An Old Woman Hit Me With Her Bag Essay
This limerick is my hell. My never-ending chorus, my purgatory, my life with Lana.
She sings this taunting schoolgirl chant to Kailey, her dog. I pretend to do my homework.
I remember when I was 21 years old—it seems as distant now as a forgotten dream.
I had awoken on a dusty bus stop bench near a busy street corner at dawn. Blinding white light singed my eyes and I could see only pale shadows of people busily passing me. I felt a dull ache in my skull.
"Why do I do this to myself?" I sat up slowly and set my quivering feet to the ground. My head bowed to my knees, I breathed a deep sigh.
An old Mexican woman hit me with her bag. "San Ysidro?" she cautiously studied me.
"God, I 'm going to be sick," I moaned.
I stumble into bustling pedestrians on the sidewalk.
Right now, anywhere would be better than here. How did I get to this place?
I saw hazy images of Clark in the driver’s seat of his car floating down the I-5.
I saw myself toasting the Coronado Bridge with an empty beer can hurled out the window.
We were all cockeyed before we’d made it as far as San Diego. Beer after beer. I plucked one from the soggy cardboard case and pulled the tab open then handed it to Clark. I opened another for a blurred face in the passenger seat. One for myself each time.
My stomach jerked like a dying rabbit. I gnashed my teeth. Bitter bile filled my mouth.…