almost suicidal

4:35 p.m.

sunday has never been a good day for me. my dad left us on a sunday. i broke my leg on a sunday. my dog of thirteen years died on a sunday. and finally, my would be fiancé just dumped me…on a sunday. there is nothing left inside of me. i just want to end it all. my life is over. i might as well make it official.

i live in little neighborhood in austin, tx just off of rio grande. i’ve always lacked an imagination so the best way i can think to kill myself is to step in front of a car. i’ve heard of people being run over by the ut buses, being hit by inattentive drivers, or even clipped by bikers (not killed, of course). if it could happen to them, it could happen to me.

4:45 p.m.

so, on this gloomy sunday i decide to walk down to the intersection of rio grande and 12^th street. i figure the best way to get hit is to go to a busy intersection.

4:50 p.m.

i’m here. i’m at the intersection. i’ve been standing here for ten seconds and i’ve already seen four cars fly by. those seem like good numbers to me. now all i have to do is get hit by a car. i figure the best way to get hit is to stand in the middle. i’ll do it. i just have to work up the nerve.

4:52 p.m.

two runners are jogging toward the intersection. probably shouldn’t try to off myself with pedestrian traffic. they might try to stop me or save my life and that’s the last thing that i want. i’ll wait a few minutes until i’m out of their view.

4:54 p.m.

no pedestrians. a couple of motorcycles. both yellow. that’s kind of weird. a handful of bikers. they wouldn’t try to stop me. not a single person has looked at me since i’ve been on this corner. i guess now is the time to dance with the cars.

4:56 p.m.

standing in the middle of the median and it seems like everyone is driving around me. it seems like everyone is staying straight. absolutely no one is turning through the median. it must be a sign. i’ll wait a few more minutes.

4:57 p.m.

two girls just walked up to the corner. one black girl and one mexican. looks like they’re waiting for the bus. buses don’t run on sundays. why is she looking up at the moonlight tower? the black girl just pulled out what looks like a sketchbook. oh no. they just noticed me. the mexican girl is taking pictures. what kind of person takes pictures of someone trying to kill themselves? is that girl sketching me? does she see the pain in my eyes? probably not. she’s kind of far. the black girl is screaming something at me. what is she saying? i can’t really hear her over the traffic, or lack thereof now. what is she saying? looks like the mexican is crossing the street. i should probably move. i don’t want her to get hit. traffic is waning. i might as well take a break.

4:57:32

that car got really close! i could feel the heat of the radiator on my leg. now would be a good time to run.

4:57:59

on the curb!

5:00 p.m.

the two girls are heather and marissa. turns out that they are architecture students at the university and they are perched at the corner of rio grande and 12^th street for an assignment. something about the moonlight tower. i don’t understand. i don’t think they do either. i take a peek at heather’s sketchbook, she’s taking tallies of how many cars, bikers, mopeds, and walkers move through the intersection. no wonder i haven’t been hit yet. not too many people. maybe this isn’t the best way to commit suicide.

5:05 p.m.

even though this is the weirdest thing i’ve ever done, i’ve decided to sit here and count cars with heather. she and marissa seem really happy, and it might be rubbing off on me. maybe.

5:07 p.m.

heather is getting kind of restless. and maybe a little upset. one guy has driven through the intersection three times. heather seems to think that he is messing with her statistics. she has decided to name call him marcus. marissa thinks he looks more like a curtis. marissa laughs.

5:08 p.m.

why doesn’t anyone drive through the intersection south on rio grande?

5:08:12 p.m.

a moped!

5:10 p.m.

i kind of need to pee. so i say goodbye to the girls. i’m kind of tired. i guess i won’t kill myself today. i can put it off a couple of days.

The city is not an inferno

On the first sunny day in weeks I drove across I-35 to sit under the moon tower at Chicon and East 15th Street. A busy intersection with a bus stop bench at each of its four corners and two competing convenient stores, the site bustled with activity and I sat down on one of those four benches opposite a forty-something man drinking a forty ounce beer in a brown paper bag. He told me I just missed the bus. I said it was not my intent to ride the bus and he replied the same.

I inquired as to his purpose for sitting on the bus stop bench if he did not intend to get on the bus. The man countered that he hoped I would not be put off, but he was a bum, and did I mind if he drank his beer in front of me? I said no, as long as he didn’t mind my cigarette and he turned me down when I offered him one. Drinking was his problem, and I should quit smoking.

