh, and sucking in the next phrase through a hearty laugh “I-I-I thought somebody ran into the building-ing-ing, and and Haley hollered up here and said, ‘What in tarnation is that, did some kid run his bicycle into the front door?’ Ooohhhh, I forgot to unlock it!”
I, am speechless.
Come in.
I would, of course, decline, but it appears she isn’t going to physically accept the package, possible germophobe, but no, she just stuck a pen in her mouth. The packages, including this 2 oz. next-day-air envelope, go on a table in that back room.
The one on the left?
No, down the stairs, to the right, through the gray door.
Returning from the dungeon, I offer her the DIAD to sign.
Oh no, Betty signs for everything.
Betty?
Downstairs, you didn’t see her?
Poor Betty’s been having indigestion all morning, she explains when she emerges from the rest room at 9:52. How fast can you empathize? My foot is one inch from the bottom step of the truck when a voice falls across my tense shoulders like a war club.
Hey, buddy.
Contemplation of feigned deafness tempts me for a second.
Sigh.
Yeah? Turning, sounding relaxed, helpful.
Oh no, it’s Jethro Bodine gone to neglected seed, Santa Clause’s Appalachian counterpart, except I don’t think he’s going to give me anything. The v-necked t-shirt stopped being white shortly after it stopped rying to reach down to the sweat pants. Chest hair, copious and curly, nestles in the plunging neckline. The grace of a beard has been weeded out to a mockery of sweat, oil and tangles. Sixty degrees and sweat beads his forehead and speckles his shirt. He hooks a thumb to the courthouse.
Can you tell me what that says? Over his shoulder my eyes focus on a computer-printed sign taped to the door of the courthouse. Forgot his glasses, I guess.
Hurrying around him, I’m almost there before I realize the print is three inches tall.
Behind me, I hear “I just. . . can’t read.”
Something jams into my spokes, locking up the wheels of time and task and what I call trouble.
Uh, it says the courthouse is closed-ummm, scanning the two lines as if it were fine print-uh, open. . . tomorrow. Turning to face him, Well that’s odd, babbling, wonder why they’re closed, no holiday.
That’s okay, he says.
All right, well have a good one, man.
Sorry-he looks me in the eye-just, can’t read.
Hey, no problem, no problem at all, have a good one, have a good day.
I thank ye’.
You t-no problem, have- we’ll see you.
Delivering next day air, I don’t have time to think about the flush that stains my cheeks, or the lump logging my throat.
natenrae
Posted in Awkward Experiences, Life Experiences, Sad Experiences | No Comments »
Wednesday, July 16th, 2008
This is the eighth month after the death of my mother-in-law.
She was a health freak and never used to eat out. I lived with her for seventeen years and never saw her missing her daily exercise routine. She was a role model for many people in the hospital where she was working as a matron. It was in 2006 that she started complaining for stomachache. I was upset with her bad health. She was diagnosed with the second degree cirrhosis of her liver. Poor lady! My husband and I took her to the best doctors in the town and started her on medication. Unfortunately, she did not respond to any of the medications as it was too late to get the damage repaired at that stage.
During this course, she became very hostile with us. She was irritated to the extent that she started calling me names. She was amused in bad mouthing me to every individual who used to come to see her. The doctor, however, explained it in another way. He was of the opinion that she is terminally ill and scared of death. Since her liver was damaged, she had all possible deficiencies in her body because of which she was not able to eat anything more than a couple of spoonful of soup and half a glass of juice for the whole day.
We were finding it difficult to adjust between our work and home life. It was very difficult for me to tolerate her bad words. In spite of supporting my husband in that critical time period, I used to criticize his mother’s behavior. He tried to make me understand several times, but my brain had a block set up there and was not ready to listen to him. This continued for all those months while her health was deteriorating. It was in the month of October that she breathed her last and finally the horrified episode of my life came to an end.
As a matter of fact, I should have had peace after this, but I am sad to loose her this way. Every now and then, I feel the loss which her death has created in my life. I go out for work and my children are alone at home. She used to be there with them when she was alive. I never realized it when she was alive. She used to take care of several things at home and I never knew many of them until the whole responsibility came on my shoulders. I regret my behavior with her. I could not understand the pain she was going through.
We tried all alternative medicines available but what can substitute love and care!
My only motive here to share my experience is that the parents can not be replaced once lost. There is no way that we can get them back. My mother used to say that parents can raise ten children but they together also can not look after their parents.
The Nature would never change its course for anyone, but we can change our nature to incorporate an element of love and care in our hearts to be given away
Posted in Female Experiences, Health Experiences, Life Experiences, Parenting Experiences | No Comments »
Sunday, February 17th, 2008
It’s been 9 days, 16 hours and 12 minutes since she took her last breath. I had a thought in the back of my head once we took her off life support, that my mom would just come back. She’d wake up and say “what are you guys doing here wasting your time, the gutters need to be cleaned”. We’d all laugh, tell mom we knew she would make it and joke how she really scared us while we drank coffee. She’d complain that her throat hurts and we’d never tell her about all the tubes she had in (knowing she’d be pissed about that.)
But that’s not how it happened. When they took the tubes out, I stood on the outside of the curtain. I didn’t want to miss a thing. I needed to be there for everything. I heard some horrible noise of choking and gargling that I’ll never get out of my head. Then the nurse rushed out from behind the curtain, told me to get the rest of the family, it’s not looking to great. I ran to the waiting room, and as I opened the door, my sister was there. You could see the tears filling up in her eyes as I yelled “everyone needs to come, the nurse said we should all go in as soon as possible”.
