I don’t know how to start this essay.
I don’t know where to begin, I guess. There are so many options. Begin where you, the author, the narrator, began.
That would take so much time. Time I might not really have.
Fine.
Maybe I should start out just a little in the past. November 5th at 2:15 sounds like a place to start. It was a Sunday. I had a lot of shit to do. I needed to go grocery shopping. My fridge only had a container of applesauce and some hummus. No bread. No milk. No eggs. Obviously, I had really been putting it off. I had a lot of shit to do.
At 2:15 my power went off.
Well, that’s a lie. It flickered. It came back on. I finished putting my list into my backpack. It flickered. Off. On. offonoffon. It held on for a while. Then it went out.
I guess I can’t go grocery shopping now, can I?
If I’m being honest with you, I hadn’t done much leading up to 2:15. I hadn’t even gotten out of my pajamas. I kept putting off going grocery shopping. Just kept putting it off.
You know that feeling when you know you should be doing something anything any damn thing at all and you just cannot find an explanation for why you aren’t doing it yet here you are sitting and thinking about how you should be doing thing number x y z on your to-do list and sitting and sitting and sitting and still not doing anything and you know you should be doing something and it keeps going around in a circle between your ears until you guilt trip yourself into finding a better reason to get up and do any damn thing besides sitting?
Yeah, that’s where I had been all day. Not the best place to be.
So, to make up for that shitty mindset and the power going off, I built a muthafuckin blanket fort. Yes, to make up for my unproductive day as a functioning adult, I constructed a pillow fort with every blanket and every pillow and every candle I could find in my apartment. And then I put myself and my boyfriend and Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone into it. Until 5:37 hit.
My mom was on the other line. She said these three choking sentences to me: The state police called your Mam. It’s about Tim Brown. They’re coming to talk to her.
Timothy Brown is my uncle. More like a father, really. But he’s my uncle. My mom’s brother. My Mam’s son. My uncle.
Maybe that would have been a good place to start.
I said to my mom, Maybe he just go into a crash, right mama? She didn’t say no. As many times as she had told me no up until this point in my life, I don’t think she could’ve told me no right then.
I called my uncle after the two minute phone call with my mom. I knew he would answer. My uncle is the most stubborn man I know, and he isn’t going to do anything he doesn’t want to do. Even die.
I called my uncle after the two minute phone call with my mom. He didn’t answer. I told him I loved him. I said, call me back, Uncle T.
I hung up the phone. My boyfriend touched me. I didn’t want to be touched right then. I told him that. So he kept reading Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone to me. I wasn’t listening though. I was thinking about how my uncle was probably in jail or in the hospital or had killed someone he got into a bar fight with. Miller Lite, that’s what he drank. That’s all he drank. Except for whiskey. He told me once, Beam’s Sour Mash is my favorite. He told me not to drink too much of it. Makes you ten feet tall and bulletproof. Uncle T, I told him, I already act ten feet tall and bulletproof. Yeah, he said, You got that attitude from your uncle. I know, I said. He told me, Be responsible, China Doll. I am his China Doll. I wouldn’t tell you this story if I didn’t adore it, but I am called China Doll by my uncle because every baby he’s seen, before and after me, was ugly and bloody and purple and meat-sack-like. I was pure and white and clean the first time he saw me. Just like a China Doll.
My God, the police took their time getting to my Mam’s house.
At 6:22 my mom called me again. Choked out two more sentences: The police just left, sis. He’s dead.
I didn’t respond. She said another: It was a one-car crash earlier today.
I didn’t respond. All I could hear in my head was
China Doll China Doll China Doll China Doll China Doll
My mom understood. She always does. At least I think she does. She said, I love you. I said, I love you too, mama. I’ll call you when I can. I hung up.
I left the blanket fort. I sat on my floor. For a few fleeting moments, I thought about how I didn’t go grocery shopping. Was I really still beating myself up for not going grocery shopping? Yes, I was. My list flashed through my head. Milk. Eggs. Bread. Bagels. Cereal. Salsa. milk eggs bagels cereal salsa maybe I need cheese too? lunch meat? peppers? I should try that stuffed pepper recipe I found. I’d like that. Distraction methods at their finest. Distract the mind. Distract yourself. Don’t think about what needs to be thought about.
