Homecoming

Homecoming

Despite how carefully I pull the straight razor across my skin, I still manage to nick myself. I watch how the tiny spot of blood spreads through the shaving cream creating a larger pink spot. I imagine what it would look like to see that same blood flowing from my veins in thick ribbons and into a tub of water. I wonder what sort of pain I’d feel as my heart pumped itself empty. More than once I’ve considered just what it’d be like to pull the trigger of Mama’s revolver with the barrel tucked under my chin. This is a new strategy.

I rinse the razor off and finish shaving.

Opening the medicine cabinet above the sink I pull out a couple of bottles of pills and take one out of each, swallowing them dry.

Truth is, I wish I didn’t need the anxiety meds any more. I don’t feel anxious during the day, but as soon as I come off of them, the night terrors come back, strong as ever. I’ve had them for two years now. Ever since my boyfriend—my first and only—blew his brains out with a handgun while I lay sleeping, my head on his chest. His mama, a saint of a woman, had snatched me out of his bed and sent me home. She did her best to remove every trace of my presence before calling 911. She didn’t want me to be questioned by the police after what happened, and she sure as hell didn’t want my involvement getting out in town.

It wasn’t his first suicide attempt so it was barely investigated anyway. That didn’t prevent the psychological damage to me: the guilt, the anger, the nightmares. Both his family and mine have helped me grieve, and I’ve moved past it, even forgiven him, but I’m still prone to irrational anger and nightmares. Mentally, I’m fine, but my subconscious doesn’t seem to agree.

It’s the loneliness that really kills me, makes me wish I didn’t have to live. I feel like I’m completely and totally empty sometimes, like it’d be easy to pour out whatever life’s left in me. Just like James did.

I’m trying to remedy that, I really am. Most of my friends gave up on me during my long bout of depression after James’s death, but I’ve made some new ones. They’re sort of misfits like me, so it works out. We’ve only been hanging out a few months, and I don’t feel as close to them as I’d like. Tonight’s going to change that though.

I got a book on witchcraft that I’ve been studying. We’ve all done a few minor spells together, and their interest in it has grown. Tonight we’ll performa ceremony under the Harvest Moon that I hope will bring us closer together. I smile at my reflection in the mirror, as I spray on some perfume. Yes, tonight will make things better.

“Yeah, Mama. I’m gonna take Kaylee to homecoming an’ Blake’ll bring her home,” I say, as she tightens the pink tie around my neck. Her black Creek Indian head barely reaches my chest, but she never fails to mess with my clothes.

“You comin’ home tonight,” she asks, slapping my hand away as I try to pull on the tie.

“I don’t know. Maybe—“

“Stanley Joe, come on! I’m ready to go,” Kaylee’s shrill holler carries through the screen door.

I laugh and head outside, keys in hand. No need to stick around and tell her that I ain’t even going to that stupid dance. I’d drop Kaylee off and meet up with Jeff, Alan, and Billy, and we’d ride around for a while, try to find something to do while we waited on the moon to get high enough for our ceremony. Kaylee is standing by the car looking three different shades of pissed off in her second or third-hand satin dress. The damn thing is so long she has to wear these stripper heels she’s borrowed from her mama that are about two sizes too big and sinking into the grass already. Kaylee’s pale, like me somehow taking after the Irish side of the family, and the orange lipstick she’s smeared over her mouth is garish in the early evening light. I can’t help laughing.

“Oh, screw you,” she scowls and snatches the car door open.

She crosses her arms and doesn’t say anything else for a while as I drive. I continue to go slow even after I turn off the dirt road, watching out for deer. It’s a good thirty minute drive from my house to the school, and while I’m grateful she has a boyfriend to go to homecoming with so I’m spared from having to be her “date” for the night, but I wish he could’ve picked her up. I would’ve gone with her if I had to though and dared anybody to say anything. I smile and chuckle to myself, remembering how she decided I was her boyfriend in first grade. That was back before she knew that cousins couldn’t get married and before I decided that holding hands with girls was gross. But we’re a couple of hicks, so what does any of that matter anyway?

“You can stop laughin’ at me. I know I look stupid,” Kaylee says, glaring out the windshield.

“Naw,” I lie. “All them boys are gunna think you’re the sexiest thing there.”