Everyone rushed in to hold mom’s hand or foot or anything they could hold on to. The look on my dad’s face is the one thing that would make me break. I could barely hold my body up. It’s heart breaking to see that look, and wonder if he’s thinking about their first kiss, their wedding day or even each one of their babies coming into the world.
We all stood there crying, turning red and gasping for tissues, sleeves or each other. My mom was free of all tubes except her IV. They kept that in as they gave her shots of Morphine for any pain. Her breathing was all over the place and it was almost like a heavy snore. The nurses would come in and suction her mouth out. It was horrible to see your mom or ANYONE for that matter, so incapacitated.
For the first 2 hours, we all sat in the room, unbearable as the noise and thought of losing our mother was it was harder to not be in the room. We all wanted to be there. Maybe we all thought there was a chance she would come back, or we all just wanted her to know she had a very special place in our hearts and we loved her deeply.
After the first 2 hours, we took turns having a few in the room at a time. After 5pm, Lauren came so I had some company. Lauren coming gave me some break. We talked, watched some TV & played with silly puddy. Most of the guests left around 10pm. I went in with mom around 11pm and sat with her (as did Denise). Dad had left around 11:30pm & so did Brian. I came out of the room around 11:45pm to see if any of my other brothers wanted to leave… Mom was hanging on strong (at least that’s what I thought). Shortly after, my sister came out b/c the nurses were planning to turn mom. Not long, did a nurse come out and tell us our mom was very close to passing. Frantically we rushed in. I tried to call Dad on his cell and Doryan called the house. Dad JUST got home and was coming back to the hospital bringing Damien (dawn wasn’t able to go through it).
I wonder if my mom knew we were all there in the final 30 minutes. It was the HARDEST thing I ever had to endure. Watching her heart beat go from 150 (which is pretty high) all day drop to 120, 110, 100, 90, 80 and then hit 50… I quietly pleaded with my mom to wait for dad to get there so he could be with her too, and her heart beat went up to 100. I took that as my sign that mom knew I was there and wanted dad to be there. Five minutes later, Dad, Doryan and Damien walk in. Dad goes to mom left hand side and holds her hand. My mom is turning a shade darker and you could tell it was coming. The breathing came much more shallow. The sadness in the room was over bearing. Her heart beat drops slowly and I prayed for it to either happen faster or for it to turn back. It slowly went down to 20, and then she stopped breathing but her heart beat continued. We watched the monitor and everything hit 0 and blanked. I gasped. Yes, I gasped just like on TV. I gasped and sobbed. Mom had passed. My heart sank so low I could have died a long with her. Maybe a piece of me has. The nurses came, shut everything off. We all said the very last word “I love you” and walked out. I sat in the room for another 2 minutes talking to my mom, kissing her forehead and telling her that she would be always be in my heart. Everyone already walked to the waiting room, I followed behind.
It was 12:44am when mom passed. We sat in the waiting room for 15 minutes waiting for the head nurse to come talk to dad. Once the nurse came in she went over logistics for my mothers body to be transferred; basically giving him the “rules”. She asked if anyone wanted the flowers. No one did. Those flowers represented the days we spent in her room, hoping and praying for her to come back. I couldn’t bare to have them in my apartment. The nurse also asked if anyone wanted to go in one more time to see her. I needed to. I needed to know that this wasn’t a joke, that is was over and my mom had left me. I needed to see her, to tell her I loved her for that one last time.
Posted in Life Experiences, Sad Experiences | 1 Comment »
Saturday, January 26th, 2008
Olympia, Washington
August, 1992
I remember the first time I saw a dead body. It’s burned into my memory forever, I think.
I was walking with my best friend Adam to the local quickie mart. We were eleven years old and the summer was filled with scouring for loose change under sofa cushions and taking our findings to the store to buy candy. On this particular day we were approached by a homeless man before we made it halfway to the store. He was dirty, old, and close enough to death that we could almost see his soul departing his body. His cheeks were sunken, his eyes were wide and empty saucers, and his lips were the cool blue color of the summer sky.
“Spare any change?” he barely croaked through toothless gums and cracked lips. I put my hand to the front pocket of my jeans and felt the few quarters, dimes, and nickels that were soon to be exchanged for lollipops, Hershey bars, and a can of Coke. My heart caught in my throat.
I’m not a bad person. I swear I’m not. Most days I would have given the guy all the change I had… But whether it was because I was hungry for sugar or that the man looked like no amount of change would ever turn his luck, I said, “No. Sorry.” And Adam and I walked on.
We got our candy. We got our Coke. We were happy about this.
On the way back home, was saw two police cars with their flashers on and a strip of yellow tape hung between a few trees on the side of the road. We approached cautiously, each of us already knowing what had happened.
In the space of time after we left the man and when we had returned, he had died in the ditch, someone had called the cops, and they were now taking pictures of his body.
We saw him lying face down in the scotch broom and ferns. He was only slightly less alive than when we had seen him before, and one-hundred percent gone.
I’ve never felt so guilty over anything in my life. Even though I know it wouldn’t have helped him survive another day, my giving him all the change I had (a measly dollar something) might have given him some hope at least.
I still lie awake nights and think of him. His black eyes and blue lips will haunt me forever, I think.
Peter
Posted in Life Experiences, Sad Experiences | No Comments »