Fuck that, I told myself. I want to grieve.
So, I put my list away and I thought about the story Uncle T was planning on telling at my wedding. After a few Miller Lites, of course. I told him once on one of our many hours-long phone calls that I had broken up with the hands-down most insane person I have ever dated in my life. Yeah, I told him, I dated this kid for the stories I’ll tell my grandkids someday. He laughed. Tell me the worst one, he said. Well, I said, After I broke up with him, he egged my house. What a bastard. No, wait Uncle T. I have a worse one, but you can’t be mad at your China Doll for saying what I’m about to say. I could never be mad at you. Alright, if you say so. After I broke up with him, this kid went and sucked a dick. He laughed. And when I say he laughed, I think I heard him hit the ground and roll. He laughed and laughed and laughed. He couldn’t believe it. I can’t either, I told him. I’m telling that story at your wedding, China Doll. I can’t wait, Uncle T.
The next day, the accident report showed up on my Facebook. All of my family shared the post. RIP they said. We will love and miss you, they said. Some shared it without any caption. I didn’t share it. But I read it.
The investigators said the crash happened in Warren around 2:15 on Sunday, November 5th. I kept reading. He didn’t die on impact. He held on for a while. That pissed me off. My uncle suffered. That pissed me off more than his and my family members sharing the accident report when they hadn’t made an effort to speak to him in years. Years. My uncle suffered and died in the hospital later. I hope adrenalin helped him or something helped him I don’t know exactly how that shit works like your body goes into shock I don’t really care but I hope something helped him not suffer.
I’m not going to put a pretty bow on this because those don’t exist in real life. I’m not going to tell you what to get out of this. I’m not going to say this essay is about appreciating your relatives and calling them every once in a while not just when it benefits you or fits into your life. I’m not going to say this essay is about how we all take electricity for granted or some shit. I’m not going to say my story of grief deserves to be heard over everyone else’s. Frankly, there is no way for me to understand Sunday, November 5th, 2:15. Absolutely no way of understanding. Not even in the goddamn ball park. Nothing. For. Me.
At 2:15 my power went out. It flickered. Off. On. offonoffon. It held on for a while. Then it went out.
It will never come back on.
I don’t know where to begin, I guess. There are so many options. Begin where you, the author, the narrator, began.
That would take so much time. Time I might not really have.
Fine.
Maybe I should start out just a little in the past. November 5th at 2:15 sounds like a place to start. It was a Sunday. I had a lot of shit to do. I needed to go grocery shopping. My fridge only had a container of applesauce and some hummus. No bread. No milk. No eggs. Obviously, I had really been putting it off. I had a lot of shit to do.
At 2:15 my power went off.
Well, that’s a lie. It flickered. It came back on. I finished putting my list into my backpack. It flickered. Off. On. offonoffon. It held on for a while. Then it went out.
I guess I can’t go grocery shopping now, can I?
If I’m being honest with you, I hadn’t done much leading up to 2:15. I hadn’t even gotten out of my pajamas. I kept putting off going grocery shopping. Just kept putting it off.
You know that feeling when you know you should be doing something anything any damn thing at all and you just cannot find an explanation for why you aren’t doing it yet here you are sitting and thinking about how you should be doing thing number x y z on your to-do list and sitting and sitting and sitting and still not doing anything and you know you should be doing something and it keeps going around in a circle between your ears until you guilt trip yourself into finding a better reason to get up and do any damn thing besides sitting?
Yeah, that’s where I had been all day. Not the best place to be.
So, to make up for that shitty mindset and the power going off, I built a muthafuckin blanket fort. Yes, to make up for my unproductive day as a functioning adult, I constructed a pillow fort with every blanket and every pillow and every candle I could find in my apartment. And then I put myself and my boyfriend and Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone into it. Until 5:37 hit.
My mom was on the other line. She said these three choking sentences to me: The state police called your Mam. It’s about Tim Brown. They’re coming to talk to her.
Timothy Brown is my uncle. More like a father, really. But he’s my uncle. My mom’s brother. My Mam’s son. My uncle.
Maybe that would have been a good place to start.
I said to my mom, Maybe he just go into a crash, right mama? She didn’t say no. As many times as she had told me no up until this point in my life, I don’t think she could’ve told me no right then.
