I spent many days doing absolutely nothing, not even going outside. It wasn't long before I lost track of days. Some days I'd get lost on TV. On a very rare occasion where I had energy, I'd take a bus to the library and spend the day there. Otherwise, I was just a child.
..........
By 2004, finally realizing that at the age of 24 if my life didn't already amount to something it never was going to, I gave in and decided to go to the University of New Orleans. Maybe it was that realization; maybe it was boredom and stagnation.
On my 24th birthday I baked myself a cake. Nothing special, just a box cake. I cut myself a generous piece and sat in front of the TV. I fell asleep before long, only to wake up when my mama got home from work.
"Mama?"
"Hey baby, what's up?"
"I'm gonna go to UNO."
"That's nice, sweety. You get some sleep now, ya hear?"
The next day I took a bus to the library and printed out all the paperwork I needed and applied for financial aid. I browsed through scholarships too, but it didn't seem like many applied to me.
It seemed an obvious choice to major in English. Maybe I could make something out of this writing gig after all.
Having something to do every day made me feel human again, eventhough I hadn't realized until then I had lost my humanity. The simple act of doing something brought me to life again. Maybe that's why my mama worked so much. She too needed to feel alive.
The first semester went by easily, although it was a little awkward at first being six years older than everyone else. But life went on. I adjusted. I lived. No, for the first time in my life I thrived.
I was still young enough to fit in, but despite this, I was having trouble making friends. Of course, I'm not one to start up a conversation. I mostly just keep to myself. There's a nice little tree where I like to sit and eat my lunch. It almost feels like nobody had discovered that spot yet except for the birds. It was really soothing.
Of course, good things never lasted long. I started to skip classes. I mean, I stayed caught up with my class work and all, but just sometimes I didn't have it in me to go to class. I started sleeping alot more, and before I new it, reading assignments were piling up. But luckily I was smart enough, and when I did go to class, I was able to get by just fine. I was mainly a B student, but hey, that's pretty good I think. I never was no Einstein, but you know, if it were a common thing, genius wouldn't be named after one man.
My hair was getting shaggy, and my mama kept pestering me to get it cut. One afternoon she was home, and went went to the John Jay salon on Robert E. Lee. I liked it. The students there knew to give me a nice haircut instead of an old man cut.
"I don't go into work til five, what do you say we go to Metairie and get you some new clothes? Maybe it'll make you feel better."
"I feel fine."
"Well I feel like driving somewhere. It's a nice day. We can go get some ice cream after. You always used to like your ice cream."
"Mama, I'm not a kid."
"You still need clothes."
The rest of our drive was in silence. She drove out to the Target at the Clearview Mall. I tried on some clothes. I was pretty boney back then, and everything billowed like a tent on me. I got three plaid shirts and two pairs of jeans. My mama wanted me to get a nice pair of pants too, "in case I meet someone pretty."
I felt kinda lame, in my early twenties, living with my mother, and I've never had a for real girl friend, and I've still never had sex. I went on a few dates with this girl in high school named Chrissann, but nothing ever came of it. It's funny looking back at myself at that time thinking I'd always be alone. If only I knew what I knew now. Ha. I have a feeling I'd always be saying that. It's as if my entire life was one big regret after another.
After Target, we stopped at a Baskin Robbins for ice cream. Mama was right, with the new haircut, the new clothes, and the ice cream, I did start to feel better, for both of us. I saw my mama smile, like, a real smile--not one of those fake ones she puts on when she gets home.
And that's what did it. That's what cause "six is not enough." I did not want to go back to the monotony. I wanted to end it on a high note. I was probably fucking up school more than I thought by missing so much. I didn't have any friends. I didn't have a job. I'm pretty sure my mama would be better off without me leeching onto her like a baby with its umbilical cord still attached.
After she left for work, I rifled through her medicine cabinet. I found a bottle of Valium that she had gotten a while back when she injured her back. There were six left in the bottle.
I sat in my bed staring down at the six blue pills sitting in my palm. There's no being poetic about it. They were not moons or orbs or mirrors. They were pills. And they were meant to kill me.
I wanted to cry so badly but couldn't. I wanted to punch a wall. I wanted to do something. Anything. But all I did was sit and stare. Sit and stare. Sit and stare. My heat beat loudly in my chest. bu-bum bu-bum bu-bum. The clock on the wall was ticking the seconds by. Tik tik tik tik tik tik. I heard cars on the street. whooooooooooosh. A siren. WROO-WROO-WROO-WROO-WROO! tik tik tik tik tik. bu-bum bu-bum bu-bum bu-bum. whoooosh. tik tik tik tik. WROO-WROO-WROO-WROO! bu-bum bu-bum bu-bum. tik tik tik. whoooosh beeep! WROO-WROO-WROO!
Then I did it. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. tik tik tik tik tik. I laid down, brought the covers up close, and went to sleep...
Only to wake up the next day. Another failure to add to my list. Another burden to add to my pile. I just tried to kill myself. What kind of person am I? Why did I do that?
I started seeing the campus counselor, Miss Elaine Cousin (koo-zan), but I didn’t tell anyone about it. She’d always tell me that I had nothing to be ashamed of, but I was still ashamed. For one, she couldn’t have been more than a couple a years older than me. How could she possibly know what she was doing? But she was kind and honest (I’m pretty sure she was lying through her teeth).
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My mama died during a sweaty night in June. I woke up and saw her on the couch sleeping yet still. She shoulda been at work. I tried waking her by shaking her shoulder. It felt cold and hard. Something was wrong; I just knew it. I stepped back, and my mind played out what to do. I called an ambulance, but when they got there, it was too late. In fact, by the time I saw her, it’d already been a few hours too late. My mama was dead. I felt like I should feel sad, but for some unknown reason, I didn’t feel a thing.
