The Last Time We Ever Met Pt. 5

"All men return to dust. The manner of a man's living and dying is of paramount importance." -John W. Powers

(Damon and I discussing Iraq. This was the first time we saw each other since he returned from combat .
These conversations were extremely somber. The look on our faces is still chilling. Photo rosey lakos.)

  

  The closet was a walk in but it was narrow with racks of vintage clothing hanging on either side. A small window that looked out onto the steel staircase was closed and the air inside was stale and quiet. It was a rage beyond rage. A sadness built over the course of a year had finally broken through the sediments of denial. A final obstacle lay before me. I had lost it completely and I was totally out of control.


  In the madness of my pain I set out to escape. Blind with anger I began to scream as loud as I ever had and I dug furiously through the clothing looking for a way out. It was so desperate of an attempt that I thought for a moment that if I dug deep enough like a rabbit I could find my way to another side. So I dug and dug into the corner of the floor with my bare hands until the paint stuck to my fingernails. No one heard me scream. No one came. 


  I breathed deeply tangled in piles of clothing and I saw my surroundings clearly for the first time. I ached and lay defeated upon the floor. Sitting in the dark closet starring across at the wall that I had destroyed I watched as bits of concrete and chips of vanilla colored paint crumbled to the floor and the stuck to the wooden stock of my carbine. My elbow began swelling with bitter pain I realized that I was alone in a closet with a rifle. My hands shook slightly and then my eyes closed. I breathed and slumped into a tearless no-zone of thought. The time had come to decide where and how my life would end or begin. 
  
  I don’t remember what happened next. I don’t remember the rest of the day except that for the first time in over a year I had accepted that Damon was dead. The war In Iraq had invaded my life and robbed my friend from me. I could see his face, a concern spread across his gentle eyes. He'd been to this nightmare universe. Was he with me in this closet? I think I fell asleep but I’ll never know for sure. The carbine’s 15-round magazine remained cold and empty. I was alive. 

To be continued..