That One Afternoon

Hot wind blew through the windows of the Ranger in the summer of my 20th year as we cruised east on 84 headed back to La Grande from Pendleton. My legs smashed in the back where I sat with the gypsy, her big Chief Broom husband rode shotgun while my asshole husband drove.

Pink Floyd; Atom, Heart, Mother, my stoned glazed eyes watched the prairie roll by. I didn't want to talk, but the gypsy kept asking me questions about selling her jewelry on consignment at the coffee shop where I worked. The mother of the guitarist of my asshole husband's band, she annoyed me. Her skin leathery from years of heroine, alcohol, and cigarettes. Mother to a methhead with amazing skills that would get wasted. I remember just watching her mouth move and thinking how appropriate the music, Funky Dung.

Eventually we got to the university where everyone agreed would be a good place to have the Native and the Gypsy spread out their wares for college kids to waste their money.

I just wanted to get away from these people, the funky pachouli. Making some excuse about getting stuff to picnic on, I parted from them headed to my parents house.

I walked south along 6th Street, the stone starting to wear off, mind wondering. A siren ran red west along C Street, not a common sight in this small town.

I cut up F Street, that's when the sirens cut, and something grabbed my gut. Turning left onto 4th I saw my confirmation.

Blue gloves, gurney....

"It's the old lady next door", I tried to tell myself, but I knew. I ran up to the paramedics, pulling my ID out of the back pocket of my cut offs. One of them looked at me worried I'd be difficult, but years of emergency training shut down any emotion as I explained I lived there, this was my family.

One last thread of denial ran through my mind, that maybe ...

But the cries from the house confirmed it. My dad and sister poured from the house, emotion poured from the house.

It was over.

I wandered into the house, making my way to the back of the house, past the rushing blue gloves and orders, through the back living room to the bedroom where my mother lay clutching the gun, still, pale, free.

Dad and sister hastily packed and left to stay at a hotel.

In a blur I wondered back to the group at the college. My husband decided to lose it on me and leave for Portland. The Native and the gypsy followed me back to the now empty house, manifested sage, shoved it into my hand. We smudged each window sill, door frame, and corner.

Everything became increasingly blurry and dark. I sat down on the couch, still in shock and covered my face for who knows how long.

Everyone was gone.