The crowd at the fair put a damper on my good time. Sapped me. Luckily, we'd had a few good hours together - two of them and a friend and I. The third and his girlfriend had been up very late and they took the morning to sleep in together. Good on ye.
She's singing again. I'm so glad for that. I'm hoping next Sunday to go and listen. It's been a long time since I sat in a church just to listen. I'd get hung up in trying to ignore the people I annoyed myself with making up stories about, but the music of the choir - hearing her voice distinctly within it - made it worthwhile. An expression of spirit. That's the thing worthy of praise and worship. Not the Alleged, imbued with all of our hopes and fears, who never bothers to pick up the phone.
Seventeen is a hard place to be. I sit beside her gurney in the hallway and listen. She took the pills after doing her research and texted out to the world after swallowing a few. She's alive now, but doesn't know if she wants to be, and crying. All of her relationships have broken. She thinks it's because of the burden she's placed upon them. They all blame her for being sad.
"Everyone leaves," she says.
It's 5 AM and I've only slept for a few minutes in a chair. I am listening for much longer than I used to listen in similar situations. Yes, everyone leaves.
For a moment, I want to be a boy her age who tells her that he never will and then never does. She becomes happy again. And she knows that the boy really loves her. Then her life goes on, making sense and being something she can actually live.
She needs safety now. All I have to offer her is my ear and a hospital.
No comments:
Post a Comment