Mom. I can?t believe it. I?m home. Alive. Mom.
God.
Yes, that?s blood on my shirt. No, its not mine. No, I didn?t get cut. I was just, just walking on the beach just past Sangre Point. I?d - just walked past Sangre Point. The beach was empty. I Didn?t see anyone else, just me and the trees and the waves?and.
The blood, how did it get on me? It was on the beach. It was already on the beach. There was so much, and I didn?t even see it coming. It made me trip. I fell on this pool of blood. That?s how it got on my shirt.
I was thinking about Saul. I was trying to imagine what good times could have been like. If he had been different, if I had been different. Him taking me on treks to a 49er?s game, or spoiling me with money at Christmas.
But there was too much violence. Too much blood. The blood. It had collected in a pool, streaked across the beach. I fell in it ? it got in my shirt, my hands, my face, my... I wanted to hurl. I was ready to just let it all out, let it all go. I did. The blood wasn?t so red afterwards. I dragged myself towards the water, and rinsed my face off, cleaned out my mouth, cleaned everything as much as I could.
My mouth was filled with salt, and my skin was starting to itch. The blood was drying. On the beach, it was getting rinsed away or hardening in the sun. I had this urge to clean it up, to hide it. I don?t understand. I wasn?t afraid anymore, I felt, I felt ashamed almost., as though I owned the beach, the blood. It was wrong. Wrong to leave blood scattered all over my beach.
Mom, I miss Saul. I know I never even met him. I know, he?s hateful. All the blood. Why did you wait so long to tell me, Mom? I always wondered where he was, who he was, why we didn?t talk about him.
I saw him on my way to the beach. I recognized him from the photos you showed me, the old news clippings. The one photo you had of him, sitting on a couch in a dark room, grinning.
I couldn?t believe he was walking the streets. I couldn?t believe he was here.
Mom, I need to clean this blood. I need to get it off me. I couldn?t get it all off at the beach. I couldn?t clean it all up. The sand, its still stained dark red in places. I?m ashamed, I can?t believe I?I couldn?t get rid of it all.
Saul was on third street. It?s been warm all day, but his hands were jammed in his pockets. He had his head down. For an old guy he was walking fast, like he didn?t want to be seen. He didn?t want to anyone to know he was there. But I saw him. Saw him walking down third street. Saw him walk into the liquor store. Saw him walk out with a paper bag, and only one hand jammed in his pocket. Saw him walk back my way. Saw him pass me. Saw him stare dead past me with glazed over eyes.
He didn?t know me. Didn?t recognize me. I knew him, that cold stare from the newsclippings, that scar on his chin. He scared me. I realized I had his wide set shoulders, his bulky frame, his closed off demeanor. I didn?t want to be like him. I wanted to run. But?
Mom, I need to clean this blood off damnit.
Damnit, I?m sorry.
Mom, why are you crying?
God.
Yes, that?s blood on my shirt. No, its not mine. No, I didn?t get cut. I was just, just walking on the beach just past Sangre Point. I?d - just walked past Sangre Point. The beach was empty. I Didn?t see anyone else, just me and the trees and the waves?and.
The blood, how did it get on me? It was on the beach. It was already on the beach. There was so much, and I didn?t even see it coming. It made me trip. I fell on this pool of blood. That?s how it got on my shirt.
I was thinking about Saul. I was trying to imagine what good times could have been like. If he had been different, if I had been different. Him taking me on treks to a 49er?s game, or spoiling me with money at Christmas.
But there was too much violence. Too much blood. The blood. It had collected in a pool, streaked across the beach. I fell in it ? it got in my shirt, my hands, my face, my... I wanted to hurl. I was ready to just let it all out, let it all go. I did. The blood wasn?t so red afterwards. I dragged myself towards the water, and rinsed my face off, cleaned out my mouth, cleaned everything as much as I could.
My mouth was filled with salt, and my skin was starting to itch. The blood was drying. On the beach, it was getting rinsed away or hardening in the sun. I had this urge to clean it up, to hide it. I don?t understand. I wasn?t afraid anymore, I felt, I felt ashamed almost., as though I owned the beach, the blood. It was wrong. Wrong to leave blood scattered all over my beach.
Mom, I miss Saul. I know I never even met him. I know, he?s hateful. All the blood. Why did you wait so long to tell me, Mom? I always wondered where he was, who he was, why we didn?t talk about him.
I saw him on my way to the beach. I recognized him from the photos you showed me, the old news clippings. The one photo you had of him, sitting on a couch in a dark room, grinning.
I couldn?t believe he was walking the streets. I couldn?t believe he was here.
Mom, I need to clean this blood. I need to get it off me. I couldn?t get it all off at the beach. I couldn?t clean it all up. The sand, its still stained dark red in places. I?m ashamed, I can?t believe I?I couldn?t get rid of it all.
Saul was on third street. It?s been warm all day, but his hands were jammed in his pockets. He had his head down. For an old guy he was walking fast, like he didn?t want to be seen. He didn?t want to anyone to know he was there. But I saw him. Saw him walking down third street. Saw him walk into the liquor store. Saw him walk out with a paper bag, and only one hand jammed in his pocket. Saw him walk back my way. Saw him pass me. Saw him stare dead past me with glazed over eyes.
He didn?t know me. Didn?t recognize me. I knew him, that cold stare from the newsclippings, that scar on his chin. He scared me. I realized I had his wide set shoulders, his bulky frame, his closed off demeanor. I didn?t want to be like him. I wanted to run. But?
Mom, I need to clean this blood off damnit.
Damnit, I?m sorry.
Mom, why are you crying?
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