Drifting Beyond The Pale

My mother is adamant that I was distraught the evening my father committed suicide. I have no recollection of that. She insists I continued to be very upset the next day. I have no recollection of that either. In my mind I was stoic, calm, in control, but the events during that time don’t exist in my memory on any type of continuum or even as full scenes. Rather they are present as moments that stand out against a blurry backdrop, so it is possible she is right.

The Photographer

I have no idea why I took that picture. It’s not very clear and the glare from the flash is prominent, a powerful circle of light just up from the center of the shot. I exist in the photo as a glazed image, an echo neatly sliced by windowpanes. You can’t see anything through the glass except for the curtains. The white cloth is separated and the room that would open up behind it is not visible. The flash of light has turned a clear pane reflective and it takes

the phone rings

and you ask the person on the other end to repeat what they just said because it doesn’t make sense and suddenly you are aware of every detail around you and you realize that time has slowed down to let words sink in and you hear yourself asking questions that have answers you don’t want to hear –but that wasn’t the point of the questions, because the point of the questions was to demonstrate to the person on the other end of the phone that they had bad

Air Hunger

·Air Hunger· “You can never prepare for hurt, and heartbreak can happen in small degrees or with a bang; when a part of my common history was lost, it was an explosion. After the initial shock, after the effort of the funeral, after the sharp edge of grief softened a bit, I tried to settle into the unkind quiet that followed. I didn’t understand that the quiet was white noise, masking a scream that hadn’t stopped.” “Air Hunger” is the source of the title for my blog. It is