A Visit From P - 02/07/13

Yesterday, with the help of some Tide and Biz, I cleaned all the blood from of my blouse.  It is practically sparkling!  It’s amazing what will make one happy while in the throes of one crisis after another.  In the middle of all the shit in my life right now, my first thought was of my bloody blouse.

A few hours later while I was in the den writing, the back door bell rang.  It never occurred to me that it would be Parrish, but when I walked into the kitchen, there he stood on the other side of the door.  If my door had not been locked, he would have walked inside, forgetting that to do so guaranteed a trip back to jail.

I stepped out onto the breezeway and asked what he wanted.  He said he came to fetch his duffle bag that was left behind the last time he was arrested.  He pitched for me to wash his clothes and drive him back to the house where he is living.

I refused to drive him home.  Instead, I directed him to the bus stop around the corner.

Claiming he was too tired to carry his bag, he asked to pick it up tomorrow, a thinly veiled attempt to get permission to come back.  No manner of insistence on my part could make him take the damned bag.  I finally told him he could pick it up tomorrow, but he was not to ring my bell.  I said I would leave it outside the closed garage door.

So there it sat, in my breezeway.  I lugged it inside, washed its contents, and placed it outside the garage door. 

About Parrish’s living arrangements, he moved into the house with one of his inmate friends.  Really, he did that. Not knowing whether he were walking into an opium den or a meth lab or worse, he blindly rented a room he had never seen.  I have not yet seen it 

Parrish’s judgement is more compromised than it was a few days ago, and every day that passes without medicine, he is more manic and inappropriate.  He is spending money on things he doesn’t need, like Starbuck’s and clothing.  He is more likely to drink and drug

© 2013 cj schlottman