pantoum's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- RIDING SHOTGUN DOWN THE AVALANCHE JebusfuckingHchrist what an unexpected lunch break! Ran over to the credit onion because they somehow switched my address back to my townhouse one. Signed in and read a newspaper article about the sixteen-year-old student at the local private academy who killed his parents using a .401 shotgun. (That's a single load gun, folks, which means that he shot his father in the head three times, stopping each time to reload the gun, then he loaded again and went into the bathroom, shot his mother once in the shoulder, then reloaded and shot her again in the head. That's a lot of pent up rage. A lot of blood and brains on the walls too and you better believe I was flashing back to cleaning the kitchen after my mother shot herself.) The credit union folks called my name and I tried to shake the memory off as I settled into one of the carrels and noticed a woman in the carrel beside me looked pretty distraught. Musta bounced some checks, I thought and the clerk and I started chit-chatting about how oppressively hot it is as I filled out the requisite paperwork. Then we couldn't help overhearing the woman in the next carrel saying, between hiccuping sobs, that her husband had kissed her goodbye, told her he loved her, drove their daughter to school, drove away from the school a few blocks, then shot himself in the head, causing his car to swerve into oncoming traffic. And she just can't understand why he didn't talk with her about whatever was wrong because they've always been able to talk to each other about anything, that was one of the reasons she married him. And he had a good job, had just gotten a big promotion and was happy about it. He was a happy guy in general, a good father. And now her daughter wants to know what she said on the way to school that made her father kill himself. Jebus. I kept thinking This is not happening this is not happening and listening to the poor woman struggle to even get the words out. And I couldn't even write at this point and the bank clerk and I were just staring at each other, frozen. Then this huge tear rolled down my face. And then she started crying too and we just sat there staring at each other and listening as this poor woman tried to figure out how to access her dead husband's accounts. Finally, the other clerk walked the woman to a room in the back—where we'll be more comfortable—and I just stared at the clerk who was helping me, then let out a deep breath and signed the papers. We didn't even say anything about what happened and I was glad because I just wanting to keep my shit together till I got to my car. She said "Take care" when I left though and I said "you too." I couldn't come back to work after that (and really wanted a cigarette, frankly), so I drove through the countryside for a while before returning for a meeting. Gawd. 2:49 p.m. - 2005-06-07 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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