S.O.Sunday
10:20 a.m. on October 04, 2004
I was having a quiet Sunday doing laundry & reading. Sasha was up in the attic crawl space screening up the areas where birds can get through. I worried about him falling, but I worry about him falling every day. He is a carpenter and is often high up on precarious ladders or roofs or whatnot. At one point his friend Eddy came over, so I hid out in the bedroom. I like Eddy enough, but I was un-showered and un-social. I was just thanking my lucky stars that Eddy’s wife did not come with him. Usually they are joined at the hip & then I have to play wife entertainer while the men play with the tools in the garage.

At about 5:00 PM, I hear Eddy yell my name twice. I froze and tried to be sure it was my name he was yelling. I went out into the living room and saw nothing. Eddy came running out and said: “Yeah, so, like, I would not normally call you like that, but Sasha fell.” My heart stopped and I ran toward the garage. Sasha was just lying all crumpled up on his back in the laundry room. His eyes were open, but his face registered absolutely nothing, he was not there. Terrified and panicked, I screamed “What the fuck?!” My mind was racing. Is this the 911 moment? Is this the CPR moment? Is this the last words moment? Finally Eddy said: “We just had a couple of bong hits.”

What?

Oh.

It took 3 seconds before it registered in my brain that Sasha was not dying of internal injuries next to the dryer, but passed out drunk and high at 5 o’clock on a Sunday. Sasha then began to heave, so I rolled him over on his side so he could puke in his hat. I could see a small cut on his eyebrow and his glasses were tweaked from the fall. I told Eddy it was time for him to go home and covered Sasha up with a blanket, letting him sleep it off on the orange carpet covered cement floor.






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