A miserable chapter in our lives, the last of our ties to my lost years, ends today.
We’re cleaning out our drugged-out slacker ex-roommate’s room. It’s filthy and disgusting beyond words.
But it’s been an overload for me. Besides some of the revolting things we found, this is the room where my memories of the war broke in 2012.
This room was where I held out against armed roommates during a tense year-long stalemate. I found a .380 round from the pistol I used to keep near the mattress (no actual bed in those days). I’m sick with disgust and with grief over how out of hand I let my life get before those memories shook me out of my stupor.
It’s also bringing back a fair sense of dread related to my fragmented memories of San Rafael. Our ex-roommate reminds me of some of the people I knew back then, faces I can no longer match to names and the stale whiff of incense, beer, and cigarettes across nearly fifty years. I feel bad for him but I also can’t hide how much I resent him. While I was getting my life back together, he was still wallowing in the same morass, unwilling to take every chance I gave him.
I hope our new roommate won’t begrudge me for sprinkling holy water. Anything to bring some closure to this cursed chapter in my life. The past is buried today.
Hagios ho Theos