miles

After nearly two weeks of depression-fueled pessimism, today gave me a refreshing breath of optimism. The source of that optimism might be laughable to some, but when you’ve been unemployed for two weeks, you take what you can get. I’ve got an interview scheduled for Saturday afternoon at a locally owned pizza joint – and this isn’t your typical pizza place. Besides pizza, the place also sells fantasy role-playing games like Magic and Dungeons and Dragons. Never mind the hit points, I’m going there to be interviewed for a pizza-delivery position. If that falls through, things are looking good at another pizza spot (spoke with a manager earlier today and, once my driving record is checked, I should get a call next week).

Tuesday night: Spent a few hours drinking with some old comrades. We sat around, listened to music and shot the shit. Good times. Before those hours of gregariousness, I spent some time with dad and mom and stepdad. Dad recently had is knee replaced, so I wanted to check up on him. He’s approaching 80, and having such a significant surgery at that age poses a different set of challenges, but he’s getting along OK. After spending some time with him, I visited mom and stepdad, who, in light of sister’s imprisonment, are practically raising my nephew, Austin. They don’t really have much choice in the matter because his father is, well, a shitty dad. I won’t detail that opinion other than to say he has slowly backed away from many of his promised commitments. I can’t say that his fatherly failures are surprising, though.

Austin has been asking mom when his mother, sister, will visit him. Sister has spoken with her son many times since her imprisonment, and she tells him that she’s at school, which is why she isn’t around. I’ve yet to speak to sister since her day of judgment, and I’m not sure how to feel about that. Mom says she “sounds like the old [sister].” Sobriety has a way of bringing the old self back to the surface, and I obviously hope she maintains that path, but only time will prove if sobriety is what my sister has chosen. I had to push away the tears when I was at mom’s. In the corner of a window near Austin’s play space was a photograph of sister kissing her son’s cheek -- it was placed there so Austin could have a visual reminder of "mommy." Just recalling that photo is bringing tears to my eyes as I type this. The whole situation is so unfair, and the fact that a small child – a child who cannot even comprehend what has happened to his mother – is involved makes things even more difficult, vicious.

It was strange, though, driving to Hometown. The two-hour trek is never something I enjoy because the destination hangs over my head like a cloud of shit and cancer. But this time was different. As each mile ticked off the odometer, the cloud didn’t get closer. It stayed away. And I didn’t dread my destination. Exit 26’s offramp snaked me into Hometown, and those familiar ghosts didn’t greet me. The gloom remained (the city has destroyed its abandoned factories, but the dust and desperation linger); however, this time, the territory of my imagination was restricted – it couldn’t venture through the frightening possibilities of where sister was or what she was doing.

Tuesday night was a good night. So was Thursday. I hope this trend continues.

xx