“Oh, what’a you know anyway,” she says but looks a little less put out with me. Truth is, I might be gay, but even I can tell there ain’t nothing sexy about that dress with its acres of fabric and puffy little sleeves. It’s not her fault though. Atkinson County High declared that the girls weren’t to wear anything that wasn’t church appropriate. Even so, like always, there’d be a mixture of everything from short and trashy to the long, boxy dresses the holiness girls wear. Kaylee was a nice, normal middle ground for that school. Sexy or not.

When we get there, I drive around the parking lot looking for Blake’s truck. “He’s probably just runnin’ late,” I say and start to pull up where I can let her out.

“Stanley, will you go in with me? Please?” As much as I hate it, I’ve got twenty minutes til the guys are supposed to meet me, so I agree. The girl looks unreasonably nervous pulling at her teased-up hairdo and slipping her feet back into her heels.

“Alright, come on. I’m only stayin’ a minute,” I say, climbing out of the car.

Atkinson County, Georgia is a weird melting pot of people from different hispanic backgrounds, native Georgia red necks, and African-Americans. The white people in this area are pretty much outnumbered, and I like to remind Kaylee—and everyone else for that matter—that we are not really white. We just look it. Our Indian heritage has been my saving grace for years, the thing I cling to throughout my bouts of depression and identity crisis. I take a lot of pride in the Irish side of my family too—hell, I’m even learning Gaelic—but my new facial piercings aren’t just the gothic trappings of a “confused teenager” like people think. They’re a physical symbol of my heritage. One of the few I’m able to sport considering I inherited my daddy’s sun allergy. I love to embrace every part of my cultural identity and wear all the colorful pieces of it, even if this county does anything but thrill my soul.

The gymnasium when we entered was like a perfect visual representation of the town. It wasn’t particularly decorated aside from some sad, colored plastic table cloths and balloons. Some hideous racket that was supposed to be music was thumping from the speakers, the “singer” just talking and doing it so fast I could barely understand a word. A few people are in the middle of the floor grinding up on each other, but the rest stand awkwardly about separated into their different cliques, bored and ready for the damn dance to be over already so they can all go gang up in cotton fields and backyards and get shit faced or drive to Walmart the next county over where they can wander around and be seen. Most likely half of them will do both.

“Don’t worry. If his ass don’t show up, I’ll put a hex on ‘im,” I tell Kaylee as she cranes her neck around looking for Blake.

“Hey, Stanley,” somebody shouts and waved from across the crowded room. I smile in their general direction and wave back not really knowing who it is.

I steer Kaylee toward the punch table wondering where the rest of her friends are and dip myself out some of the bright green liquid. It looks like the typical “wedding punch” that’s popular in the area, but above the smell of pineapple is a distinct note of alcohol. I dump it back into the bowl.

“Don’t drank the Kool-aid, sweetie,” I say, but Kaylee isn’t standing behind me any more. She’s met Blake at the door. His tall frame drawfs her, but hers, bobbing up and down with hands on hips in front of him, makes his look totally inferior. “Time for me t’ get the heck outta dodge,” I say to no one in particular and start slipping my way out.

“Hey, Stanley! Didn’t think you were coming.” Damn it. Ian, one of the black clad kids standing in a group by themselves is grinning at me expectantly. I sigh, not in the mood to deal with them. While it might look like I would fit in with them, it just doesn’t work. We get along, but I’m an anomaly and they’re just following a different type of conformity. I learned a long time ago that when you don’t fit into any of the boxes like a tidy little check mark, you may as well stop trying to squeeze in. So I’m just the dude in between a dozen different generalities with no desire to conform. Which seemed to make them, like most everyone else, just a little disappointed with me.

“Oh, I’m not. I just come to drop Kaylee off. I have other plans tonight,” I say, feeling a bit guilty. “Y’all have fun though!” I shout the last part above the rising clamor of Hispanic music that has begun to play and duck out of the door as fast as I can.

Outside I can see Alan, Jeff, and Billy standing around my car looking bored as hell. Jeff has a cigarette in his mouth and Alan is pinching a wad of dip out of a can.

“There he is,” Billy hollers.

“We thought you’d decided to go dancin’ after all,” Alan says around the dip, his thin bottom lip protruding disgustingly.

“Naw, Kaylee just wanted me to take her in. I’m ready t’ get outta here when y’all are,” I say, pulling the pink tie off and tossing it in the car before grabbing my bandana and tambourine and unbuttoning the top buttons of my shirt.

