Poems, Suicide and Tomorrow

Sometime during the next few days, it will have been 18 years since my friend Scott drove to a small hotel, spent 3 days on a drunken writing binge and eventually took a gun and ended his life. A memory, that still remains in my heart like a ghost stuck between here and heaven, one who follows me along the cobblestone streets of our little college town.

On our recent trip through St. Augustine, the kids and I took a stroll down memory lane.There are memories on almost every street in that little town and I enjoyed telling them stories about who lived where and what I used to do when I was in college. We walked and talked, chased lizards, picked flowers and randomly found ourselves standing outside his old apartment.

Memories flooded me. I felt a little strangled. I stared at the green and white painted apartments and pictured my 20 year old self bopping up those steps in my plaid sundress, knocking on the door and being greeted by his British accent with a “Good day beautiful.”

Sensing the sadness in the air, Eph asked me what was wrong. I held their tiny little hands and told them that this was the house that gave us Buk the Cat. (which is kind of true, not really the house, but the person). This elicited a few more questions but in a flash, they were off chasing another lizard and we started to walk away.

And in that moment, I looked back and saw my 20 year old self riding way on an old black motorcycle, carefree, happy and singing Pearl Jam’s Black…

Scott was an amazing writer. I am sure if the Internet had been around in his time, he would have had a dedicated audience. I also know that he would most likely consider being published on some Mom Blog offensive. I like being offensive and I hope you like his poem.