the life of richie


Posted in is by Rich on September 18, 2009

Coming over the bridge this afternoon, he thinks about a woman in the first Composition class he ever taught at the college. In her second paper (the Narrative essay), she wrote, I tried to kill myself twice. The first time I actually asked my daughter to get me the water so I could take the pills. Rich has never been able to wake from that image. The simplest request in the world: “Could you get me some water?” Water, the simple and primitive liquid […] all the dubious modifications man has been able to add to nature’s essential kindness cannot change the beneficence of water, notes Foucault. I asked my daughter to get me the water so I could take the pills. Her daughter: she understood the act; his former student wrote that her daughter could never forgive her (but she understood). Now I take medication every day to control the depression. But it wasn’t enough. This woman: she fell apart –– a little –– again; she never returned after the midterm.

Rich has spent the last two years searching for her. Sometimes he will be in a store and wonder if he’ll see her; to see that she is still here.

For others stick to us (humectant humans, we) and are absorbed into the body; and races to the heart.


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