My Sunday Feeling

And now each night I count the stars.
And each night I get the same number.
And when they will not come to be counted,
I count the holes they leave.


Amiri Baraka (Leroi Jones)




I was not particularly hungry after the funeral. Here in the South, we tend to think that putting out mass quantities of food is the most appropriate antidote to a grieving heart. Between the homes of Annie's parents there was enough food to sustain a battalion for a day or two. So it's not like I haven't gotten enough to eat lately. But I like barbecue and as I approached Whole Hog Cafe down the hill, I decided to pull in for some comfort food for lunch. Besides, it was too soon to start drinking.


I had just sat down with my pulled pork sandwich when R, arms laden down with a rack of ribs, asked if he could join me. It was fine with me. I needed the company.

" Why are you so dressed up for a Saturday?" he asked.

" Funeral this morning." I said.


He winced and nodded. " Oooh, that's right. The Johnson girl."

" Yep." I said. "The Johnson girl."


We ate in silence for a minute.


" At the risk of asking a completely stupid question, how are the parents holding up?"


I chewed a bit. I looked at him and shrugged.


R talks with his hands. He waved them back and forth in front of his face.

"Say no more." he waved. "Say no more."

We resumed eating.


"Without betraying or getting into the nature of a confidence," he said while wiping his mouth. "It is my general understanding that the girl struggled with depression."


R and I are both lawyers. We talk like this even on Saturday.


" Oh, I think it is pretty much public knowledge at this point."


" That was what had gotten back to some of the folks on the committee I'm on." He lowered his voice. "You do know what I'm talking about, right?" He opened his hands as if handing me understanding.


R is a recovering alcoholic. He is talking about "Lawyers Helping Lawyers." They intervene with lawyers who have drug or alcohol problems. Unlike me, who must work out his salvation with fear and trembling, R's crown in Heaven is assured.

I said nothing. I just nodded. I knew what he was talking about.


He had finished inhaling his ribs and pushed the plate aside.


" I see a lot of depression in my work with the committee," he said. " Depression is as dangerous as any physical illness. It's just poorly understood."

" Looking back on it now, I can probably say that I was a little more depressed than I needed to be a couple of years ago." I said.


"Yeah? How did you deal with it?"


" To tell you the truth, and this sounds stupid, but I joined a golf club and played golf every chance I could. I could get away from myself whenever I concentrated on the back of that little white ball. First time in recorded history that golf ever did anybody any good.'


"You've got to get away from yourself when you are depressed. No doubt. I'm glad you could do it. Some folks can't," R said. " We have a saying in AA. Want to hear it?"


" Sure."

" The mind is a dangerous neighborhood. You don't want to spend too much time there. You've got to get away from yourself to gain some perspective."

" Still," I said. " But what would cause a 19 year old combination of beauty and brains, somebody with a whole world in front of her, what would cause somebody like that to throw the switch? I don't get it."


He smiled and shook his head. " We don't waste a lot of time wondering 'why' in AA," R said. "We spend most of our time just trying to accept that which we have no control over. Interesting you should refer to 'throwing the switch'. Nine out of ten people can have a drink. When I drink it throws a switch in my head. So I can't drink. Some people can't take penicillin. I can't drink alcohol. Not much more complicated than that. "

He leaned forward onto his elbows.

" I have a theory. You know what I think?"

"No. What do you think?"

" All people get blue from time to time. Human nature. But I think there's a bad depression switch in some folks the same as there's a drunk switch in other folks. Maybe they're related. I don't know. It's just easier for a drunk, in a certain sense, to keep that switch turned off. You go to meetings. You don't drink. They don't really have meetings that can keep folks from being depressed."


"Besides," I said. "Even if they did, those kind of meetings would be too depressing."


He ignored me.

" What I have learned is that some depressed folks keep finding that switch whether they are being treated or not. Sometimes the meds don't help or the side effects are awful or they can't give 'em to young folks without running the risk of suicide. Whatever happened it sounds maybe like the Johnson girl made an unbelievably tragic decision after her switch got thrown. Why is not important any longer. Trying to get to an acceptance, as impossible as that may seem, is all that is left to do."

" Ummmm...no offense. But there's a difference between accepting what you have to do to keep the drunk switch from getting thrown and never seeing your daughter again. As hard as it is to abstain, at least that's theoretically possible. You can quit drinking. You can't walk down the aisle with a dead girl."

Silence.

" All I am I saying is that the 'why' question lives in a really bad neighborhood. You hang around in a bad neighborhood long enough and you might get hurt. "

He shrugged. Say no more.


All I know is that one night last week, in a house not too far from here, the switch got thrown in the head of a damn good kid.

And on that night the stars, in all their splendor, would not come out to be counted.