Gulping Guilt

When the detective sat on my sofa the next morning, he watched me fall to the floor. Asked me what I knew, what was said. Next to medication, alcohol, I was a contributing factor. He told me Nick climbed the fire escape of the building we used to walk past many midnights. Like a hawk he dove. No note in his pocket. I didn’t ask how many stories.

I spent the next week with his family. They packed up his pantry and put it in my car. Said they couldn’t fly it home.

It took me days to eat, then I opened a can of his soup. Hearty chicken noodle, I ate it cold. Saltier with each sip. I threw it up until my stomach was empty, but my cupboard still overflowed.

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3 Comments

Filed under Creative Nonfiction, Nonfiction, Short Non-Fiction

3 responses to “Gulping Guilt

  1. aramsey_poet

    Having a friend commit suicide is very difficult to cope. Everyone who touched their lives wonders about responsibility, blame, the difference they could’ve made. At some point we must decide that it was still a decision they made. Or we might guilt ourself to do the same,

    Liked by 1 person

    • Very true. After spending time with his mother, I don’t think I ever could, no matter how sad or brokenhearted I am. I couldn’t do that to someone I love. He, however, didn’t think this way. He wasn’t being vindictive. He thought everyone would be better off without him. How wrong he was. Thanks for the lovely and supporting comment ❤

      Liked by 1 person

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