66 - 67

My kindergarten teacher was a nice old lady. When I was a cop I helped the medics carry her out of her apartment on an aided case one day. She said that she remembered me. It was twenty-five years after the fact but she remembered me. I wonder how that works, with teachers I mean. Are they all blessed with this indelible memory of every kid who sat amongst the sea of kids that a teacher must swim through in a decades long teaching career?

I'm pretty sure she really did remember me. I have an unusual name. A Scandinavian name. She was first generation Scandinavian. Same country even. Yeah, she really did remember but she never made it back to that little apartment. That was kind of sad. Cops firefighters and medics all deal with that sort of thing all the time. It's a lot different when it's someone you knew or had a connection to.


I knew this guy John. We hung out with the same crowd when we were teens. When I was a cop he ended up living just blocks from my station house. He actually lived upstairs from one of the cops I worked with. One day a neighbor in the building where he lived called nine-one-one. The neighbor said that she had not seen John in days. She knew John and she knew that was unusual. She was fairly certain he was in his apartment. My partner and I arrived and spoke to the cop we worked with who lived downstairs. I ended up going up the fire escape with that guy while my partner continued to pound on John's door in an attempt to contact him.

From the fire escape outside John's kitchen window we could see dozens of empty beer cans and hard liquor bottles strewn about the floor. We saw legs, John's legs in blue jeans and white running shoes laying across the doorway from the kitchen to the living room of the small one bedroom apartment. The double hung window was not locked. We slid it up and the off-duty cop I was with punched the screen to gain entry to the apartment while I called for medics to respond.

John was barely breathing. He was not responsive at all. My partner had retrieved the oxygen we carried in the trunk of the patrol car and hooked it up with a nasal cannula. He fit the cannula in John's nose and set the rate of flow at number two. All we could do was wait for the medics who did respond in very good time.

I knew John had a drinking problem prior to this incident. Another guy I worked with had charged him with DUI after an MVA that the officer witnessed himself. Thankfully no one was injured in that accident. I would see John at the bus stops at times. I would see John stumbling up the street. We gave John rides when we could. Just to get him off the street. He was never incoherent or unable to converse so transport to the hospital was never required. John had been through all the programs.

I called a couple of old friends who knew him as well. They were able to contact family. When I was done with my shift that day I changed in the locker room and responded to the hospital to see John. I was not family so I was not allowed to enter ICU to visit. I badged the nurses. I told them I was an old friend of John's. I told them I was one of the cops on the call. They said no family members were present. No one was with John. They let me in for a visit. He was still in a coma like state. I held his hand for a minute and talked to him. I left after a short time. I didn't want to get emotional. The two guys I had called went to visit him after I did. I talked to them on the phone about it. They reported the same. No family members present. John still in a coma.

John died a few days later.

Brick.

I was talking to my sister. She said that I'm facing what may seem to be an impassable brick wall. She said that on the other side of that wall is a garden. The garden leads down to the dunes an onto the beach. She said that I will get to the other side of that wall.

(I need some overhead imagery. How long is the wall? Do I go left or right? What's the quickest route. How thick is the wall. Can I breach it?)

I wasn't getting it. I never do. Then she tells me that when I'm driving back up to Jersey from Florida I should stop and stay at my niece's place when I get to D.C.

(...ring the bell...Hi! It's your recently suicidal uncle here for an unexpected visit. Got any ammo? Preferably hollow points. Wad cutters won't do. I might just wound myself then have to wait around and die from led poisoning.)

If I'm as far north as D.C. I'll just finish up the drive. It's close enough to Jersey. My swimmingly cosmopolitan niece does not need her uncle dropping by to disrupt her life. She would not agree of course. She's family. I'm just saying that there may be some better options.

(I have this blind cousin who still rides his old Triumph. He loves Zep. A blind Zep fan on a motorcycle. I love this country.)

I'll stop in North Carolina. My cousin lives lives there. Not too far from Fort Bragg. I can spend a night or two, it's about half the way up so it's a given. Maybe he'll let me ride one of his old bikes around.

SEVEN - OH.

When I was a cop that meant out of service. The Ten Code guys would say ten-seven. I think the trend is leaning towards just saying what it is. Numerical radio codes can be confusing.

I'm in Florida right now. I drove down here almost two weeks ago. Left home late Saturday afternoon. Arrived here on Sunday evening. It seems that I wanted to die. Briefly that is. I don't mean die briefly, I mean for a brief few moments in time I wanted to die. My wife wouldn't give me my pistol when she threw me out this last of now six times that she's asked me to leave. I told her I wanted to sell it.

