"It needs to be immobilized until we can get you in to see Spider Pig".
I have been re-watching the television show, Six Feet Under on the nights that Alec works. I have been doing it for a couple of months. I am in the last season. I remember coming home from a year in Spain in the fall of 2005. It was a rough time in my life and I watched the last season in a marathon session on rented DVDs. I would get really wasted and sit on my bed and watch and watch and watch. And cry.
"Her jaw is broken in two places. She has to be muzzled and can't come out of her crate except to pee for six to eight weeks".
I laid next to the baby Pit Bull that my mom rescued from euthanasia and cried. We had literally gotten her at the like, thirteenth hour. Her eyes seemed to scream above her wired shut mouth. I couldn't hold her enough. But I couldn't really hold her. I just laid next to her cage while she pressed her body up to the side and I petted her from the outside.
Margaret killed herself a month and a half before I came home. I learned that she loved the show and watched it religiously. As I downloaded a new episode all these years later, I happened to see the original release date: June something, 2005. With each episode I watch, I know I am getting closer to the day she did it in late July, 2005. It fills me with doom, but I can't stop watching it. What shocked me is that she didn't see the last three episodes. She didn't hold off until the end. I can tell by the release dates. Maybe when I watch the last three episodes she won't be with me anymore, maybe she will get out of my head.
Spider Pig's office looked as dingy as ever. I looked over at the physical therapy area. My old cool receptionist was gone. I remember that she was in graduate school; she probably graduated and got the kind of job she really wanted. The actual physical therapist was gone too, he was getting married and wanted to move back to his old hometown and buy a house near his parents and have land and kids with his high school sweetheart. A new guy was in there. A year has passed.
Everyone has moved on. Except me. I am just broken again and living in that nasty office, watching people with catheters and reading the same old magazines.
No comments:
Post a Comment