August 12, 2013
No one will notice the
woman lying flat, suctioned to the pitted asphalt, begging to be taken from
this horrendous, unsuitable, off the books life. The cover up seems absurd
today. People around her were seemingly too stupid to figure it out. The phony
“Life is Beautiful” t-shirt she wore occasionally, to mask the red tape of
manic depressive deceit, should not have fooled anyone. Just weeks before, she
was spotted in our hometown, bearing an ear-to-ear Cheshire, the-world-couldn’t-be-better, grin.
The obsessive chitchat poured out of her mouth, that did the talking and eating
but belonged to someone else, about her up-and-coming plans to move to a warmer
climate, where winters do not suck the soul nor bury your heart under the heavy
white matter. She flew under the radar in Florida, despite being detained several
times, discovered, horizontal on the concrete road, gambling with fate. The
Fresh Start Plan did not include alcohol, though that was a given, since she
struggled with the demon, who cleverly sweetened the deal with comrades in
crime.
Difficult to imagine the
life she lead, our classmate, who’s untimely death turned the Reunion
conversation to shock and awe. Disbelief soaked the room, that one of our very
own could be homeless, alcoholic and now, dead is absurd, and, well, bullshit.
Wife is demanding, financial system corrupt, vacation homes dilapidating,
ticking time bomb children challenges, don’t get paid enough, college fund
interest rises, utility bills flood the box, and love eludes us. It isn’t
nearly as bad as her complex, simple life, though. We are lucky, every day, to
escape the same fate. She was ultimately pancaked to the street by a
twenty-something drunk driver. Their relationship falls into the gray area.
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