
Trespassers
I am 12 years old.
My dad picks me up from swim practice
chlorine hair
skin - chilled leather
I am staring out the window
not looking at Dad
the bulky quiet is suffocating me
see
dad’s best friend Scott committed suicide
at the age of 45
I don’t know what to picture
so I stare out the window
and try to figure out how to say sorry.
I am 10.
Scott slides an omelet onto my plate on a Saturday morning.
He has a handsome smile and a dishtowel on his shoulder
he is laughing with my parents about how he
hates the texture of oranges
I can picture this -
I am looking up at him.
I am 15.
Ms. Bressman is telling us about Erdos, a Hungarian mathematician
so famous they keep track of the degrees of
collaborative separation you are from him.
Ms Bressman is an Erdos number 5.
She says, “you can be an Erdos number 6, if you like”
And like that, I am connected.
I am 17.
I am about to graduate high school
Dad’s student Eamonn
chooses his own death
as he waits for a train to crush him
he was my age.
Dad is proud they don’t hide his depression…
so what.
What is the point -
he’s still dead.
I am still 17.
Dad is a Scott number one
I am a Scott number one
Dad is an Eamonn number two
and by Erdos number logic
I am an Eamonn number three.
What is the sum of these numbers
What type of grief sits at the other end of that equal sign.
This is 17.
NJ Transit says about Eamonn’s suicide:
“the trespasser
made no attempt to remove himself from the path.”
No.
Eamonn made several attempts.
He spent time with his family.
He saw a counselor. He played with his dog.
He just couldn’t
get out of the way
and his name was Eamonn, not “trespasser.”
I am 16.
I am sobbing into my chicken pot pie
telling my mom that my best friend wants to commit suicide
now I am 19
my sister, 14,
has been crying all week
her best friend is thinking about suicide.
I am wondering when we all got so fucking sad
I am trying to figure out how to say sorry.
I am 19.
I am finally asking Mom how to picture Scott -
I picture:
Scott is at an open house for a high rise building,
complimentary mimosa in hand
Scott is not following the group to the next room,
he is sprinting towards a window
hopping over the balcony of the 23rd floor
Scott is flying
falling
Scott is crying
Scott is dying
See Scott land.
See Scott splatter.
See Scott make a fucking mess on the sidewalk
I still do not know
what Scott was thinking
did he know he would snarl traffic for hours.
This is 19.
I look at the scars on my friend’s wrist
I tell her -
I am so glad I am not her number
I know this.
You are not a trespasser here.
You are welcome.