I called my uncle after the two minute phone call with my mom. I knew he would answer. My uncle is the most stubborn man I know, and he isn’t going to do anything he doesn’t want to do. Even die.
I called my uncle after the two minute phone call with my mom. He didn’t answer. I told him I loved him. I said, call me back, Uncle T.
I hung up the phone. My boyfriend touched me. I didn’t want to be touched right then. I told him that. So he kept reading Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone to me. I wasn’t listening though. I was thinking about how my uncle was probably in jail or in the hospital or had killed someone he got into a bar fight with. Miller Lite, that’s what he drank. That’s all he drank. Except for whiskey. He told me once, Beam’s Sour Mash is my favorite. He told me not to drink too much of it. Makes you ten feet tall and bulletproof. Uncle T, I told him, I already act ten feet tall and bulletproof. Yeah, he said, You got that attitude from your uncle. I know, I said. He told me, Be responsible, China Doll. I am his China Doll. I wouldn’t tell you this story if I didn’t adore it, but I am called China Doll by my uncle because every baby he’s seen, before and after me, was ugly and bloody and purple and meat-sack-like. I was pure and white and clean the first time he saw me. Just like a China Doll.
My God, the police took their time getting to my Mam’s house.
At 6:22 my mom called me again. Choked out two more sentences: The police just left, sis. He’s dead.
I didn’t respond. She said another: It was a one-car crash earlier today.
I didn’t respond. All I could hear in my head was
China Doll China Doll China Doll China Doll China Doll
My mom understood. She always does. At least I think she does. She said, I love you. I said, I love you too, mama. I’ll call you when I can. I hung up.
I left the blanket fort. I sat on my floor. For a few fleeting moments, I thought about how I didn’t go grocery shopping. Was I really still beating myself up for not going grocery shopping? Yes, I was. My list flashed through my head. Milk. Eggs. Bread. Bagels. Cereal. Salsa. milk eggs bagels cereal salsa maybe I need cheese too? lunch meat? peppers? I should try that stuffed pepper recipe I found. I’d like that. Distraction methods at their finest. Distract the mind. Distract yourself. Don’t think about what needs to be thought about.
Fuck that, I told myself. I want to grieve.
So, I put my list away and I thought about the story Uncle T was planning on telling at my wedding. After a few Miller Lites, of course. I told him once on one of our many hours-long phone calls that I had broken up with the hands-down most insane person I have ever dated in my life. Yeah, I told him, I dated this kid for the stories I’ll tell my grandkids someday. He laughed. Tell me the worst one, he said. Well, I said, After I broke up with him, he egged my house. What a bastard. No, wait Uncle T. I have a worse one, but you can’t be mad at your China Doll for saying what I’m about to say. I could never be mad at you. Alright, if you say so. After I broke up with him, this kid went and sucked a dick. He laughed. And when I say he laughed, I think I heard him hit the ground and roll. He laughed and laughed and laughed. He couldn’t believe it. I can’t either, I told him. I’m telling that story at your wedding, China Doll. I can’t wait, Uncle T.
The next day, the accident report showed up on my Facebook. All of my family shared the post. RIP they said. We will love and miss you, they said. Some shared it without any caption. I didn’t share it. But I read it.
The investigators said the crash happened in Warren around 2:15 on Sunday, November 5th. I kept reading. He didn’t die on impact. He held on for a while. That pissed me off. My uncle suffered. That pissed me off more than his and my family members sharing the accident report when they hadn’t made an effort to speak to him in years. Years. My uncle suffered and died in the hospital later. I hope adrenalin helped him or something helped him I don’t know exactly how that shit works like your body goes into shock I don’t really care but I hope something helped him not suffer.
I’m not going to put a pretty bow on this because those don’t exist in real life. I’m not going to tell you what to get out of this. I’m not going to say this essay is about appreciating your relatives and calling them every once in a while not just when it benefits you or fits into your life. I’m not going to say this essay is about how we all take electricity for granted or some shit. I’m not going to say my story of grief deserves to be heard over everyone else’s. Frankly, there is no way for me to understand Sunday, November 5th, 2:15. Absolutely no way of understanding. Not even in the goddamn ball park. Nothing. For. Me.
At 2:15 my power went out. It flickered. Off. On. offonoffon. It held on for a while. Then it went out.
It will never come back on.