Memories

     I still remember Nana yelling and not understanding when I read about Karim Thompson shouting 'This is the American way" and shooting himself at the graduation ceremony for Weymouth South High back in the late 1970s. I always thought Karim was A Very Nice Person, funny, charming;
     I never pictured him doing something like pulling a gun from beneath his graduation robes and shooting himself in front of a live audience.
     But then, no one knew that I'd made a few secret and unsuccessful attempts at quiet suicide either. Not that I felt anyone really cared; maybe that was the same for Karim. It's a little late to ask him now, I think, it might have been too late when I ran away to California and set in motion the chain of events which ultimately returned me to Long Island.
     I'm a bit jealous sometimes of my sisters. They apparently were better than me in every single way (still are, I guess) and I'm the one who couldn't make anything of herself or her life.
     Maybe that's why I'm trying to be a writer (Yes, I know I'm very trying). In a few ways, it's the only option left to me.
     I can't stand behind a register now, my knee injury and subsequent sucky knee surgery (no slight on Dr. Skilbred's skills, I think this has more to do with genetic predisposition since Nan's cataract surgery didn't take and Mom's own knee replacement also left her hobbling around for the remainder of her life) saw to it. I can't type well enough to work in an office and I can't sit still or stand for long periods of time or else my knee hurts, stiffens… My fingers hurt a lot from typing anyway, I think I may have some arthritis in my hands, I know I have a low manual dexterity,
     I was tested for aptitude at the state employment office while they were still doing those kinds of tests that mentioned predisposition and dexterity.
     What did the test say I would be good at?
     Artistic stuff like writing.
     And now you probably know more about me than you really wanted or needed to, so there.