Somewhere along the highway I stopped at a rest area with no facilities available beyond a place to park. I dug a very small hole. Just wide and deep enough to hold my four inch folding knife blade up with the handle firmly secured in the dirt. My plan was to fall on the blade. Not a very good plan. As I stood over the knife trying to line it up correctly I realized that the odds were not in my favor, at least as far as the wound being fatal. No, my training and experience led me to believe that I would probably just hurt myself and end up looking stupid when some truck driver or Trooper found me there.

(I didn't really want to die anyway. Still don't. Never really did. Looking at it on this side. Now.)

So my next stroke of shear genius is as follows:

I decided to continue south. The Sunshine State being my destination. I have an old friend there, I'll go see him. He owns a couple of weapons. Firearms that is. I'm thinking I'll talk him into going to the range and when he opens up that gun safe I'll grab something short like his pistol and run out the door with it. When I got to his house I realized I wouldn't be doing that either. After a few hours of sleep I told him what was going on. I told him that I had actually considered using his pistol. He was fuckin' pissed. I don't blame him. The cops probably would have kept the piece.

(As well as the peace. Get it? I like that. I'll have to use that sometime.)

So not only would he have to live with me capping myself using his gun, he would have been out at least a grand. It's a titanium Smith with an integral laser site. Nice gun.

(He doesn't care about the gun. That's my own spin.)

He calls a number. I checked myself in. I told the shrink what I had thought about. They kept me for a week.

I take two pills every morning. One at night. I'm doing follow up care. I will not leave my kids like that. It was selfish for me to think that I could. That's just part of it. That's the most important part for me however. Suicide ain't painless. That's a stupid fuckin' song anyway. Good movie, great show, stupid song.

I'm staying with family right now. I've got some relatives down here. Good people. I have to replace calipers and rotors on the old Jeep. Had a caliper freeze up once I got down here. When that's done I'll be heading north. I'm going to stay with family and try to assess the situation. Get involved with my therapy up there. It's already set up. With enough sleep you realize that life really is good.

EIGHT - OH....Back in service.

Tunes.

I want to write something. Got nothing to write. Listening to Steve Earle. Copperhead Road. What a song. I love the old Highlander pipes in the beginning.........

McKee's Mills.

I remember my great-uncles on my mother's side in Canada. The ones who fought in WWI. Those guys were something. I remember three of them. There were five or six all together. I think I remember three of them. I know for sure that I met two of them. One of them in particular, A.J., I spent a summer with in 1971. He was an old man even back then. He lived in a cabin on the Little Bouctouche River. One of my grandmother's cousins lived upsteam on a farm. I called him Uncle Earl and he taught me how to shoot that summer. An old bolt action single shot .22 with a scope mounted on rings that held the scope an inch or so off the top of the rifle. I was an excited nine year old. I was going to shoot like the big guys, with a scope and everything. I sat on the bench behind that rifle that was nestled on some small home made sandbags on an old picnic table. Several targets were stapled to the old barn about twenty-five yards downrange. I could see the small bulls eye clear as day through that scope. Earl quietly put some tape over the scope and directed me to use the iron sights that were visibly accessible through the scope rings. The small bulls eye was an even smaller black circle off in the distance now.

"The top of that front sight blade on the bottom of that bulls eye circle. Keep it centered in the rear. Breath out slow, and squeeze."

Earl taught me the basic fundamentals of good marksmanship that summer. Earl also taught me how to handle a weapon safely. Earl took me fishing on the banks of that Little Bouctouche River. We also went fishing in the little flat bottomed boat out where the river gets wider, closer to where Uncle A.J. lived. Yeah, Uncle Earl was a steady, confident and patient teacher. Uncle A.J. on the other hand, Uncle A.J. was a little different.

Uncle A.J. had a shit eatin' grin as wide as that river just down the hill from his cabin. Uncle A.J. liked to show off his bearskin rug and tell you how he killed that bear with a Broom Handle Mauser that he took off a dead German in the trenches back around 19 something teen. That bear chased him up a tree and he dropped his rifle of course. Now he would be the first to tell you that climbing up a tree is not the thing to do when running from an angry bear, unless you want to lure that bear to an early demise with a couple of magazines at point blank range. Even then the bear didn't die right away. Uncle A.J. had to track that bastard almost two miles before he came upon it and finished it off with a rifle round to the the chest. And don't get me started about the Moose. The rack that hung over the door to that cabin seemed like it was ten feet across.

