"somewhere other than inside the out there." -- part thirty eight.
i was sleeping.
his mom, she was crying. she was telling me that he had to be ok. i moved to my desk chair. i listened to her. i moved to the living room. someone was in the shower. it was almost seven in the morning. i looked into rockstar's room. his feet were hanging over the bed.
i broke.
i had been listening for ten minutes or so to some explanation of what was going on five hundred miles away.
i looked around, panicking, from side to side.
"i need you to get up."
rockstar mumbled a bit. i think he heard me start to cry.
"hon, i need you to get up, now." and i was shouting from his doorway, and i couldn't tell if i was about to fall down or smash inanimate objects.
"what?"
"he's sick. he... i need help."
over the phone, she was asking me if i was coming ... "i'll be there, this afternoon, i'll be there. i'm on my way."
"linds, i love you."
"i love you too."
rockstar came out, curious and confused.
"he's sick. i gotta go. i don't know what to do."
i called my mom, crying and shaking, "i need to get to new orleans, now. mom, i need a plane ticket."
we sat out on the porch. i called philosopher. he was in the shower, and his roommate told me he'd have him call me. i flipped the phone over and over in my hands as i chainsmoked in an early morning.
explorer came out, ready for class. i told her, and she sat down.
an hour and a half later, philosopher gave me some cash, and i was on my way to the airport.
i left this same house with a hope in my hands, fragile and giving-way.
i did not return with it.