We all load up in Billy’s old pick-up truck. Since I’m the biggest, I sit in the front while Alan and Jeff squeeze in beside Billy’s speakers and amps. Billy always carries his equipment with him, too scared to leave it at home where one of his methhead brothers might steal it. Considering I chipped in a whole paycheck for him to buy it, I’m glad he tries to be careful. I just wish he’d keep it at my house.

“I mighta found us a gig,” Alan says as we pull out.

“How the hell’d you manage that?” Billy looks back at him, incredulous. I grab the oh-shit handle and slap him upside the head with my other hand. He turns back to the road, rolling his eyes at me. “We don’t even have a recordin’.”

“I played the guy a few of my guitar riffs. He liked it, said if we want to play for nothin’ one night he’d hire us as regulars if he liked it,” Alan says, voice slow and rough. He’s been smoking since he was thirteen and you can hear the damage.

“Where’s he want us to play,” Billy asks not sounding as pleased as he should.

“A bar in Valdosta.”

I just sigh and look out the window trying to ignore Billy’s never ending stream of negativity as he tells Alan how terrible that idea is. That boy wouldn’t be happy if you handed him a million dollars. Not that the idea of lying to my mama and spending my gas money to go play at some podunk bar in Valdosta thrills me much either. Hell, we only have about three decent songs and for a drummer, Jeff’s timing is off more often than not. I’m beginning to wonder if he’s going deaf as quiet and off as he’s been lately.

Billy stops bitching long enough to pull up at the drive-thru window of the package store on the edge of town. I slide down in my seat and pray nobody sees me. We’re only sixteen, but Billy managed to get a fake id from somewhere and nobody knows his family very well since they live so far out. He never has any trouble. It wouldn’t work for me.

He orders a twelve pack of beer and a pint of Southern Comfort.

“I’ll have a Coke,” I hiss at him. He rolls his eyes, but orders it anyway. They all know I don’t drink, but Billy is the only one to ever give me a hard time about it. I hate the taste of beer and the few times I’ve tried any sort of liquor hasn’t ended well. The alcohol reacts with my anxiety medicines making me sick as a dog.

“You ain’t off them damn pills yet, Stanley? A drink or a joint would probably do you just as much good,” Billy says as I hand the beer back to Jeff and he pulls out of the parking lot.

“Naw, my period’s so irregular I gotta stay on the birth control. Mixin’ alcohol with it gives me the runs,” I say, tying my bandana around my head. Alan and Jeff snicker in the back, but Billy just grips the steering wheel and glares out the windshield, irritated. I’m not serious. I just like to poke fun at my gender abnormalities to get a rise out of people. I’m fully male, thanks to the surgery the doctors did right after I was born. It’s why my Southern Pentacostle family very rarely gives me any shit about my sexuality. I’m always quick to remind them that it’s probably their “fault” anyway.

Everybody in this damn truck knows what I’ve been through, and I know Billy is one of those people that are aggravated by my jokes. He sure won’t bring up my anxiety medicine again tonight. If he did, I’d probably just skip the jokes and give him a black eye and say ‘the hell with it all. He’s probably my least favorite out of the bunch.

I take a long swig of my Coca-Cola letting the silence yawn a little wider as Billy turns onto a dirt road. I, actually, have plans to have some fun tonight, and I refuse to let Billyboy’s sour mood get in the way. The weather is cool tonight and the harvest moon is glowing orange, bloated on the horizon.

“It’s lookin’ like some mighty fine weather for the ceremony tonight,” I say, ready to break the tension in the vehicle.

“Yeah, man, I got the herbs right here,” Jeff says from the back, grinning and shaking a small plastic bag of crushed sage leaves. It’s dark and looks more like oregano to me, but I think better of saying anything. It’s a million wonders they agreed to participate al all. It’s not like we would be able to do any of it perfectly anyway considering I can’t get me hands on half of the ritualistic materials you’re supposed to have.

“What’s the point of doing this anyway,” Billy asks, unscrewing the cap on his liquor.

“Well, it’s in respect of the goddess, and it’ll make our magic stronger for the rest of the month.” It’s also supposed to bind us together, to form a bond of compassion and group interest like in a coven. But I don’t dare tell him that.

“We gotta wait til the moon’s high, right? That’s gonna be a little while,” Alan says from the back, craning his neck around to judge the position of the moon behind us.