I had a real nice time in Canada that summer when I was nine years old.

Those guys were good guys.

April? continued.

Yeah, after I said "April?" and must have sounded surprised, and said something about being put on hold on the suicide hot line and not getting any respect (I love Rodney Dangerfield. He was a funny bastard.) the girl took my particulars after asking me to hold on while she checked with someone who turned out to be a Psych. Nurse who called me back the next morning. I wasn't home so I had to call her back. I just got around to doing that today. Well I have not done it yet but I will as soon as I'm done with this. Did I mention that sometimes I put things off? Anyway, it's all good. I am to speak with someone today who will "interview" me telephonically.

Is that even a real word? Telephonically? I would sometimes write that in police reports back when I did that sort of thing.

The witness was contacted telephonically at his place of employment and interviewed briefly
via the aforementioned telephone. The witness did state that he (the witness) did observe an altercation that took place at the aforementioned location on the aforementioned date at the aforementioned time. The witness did further state that he (the witness) did clearly see the aforementioned alleged perpetrator known commonly on the street as "Meat" strike the victim with a telephone numerous times about the victim's head and shoulders. The victim was in fact beaten.........telephonically?

Okay. Not really, but you get the idea. We really did use the word telephonically. Maybe not that often but we used it. And I did once know of a guy called "Meat". I never met him but I know someone who did. Oh yeah. The assault with a phone thing is actually fairly common. It's a readily available weapon, frequently used during domestics.

Hey Tommy. I have to go call the Psych people back. I'm fine.....Really.

April?

So last week I called the mental health section of the local hospital to make an appointment. I'm not sure how it works. Do I need a referral from my doctor? The answer is no. After asking me what kind of insurance I have they tell me I do not need a referral. Guess I have one of those "Cadillac Plans" that congress wants to tax.

Yeah, that's a great idea. Lets tax hard working people who have insurance while the plugs on Wall Street continue to pay themselves millions of dollars in bonuses with our money that many of them still have not payed back. Hey, are those useless skells in Washington going to pay taxes on their insurance plans? Are the plugs on Wall Street going to still be able to claim private jets and fancy vacations as business expenses? I have to be honest here. If the tax burden is equally shared, with every American shouldering his or her responsibility based on what we earn and what we can afford then I am all for it. I just have a sneaking suspicion that that's not what's going on here. Call me a cynic. I'm just sayin'.

I digress. It just occurred to me. I don't need therapy and we don't need health care reform. At least not the kind of reform that's being discussed. Not one single Washington skell is really looking out for us. They are all looking out for themselves and their rich friends, the plugs on Wall Street and the Insurance Vultures. The President wanted health care reform. He had some ideas that he wanted to implement. He talked about those ideas during his campaign. We The People put him in office. We gave him a majority in Congress and he decided to ask Congress to write the health care reform bill. He wanted the losers, the minority in Congress to have a say in the matter. When did the minority, when they were the majority ever give a rat's ass about what the minority thought? Never.

No. I don't need therapy and we don't need health care reform. What we need are pitch forks and torches. (That's a metaphor. Just trying to make a point.) Next time we go to the polls we need to throw them all out. That's the only way that the organized crime families, excuse me, the two major parties in this country who control everything and neatly divide and share power in a way that makes it look like they are adversaries even though they are really just the same big organization with one goal in mind and that is to screw We The People every chance they get, that's the only way they will ever get the message. Thank God for run on sentences and shit.

Okay. I'm done. So the girl who answered the phone at the mental health center said none of the doctors are available until April. She asked me if I could call back then.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with our health care system.

Can't Think.

I never wanted this to be a blog about me. It was supposed to be like a journal. Random nonsense, stuff like that. I don't how it got here. Well I know but I don't like it. This blog was supposed to be my way of scratching my writer's itch. Nothing more than that. Now I've gone and put some real personal stuff out there. Can't say I'm happy about it. Don't want anyone to think I'm feeling sorry for myself or looking for attention. Having read some of what I've written I can see why someone might think the opposite.

I will get help to deal with the past. I'm just not sure that I want to write about it anymore.

Hey Tommy. Not much to say right now. I'm more than a little embarrassed. I think I'm just gonna keep this simple for awhile.