Tuesday, August 30, 2005

Survivor: Hattiesburg

Redbull and biscuits for breakfast. I can't really eat. The same ghosts and fears plague every thought. My stomach balled like a fist. Don't much talk, either. Just hug Cindy and Glenda and the kids. Trying to stop the voices. Trying not to talk to Denial. They're still alive, buddy.

We discover the landline died some time last night. A neighbor says that the power company cut phones in order to establish an electric foothold. And cell connectivity is down, too. We can't call anyone who is not within shouting distance. All we can do is clean up.

Uncle Terry says we'll just burn the debris. Get several fire pits started and turn everything to white ash.

Liam's eyes light up when he hears he'll get to torch something. Fire to him is like a new inmate to a prison. He can't wait to get started. Neither can I. Work will help stop the dance of voices and faces. Denial can sit inside drinking martinis while I do some cutting with power tools.

Dicing up limbs is cheap personal therapy. And God knows it helps. Creating some destruction of my own. Having control for the first time in two days. Feeding the remains to the fire. Watching them get consumed. Helping Liam play "Survivor: Hattiesburg." The Boys against The Girls. He's running from fire to fire, adding sticks or leaves. Even wet and/or green items will burn if you get them hot enough. Liam keeps pouring water on the back of his neck. We take turns dunking our heads in an old metal washtub that has filled with cold rain. Sweating from the efforts and the heat. I even take off my shirt. Nobody cares how pale I am. We're doing something helpful rather than being afraid. And not hanging out with Denial.

I'm actually happy. For a little while.
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