“That’s alright,” Billy says. “I got us somethin’ else planned.”

A few minutes later we were pulled over on the side of a sandy dirt road under the canopy of good ol’ Georgia pines, their shapes ethereal against the bright, navy sky, feathery boughs casting shadows over the softly glowing sand. I shake my tambourine lightly and in time with the wind. We’re out near Axon, a good ten or twelve miles from any houses, so there’s no one to hear us.

Alan’s red hair is bleached orange where the moonlight is able to hit it and Jeff’s pale skin is faintly fluorescent, just like the sand. Billy drops the tailgate of the truck down and pulls out a wide piece of wood with a hole on one end that has a rope tied through it. He drop it on the ground and shuts the tailgate with a grunt. “I used to do this all the time with my cousins,” Billy says grinning. “It’s so much fun!”

Alan eyes the contraption cautiously and chugs the rest of his beer as Billy ties the free end of the rope to his truck. Throwing the empty can into the back he says, “Jeff can go first.”

I take a few steps backward, not at all liking where this scenario is heading. I may be country, but I ain’t stupid. This damn plywood and string game is stupid in its most humble and straight forward form. It ain’t even trying to pretend to be anything else.

Billy tells Jeff he can sit on the wood and hold onto the rope while he’s showing him how to do it. Jeff takes his place and Billy climbs back into the cab of the truck, holding the door wide open.”Ready?” He hollers the single word and before Jeff even has a chance to answer, floors the gas pedal in the truck. The tires spin in the soft sand, flinging it backward and causing the back end of the truck to sling to the left.

Jeff cries out and I want to cry out too as Alan runs up the road toward where Billy has already slammed on the brake and Jeff is rolling toward the ditch, the piece of wood slid up under the truck.

Jeff catches himself and jumps up and wobbling a little on his feet, hoots “that was awesome!”

I laugh, relieved that he is fine and thankful that Billy has turned into a bubbling fountain of excitement because it bodes well for the rest of the evening. I do a little dance with my tambourine and cheer.

“You up next, Stan,” Billy asks the grin still covering his face.

“Me? I uh—“ I stop banging my tambourine and search my mind for an excuse. “I cain’t. I got that back injury from playin’ basketball last year, remember? I’d throw something out of whack tryin’ that fer sure.”

Whether he’s fully satisfied with my answer or not, Billy moves on asking Alan to drive for him. Instead of getting on his knees on the piece of wood the way that Jeff did, Billy climbs up into the bed of the truck and hollers for Alan to go.

Alan doesn’t spin out the way that Billy did, but Billy is still jerked by the motion and has to brace himself against the tailgate to keep from falling over. Jeff and I take one look at each other and take off running after them, scared to death Billy is about to get himself killed. He holds his arms out to the side, palms forward, before bending his knees and in one swift movement, jumping over the tailgate and landing smack dab in the middle of the ply wood. He crouches down and manages to stay on for a few seconds before losing his balance and sliding off, rolling in the soft sand.

The brakes squeal as Alan stops the truck. He jumps out and gets to where Billy is lying before Jeff and I make it to him, doubled over and panting with me clutching my side. Billy takes the hand Alan’s offered him and pulls himself up laughing hysterically as he shakes the dirt out of his hair. His blue eyes are wild and excited and for a moment, I almost think he’s handsome.

“Man, you scared the shit outta me!” Alan punches him in the arm.

Billy jumps up and puts the taller fella in a choke hold, rubbing his sandy fist in Alan’s hair. They’re both laughing as Billy shoves Alan away, “Your turn!”

Their antics continue for over an hour. I eventually stop running to keep up and content myself with walking along the road and enjoying the night and the sound of their laughter. When they finally stop they’re so far up the road from me I can barely see them. I can hear Billy cussing up a blue streak. He must’ve hurt himself. Don’t surprise me a bit.

When I make it back to the truck, Billy’s calmed down and is leaning against the side of the truck while Jeff sits in the passenger seat smoking a cigarette. Alan’s on the driver’s side. “Y’all ‘bout done with all this nonsense,” I ask, plucking the cigarette from Jeff’s mouth and sticking it in my on. I take a long drag and hand it back, attempting to blow smoke rings at Billy.

“Yeah, Stan. We’re done,” Billy says, taking another swig from his bottle. “Can we do the deed yet? I can see the moon through the trees right there.”

