Posted by: Linda B | August 16, 2010

want to die

I was barely in the single digits of age and I remember hearing someone scream. In those days, in that place, you could often hear the neighbor’s yell or laugh, whether the windows were open or not. This time they were and it was a sound I had not heard from an adult before. It was definitely an adult.

August 16, 1977. I remember this day vividly for that scream. Then someone yelled. I remember how quiet it was after those two noises. The kind of quiet that gives kids the heebie-jeebies.

Not scared, but definitely not comfortable, I ran across the grass of the courtyard to my house. The bang of the screen door. My Mom was sitting on the golden couch with its white swirl pattern (so 70s) listening to the radio.

I sat beside her, the quiet followed me. She gave me a hug. I knew she was non-crying. Tears, no noise. She smiled a little smile. “Someone I grew up with died today.” We listened to his records until my Dad came home later that evening.

He was 42.

Now, here in Memphis, the memory of that death is remembered annually. Truth is, as hot and miserable as it is here, I can see how someone could (and would want to) die.

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Responses

  1. Yikes. Stand in front of the Ice box sipping a cool Mint Julip in your evening shirt before ya all go mad.

  2. I was 19 years old on that day. I was at my college apartment when my roommate came in and told me what had happened. Seems like yesterday to me.

    Good to see you blogging again.


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