A Random Image

Jett Superior laid this on you on || September 18, 2007 || 8:23 am

I feel like I am a little bit cursed, and other musings.

When I got back from Hotlanta this weekend,I’d intended to start this entry in the following way:

One geek, two geek, three geek, dork.

Then I was gonna regale you with tales of booziness and good times. However, Unx was still recovering from Dragoncon (“OMG! Call me! I have tales of superheroes and transvestites and far. too. much. liiiiiquor. Pee ess, I hate people.”), so there went my little rhyme.

Also –waiting for me when I walked through the door– there was the news that one of my children’s best friends had died. He drowned on Saturday afternoon in the creek behind our pastor’s house. He was one of what Maxim calls “Your Lost Boys” when speaking to me, one of the kids that has taken up semi-residence in our house from time to time.

Sam walked around inconsolable all of Sunday and came home yesterday furious at all the rumor and innuendo surrounding the whole event. See, one of his other best friends (and also our pastor’s son) was there when it happened. It didn’t take very long at all for all the stories to start getting cooked up. As a result, it didn’t take long for Sam’s nerves to get worked up. I came around the corner of the funeral home yesterday to hear him telling another boy, “That is SO untrue and I swear to God, if I hear that kind of crap coming out of your mouth again, I am going to beat the unholy shit out of you.” This was from between clenched teeth.

The one I’m really worried about is Scout. She’s walked around exhausted-looking and on the brink of tears for the last two days, but she just won’t cry. I catch myself fervently wishing that she would crack wide open with a wail and let it all flow. She’s not about to let anyone in, not about to expose her tender bits, not about to let emotion overtake her and make her appear weak. Last night, in the crush of teenage dramatics (you know the kind…there are always those trying to draw attention in on themselves, to make any given situation about them), my Scout stood there quietly, patiently waiting. It took nearly an hour, but the crowd finally thinned, and she stood up at the head of the boy’s coffin, leaning in and whispering to him. Then she performed a Particularly Scout Gesture, kissing the tip of her index finger and planting that fingertip on his forehead lovingly. Then she dropped something into the casket. It was a piece of paper wrapped with a lemon yellow hair band.

I knew that they had both placed things in there, so on the way home I asked. Sam spent countless hours skating with him and playing guitar for him, so he put in a set of bearings and his favorite pick. Scout put in the first note they had ever passed in class lo those many years ago. When I asked her about the ponytailer it was wrapped in, she reminded me that he had a habit of pulling out her hairbands in school and at church because he liked to see her all stirred up. “That was the first one he ever pulled out of my hair, mom. It was at school.” And then she stared out of the car window the rest of the way home.

I was most amazed by this, by her sentimentality, because she is not overt with it. I was also amazed by the other kids there. A favorite necklace, a treasured ballcap, a coupon for free Copenhagen dip, this year’s Auburn football schedule went into that casket. Things that connected them to this boy, a boy who by all accounts was optimistic and joyful and uplifting damn near every minute of every day. This was despite his own shaky raising-up.

I’m sorry this is so inelegant and ineloquent, but I’m just tired. For the last twelve weeks I’ve been taking it on the emotional chin. Every time I think I’m coming to rights another wave of icky washes across the ole bow and I’m once more taken aback and wondering when I can just breathe easily and without hesitation again. I’m sick of holding my breath in order to be prepared, waiting for the time that the wave goes one further and seizes me as well.

10 worked it out »

  1. skillzy 9.18.2007

    Well, fuck. Wanna run away to Wyoming with me and drive haul trucks at the coal mine? They have satellite radio.

  2. chris robinson 9.18.2007

    Your children are a constant source of amazement. If there is comfort to be taken anywhere, it is in them. You both have done a wonderful job parenting.

    If you’re not going to take up Skillzy’s offer, I will.

  3. Emma Liar 9.18.2007

    Blow after blow after blow comes your way, it seems. You remind me of that old saying, “Just when you think you can’t take any more, you discover that yes, you can.”

    A dear friend is constantly reminding me, and I’ll share her heartening words with you, now:

    Chin up, tits out.

  4. Suzanne 9.21.2007

    My heart breaks for the kids… I dealt with way too much death in my teen years and prolly should have wound up in therapy for a while. The grief eventually comes out – even if you’re almost 30 when it does!

    On a lighter note – dang it on your Atlanta trip with no notice to moi! I guess you MUST have known that I was in DC this past weekend and wasn’t even around. ;-) Looking forward to the tales of ATL trip.

  5. Over here in New Zealand (dunno if it exists anywhere else, but we’re probably the only place with a hill every few hundred metres) we hold our breath as we enter tunnels. We all let a massive ‘ahhhhhhhh’ when we get through the end.

    You know what’s the WORST about holding your breath in those situations? I need to exhale. I could care less about inhaling. It’s like that ‘classic’ film Waiting To Exhale for me. Or, actually, not, but it’s a good pop culture reference for those that remember the Nineties…

    So, what I’m getting at is, I hope you get a chance to let it all out soon Jett. Keep truckin’.

  6. Jettomatika 9.25.2007

    DANIEL! You must have broken up with your sweetie, for I have not seen you in these parts lo for many a moon now.

    It’s okay. I forgive you.


  7. Nah nah, no break-up! Haha. Missed you too buddy, that’s why I came back. It’s like that, being a world away. Imagine I’m Orlando Bloom, and you’re Johnny Depp, and I have to travel many miles to visit you. It’s like that… only… less lame.

  8. Jettomatika 9.25.2007

    I want to know who is consigned to which part before I can fully commit to that analogy.

  9. Can I just resign from that analogy? It was never gonna end well…

  10. Jettomatika 9.26.2007

    Oh wait, I’m the pirate (der, reading comprehension sk1llz0rs, der). It can stand.


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