“Yeah, we—“ I’m interrupted by a sudden loud rustling sound in the woods. Jeff jumps and Billy leans carefully over him, eyes fixed on the woods behind me. He gently opens the glove box and pulls out a pistol. I raise an eyebrow, “Are you serious? It’s just a deer. Whatchya think you’re gunna do with that?”

He ignores me and stands there listening for a few more moments. I grow more frustrated with every passing second. “What the hell, Billy? That ain’t funny.”

“No, it ain’t,” he finally says, shaking his head and sticking the gun in the waistband of his pants.

“Y’all ready to do this?” I ask.

They all agree and we decide to ride up the road a ways to a cotton field where we’ll have a better view of the sky. On the way, Jeff pulls out a pipe and fills it with something I can’t see but highly suspect it isn’t tobacco. He lights it and blows on the bowl. A funky, scent faintly reminiscent of mushrooms or the forest floor fills the cab. I crack my window while he smokes and passes the pipe back and forth between the rest of the guys. I don’t ask what’s in the pipe, and I’m thankful that nobody offers it to me. I’m more surprised that they didn’t get high before their stunts jumping off the truck.

When we get to the field, Alan pulls the truck off the road and we all pile out. Billy leads the way, gun handle still sticking out of the back of his pants. The field has been plowed over so we have plenty of room to cast our circle in it and Billy is heading out towards the middle. A shivery excitement fills me, and I grin up at the heavens. The view is breathtaking with the dark trees bordering the field in stark contrast to the brightness of the sky. Stars winking down by the millions and that blessed moon shining down, still tinged gold though it’s climbed above the horizon where it’s greatest glory lies. I spin around in a little circle of my own before grabbing Alan and Jeff’s hands where they’ve all stopped in a little circle. With their hands in mine and this beauty all around me, I am consumed with gratitude and my heart feels swollen and happy in my chest.

I explain what we need to do to cast the circle and Jeff puts some of the sage in his pipe and lights it. A thin grey smoke curls up. It’s not the most ideal way to smudge a circle, but it’ll work. I let him walk around the circle while Billy, Alan, and I hold hands in the middle. Billy’s blue eyes search mine, a faint smile on his face as he squeezes my hand tighter. I squeeze back and grin, almost too happy to contain my excitement. After this ritual we’ll all truly be bound like brothers! I won’t have to worry about being alone any more.

When Jeff rejoins the middle of the circle I raise my arms skyward and turn my face to the moon. I begin to say the prayer:

Goddess of the moon, queen of the night,

keeper of women's mysteries, mistress of the tides,

you who are ever changing and yet always constant,

I ask that you guide me with your wisdom,

help me grow with your knowledge,

and hold me in your…

A sharp pain blossoms into a warm flood from the back of my head. My vision shakes, and I look back down in panic. Billy’s familiar face is in front of mine, grinning.

“I’m telling you, boys. The goddess is in him and we’ve got to release her tonight,” he says as black and white spots bloom over his face, blocking out the light. My heart beats furiously in my chest even as my knees give way.

“We’ll have to kill him, won’t we,” Alan’s voice asks from far away.

“Oh, yes, but not here.”

Mama should have turned the heater on. I’m freezing, I think, reaching for the covers to pull them back on me. I don’t feel any. In fact, I don’t feel like I’m in my bed at all. Sleepily I crack my eyes open and wince as pain pulses from the back of my head. What the hell? I’m lying on a dirt floor in old building, faint light shining through cracks in the wood.

I rack my brain trying to remember what happened before I fell asleep. Yawning, I ease myself up on my elbows to see Billy, Jeff and Alan passed out a few feet away. A wave of nausea hits me as I see them and my heart begins to pound as I remember Billy’s words last night before I passed out. The bastards must’ve hit me with something and knocked me out. I wince from the throbbing pain in my head as I push myself up off the ground. Looking at Billy, my belly fills with a sort of anger and hate I have never felt before. It’s stronger and more pure than any of the bouts of rage I suffered through after James’s suicide. This anger is a burning sensation spreading through my veins and filling me with a terrible desire to go over to him and kick his ribs in.

It occurs to me that this all was some sort of sick joke, and I don’t care. If anything it makes me madder. How the hell could he betray me like this? What is wrong with them? I stomp over to where they’re sleeping and notice the gun lying beside Billy and pick it up. My pulse is beating within me at an ungodly tempo, and I want to shoot him. I want to see his blood staining everything within a couple of feet, just like James’s had, just like I feared mine would before I went down last night. I clench my teeth together and fight against myself to keep from kicking him in the face. That might wake him up and then I wouldn’t have any chance to decide what to do.

