A disturbing rumble
Apr. 27th, 2006 10:41 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pjthompsonThey're doing heavy construction work not a hundred yards from where I sit and some kind of massive machine pounds the ground in rhythmic insistence. Each time it does, the chair I sit upon minutely drops out from under me, and I take a miniscule tumble back into it—hardly a ripple, but steady, and my stomach fractionally registers that tiny fall each time. In this earthquake prone land any rumble is viewed with a kind of anticipation, at least until a non-earthly cause can be found to ease the mind.
Some non-earthly rumbles don't ease the mind, though. Last night, fresh off the commute, I heard from my mother that my cousin, T., died of an overdose on Easter Sunday.
I didn't know T. particularly well. I only met him a handful of times and he was a—what? Third cousin? My mom's first cousin's son. But he was such a sweet spirit. Every time I was around him, that spirit was like a brush against soft wings. He loved to laugh and find the absurdities in things, but he managed to do it without coming off as cynical. I can't reconcile that charming, diffident kid growing up to be the addict and dying from it. What went wrong in that little life?
Sadly, I didn't know him well enough to say. Maybe the hard edges of the world were just too much for him and he needed something to blur those edges.
I held off my reaction last night, pushed it away, but this morning it's rumbling beneath everything. I hope he's free.
The last time I saw him we went to Disneyland together. The happiest place on earth.
Some non-earthly rumbles don't ease the mind, though. Last night, fresh off the commute, I heard from my mother that my cousin, T., died of an overdose on Easter Sunday.
I didn't know T. particularly well. I only met him a handful of times and he was a—what? Third cousin? My mom's first cousin's son. But he was such a sweet spirit. Every time I was around him, that spirit was like a brush against soft wings. He loved to laugh and find the absurdities in things, but he managed to do it without coming off as cynical. I can't reconcile that charming, diffident kid growing up to be the addict and dying from it. What went wrong in that little life?
Sadly, I didn't know him well enough to say. Maybe the hard edges of the world were just too much for him and he needed something to blur those edges.
I held off my reaction last night, pushed it away, but this morning it's rumbling beneath everything. I hope he's free.
The last time I saw him we went to Disneyland together. The happiest place on earth.