Friday November 20,2015 in Cowichan Bay
He’s turning thirty tomorrow.
He’s having a breakdown.
He’s got a gun and it’s cocked towards his temple.
He made love to a stranger last night, poorly, he guesses.
He ate Cheerios for breakfast, alone, having asked the Stranger to be on their way.
He didn’t have any milk so he ate them dry.
“Nothing worse than dry Cheerios.”
The laces on his shoes are broken so that he can’t tie them.
When he walks, they squeak.
“Nothing is more demeaning.”
He considers calling Celeste and then decides against him.
“Nothing worse than disappointment.”
He’s sitting on the toilet when the succulent on the shelf above falls, unexplained, right onto his head.
He stops his shit, clenching his anus closed, clenching his teeth.
He blacks out, only for an instant, and in the instant, “blacks out” makes no sense because he sees light.
The metal is cold against the side of his head.
His mouth waters.
“Is this really how I feel about death?”
He thinks about who might find his body.
He thinks about Celeste, and Jon and Katherine.
He thinks about his shit, still sitting in the toilet, unflushed.
“Can’t leave unfinished business.”
He puts the gun down.
He goes into the bathroom.
He flushes the shit.
He sees a piece of the ceramic pot that housed the succulent.
He goes to the kitchen to get the broom and dust pan.
There’s a knock at the door.