Feline Warrior

It seems to me that one of the biggest downsides of suicide is that you don’t get to observe the effects of the deed. So many people must imagine, at some point in the planning of their own demise, that alarming moment of discovery; the pain and agony that their untimely end will bring to those left behind must flash magnificently in his or her mind.

I’m not talking so much about the evil thought, “Ha-ha! Now they’ll be sorry!” because I really think that’s cliche. Think about it - there’s no glamour in such a quip. No, there must be at least one rich scene played out in the mind of the suicidal one; something like watching an overly dramatic play, wherein a note is read, tears are shed, hands wrenched, and so forth.

But alas, even those dramatic scenes played out in the mind prior to suicide are dismally sad because, as is clear at least to me, there will be no balcony seat from which to watch (smugly, perhaps) the aftermath of the suicide. Maybe the joy of the suicide is in knowing that it’s over –life, pain, a certain situation, something– and not really in the observation of reactions to the findings. By “findings” I mean a body, hanging, perhaps, or with wrists shredded red, or appearing to be asleep but really cold and dead. Or even the colorful yet horrifying brain matter spattered about a room, the top of a head blown off. You see my point, though.

The other big –perhaps bigger– downside of suicide is that there are no second chances. Whatever was wrong cannot be set right because it’s over, that life is done. There are no balcony seats for observation purposes and there is no encore or second act. Once you draw that curtain shut, it does not open again.

In my film appreciation class, we are seeing “Cinema Paradiso,” which, believe it or not, I saw when it came out. In… 1989…?! We have to see it in 2 parts because the class isn’t long enough to see it whole, but it’s amazing to me how bored these kids act! Maybe they really aren’t and just have to act that way (but why…??) - either way, they’re a bunch of goofballs.

Oh, and this skinny girl (oh, like THAT tells you which one I could be talking about!) was telling the prof after class, “I had a really hard time following it because who is Sal-vuh-torry and who is TOTO? It’s so confusing!” I thought the professor was going to belt her across the mouth, but she restrained herself, much to my chagrin.

Naturally, I was weepy when the lad was pulling Alfredo from the fire. I did it the first time and I did it again.

Next week we see “Citizen Kane.”

Technically, my degree is in Communications. My covert degree is, of course, “Observation of Youthful Undergrads: Beyond the Tongue Ring.” My thesis will focus on the correlation between the shrinking bodies of youthful undergrads in direct relation to their lack of knowledge of (or interest in) the world beyond the body piercings that decorate their emaciated frames.

MmHmm.

Yes, it’s grand. I’m taking one class, an English class, in which I will get to do some writing, so that’s good. And the professor, who is younger than my oldest compact disc, now shares knowing glances with me. She has seen that she cannot outsmart or outwit me, so she’s decided to play nice with the grownup lady in her class.

And yet some of the kids –I mean, my fellow students– seem to have no clue that I’m their parents’ age. I think my youthful appearance and general lack of maturity in some areas has them fooled. Oh, they don’t think I’m their age, but they don’t think I’m 40. (Hell, I don’t think I’m 40!)

Mostly they are cool. In the English class, I’m making friends with the lad who always (after two weeks, it’s already “always”) sits behind me. Sean (that’s “Se…” not “Sh…”) is one of those quiet lads who is thoughtful (thinks a lot, not sure if he’s polite yet) and will do well in his young life if he uses me as his model for girlfriends. The sober me, not the young, drunk me, mind you. That would be a disaster and young Sean would
never finish college. I’m kidding, by the way, about my being the model for girlfriends. It’s not an entirely bad idea, but I don’t see how I can convince young Sean to follow this advice.

My campus job… of course you want to know about that. I’m working in the office of my advisor. I liked her already, but she earned bonus points when she read a Dr. Seuss book to the entire group at orientation. Yup, a woman who will not be moved from her agenda, no matter how many bored sighs and shifting hineys can be heard during her page-turning pauses.