I’m in some sort of old tobacco building, a neater one than I’ve seen anywhere but at the state park. Old-fashioned tools hang on hooks along the walls and a more modern tool box sits in the corner. This place must still be in use for something by someone. Beside the toolbox is a length of rope. Seeing the rope gives me an idea. Grasping the gun, I gently prod each of the boys gauging just how good they’re out. None of them so much as stir.

I decide to use the rope to tie their hands together. I have to scoot there bodies a little closer together then I take Alan’s hand first sit Jeff’s on top of it and put Billy’s on top of them all. Then I tie them together. The ropes not long enough to tie all six of their hands together, but I’m able to get this not pretty tight. Exhaustion is tugging at me and my stomach is roiling from the exertion by the time I get done. My anger begins to ebb a bit as I’m overcome by the intense need to get home and lay down. I grab Billy’s keys from his pocket and look down at the passed out boys I though were my friends. It seems too kind to leave them there where they’re together and can easily enough get free of my rope job.

I just can’t leave them like that.

I muster what energy I have left in me and re-situate them so that they are facing away from me and the door to the barn. I place the barrel of the gun to the upraised palm of Billy’s hand and pull the trigger. The noise is louder than I expected. I turn and run out of the barn, throwing the gun into the far corner on my way out. As I pump my feet to where Billy’s truck is I think I hear voices, but I’m not sure. Not sure and don’t care. They’ll be fine, but they’ll have a scar by which to remember what they did to me, what they tried to do. I feel lightheaded and I’m not sure whether it’s from my head injury or from the sheer terror that seems to coil its way through my limbs at the thought of someone taking my life.

Judging by the light outside it’s the backside of dawn. As I slide into the driver’s side of the truck, I pray that Kaylee has covered for me and Mama isn’t waiting up. It’s all I can do to keep alert as I drive back with this god awful pain in my head. If she were to start yelling at me, I don’t think I could take it.

It takes me only a quarter of an hour to get to the school where I leave Billy’s truck, and I make it home just as the sun is peaking fully over the horizon. Sick to my stomach, I don’t want anything but my bed. When I slip into the house I can hear my snoring in her room down the hall. I let out a sigh of relief and grab the telephone on my way back to my room. If I had learned anything from the situation with James it’s how to cover my ass and keep the law from getting involved.

I lay down on the bed and ease my aching head down on the pillow as I dial my Aunt Sheryl’s number. She answers on the fifth ring. “Sheriff,” I say aware of the catch in my voice. “Imma need a real big favor from you.”

I groan as the phone wakes me up. The caller id says it’s Billy’s cell phone. Funny, I didn’t see him with it last night. “What?” I say by way of answer.

“WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE TO ME, YOU SON OF A BITCH?” His screeching is garbled by the phone and the sound of the others crying. I listen in amusement until he gets done screaming threats and accusations.

“Naw, I don’t believe I’d do that if I were you,” I say in answer to his threat to call the cops. “I’ve already talked it over with the sheriff. Y’all are just lucky I did what I did instead o’ turning y’all in. I don’t think none of ya could handle a few decades in prison for attempted murder,” I say and let the line go dead for a second. “And ya best stay the hell away from me from now on.”

I hang up the phone, totally confident that they won’t tell on me. In fact I don’t really care if they do. Aunt Sheryl assured me it wouldn’t be that bad if we weren’t able to keep it covered up.

I lay there and I think about James, about what I’ve done and what could have happened, about Mama’s revolver in her nightstand table. I think about how I felt before I left to go take Kaylee to homecoming, how I’ve felt for the past couple of years, and it occurs to me that I have no desire to die. What’s more I have no desire to leave my family to suffer after I’m gone. That became abundantly clear when I felt myself looking death in the face last night. Something inside me snapped like a breaking dam and a flood of will power, of hope and of dreams, came barreling through the sadness that had kept it all locked up for so long. I did want to live. I do want to feel all of the sadness, loneliness, and joy that comes my way.

The road ahead probably wouldn’t be much easier than it’s been before now, but at least I know that my life desires to be lived simply for life’s sake. That should be enough. It will be enough.