With that humble introduction we passed two hours on that bench with hardly a lapse in conversation. My project intrigued him and as the man helped me observe the neighboring activity he told me stories from his life and how he came to make the city his home. He launched into his dissertation with this one thesis: being a bum is the hardest job he’s ever had.

Episodes of paranoia riddled the man’s thoughts but I suppose that comes with the territory when one makes a home on the street. First he said that he cannot sit at any one bus stop for too long because if a police car drives by and sees him on the same bench for an hour they would indict him for public intoxication or loitering. I wondered where a man without a home is supposed to sit and enjoy a cold beer, alcoholic or not. He told me about cameras in stoplights and cameras at bus stops. I guess I always knew of the possibility of cameras but like the moon towers I was oblivious to their existence until today. The man sat at this stop because there weren’t any cameras here and he could drink his beer. As time passed I noticed that most of the people perched on the surrounding benches were not getting on the buses, and the people coming out of the convenient stores came out with beers in brown paper bags and joined the ranks of us loiterers. What this area of east Austin lacked in public spaces the public substituted with the city bus benches. It seemed I’d inadvertently come into contact with a significant object in the urban landscape of east Austin: the homes of the homeless.

So simple are the who, what, when, where, why of this urban object. Who: the homeless or anyone who just wants a place to relax outside with a beer. What: a place to sit, which happens to be a bus stop. When: all day every day. Where: any bus stop without cameras. Why: because being homeless is the hardest job you can have and everyone needs a place to pass the time.

We talked about the government, and how when he votes for Hillary Clinton in the upcoming election it will mark the second time he’s voted in his life. He told me about serving in the military and living all across the United States, how he hates Austin because it has only brought him bad luck, how his bad luck involves a woman hyped up on methamphetamines, and that he used to make pistons for $851 a week before drinking became a full time job. He showed me the seventeen stitches he got last week when a gang at the bus stop up at 38 1/2 and I-35 beat him up for his military sleeping bag. He told me about panhandling and that he can make fifteen to twenty dollars in a day from complete strangers who happen to be feeling generous. If I wanted a real experience to write about, I should try panhandling because you can meet some crazy people that way. I said I’d try it then and there, but apparently 15th Street is off limits. We talked about Quentin Tarantino films and his alleged 5,000 movie DVD collection in a storage unit in Dallas. He read seven books last month and can finish a novel in two days. He tried to quote Dante but couldn’t remember the Italian unless he wrote it down, so when I gave him my notebook he filled it in with some words I didn’t know: “Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate,” said it meant “Abandon all hope ye who enter here,” and I believed him. He was right. He then chastised me for not asking his name yet, and I said he hadn’t asked for mine either. So I came to know him as Roger.

How apropos that Roger should admire Dante’s Inferno. The man had in one sitting relayed to me his own past initial joy and final damnation and I could not ignore the somewhat glorified metaphor of the bus stop as his own personal gate of hell. After all, it epitomized his lack of direction or reprieve from a life of unending boredom and untapped potential, not to mention his enslavement to alcohol abuse and an unsympathetic government system. Roger’s bleak outlook on his life situation recalled Inferno’s Opportunists: the souls of the people who in life did not commit evil deeds, as Roger had never even gotten a misdemeanor and did not believe in injuring another person to boost his own prosperity, but also lost sight of any valid or righteous cause for living. In no way would I condemn Roger as a lost soul in Hell Proper; rather, he stood outside the gate with an astounding insight of his position and an immense accountability for how he got there.

I did not tell Roger what I was thinking, only that I was enjoying the time spent observing people when they didn’t know they were being watched. The longer I sat and observed the more validation I got for my own thesis. Nearly every person littering those four benches sat there only to sit. The buses came by and stopped, but the people never got on them. They merely took a moment to slip their brown-bagged beverage behind their back, only to pull it back out after the bus had moved on without them. They were people with nowhere to go and only a bus stop bench to sit on. In this way, the bench as an urban object connected a demographic of people I had never come into full contact with before today.

I was feeling pretty fucking smart with all this Dante’s-Gates-of-Hell-metaphor-for-an-East-Austin-bus-stop shit when Roger went into the convenient store to buy another beer with the two dollars I’d given him for his help on the project. A cop drove by for the second time and I was glad Roger had gone inside at that moment. I guess I don’t look much like a threatening loiterer. Roger came back to the bench and I told him about the cop, that I’d feel terrible if he got in trouble because of me, and that we should both probably move on. He fellated my ego by saying this was the best afternoon of intelligent conversation he’d had in a while, and could I spare just another eighty cents?

I was handing over the last two bucks in my wallet not knowing whether to feel like a hypocrite when my friend Roger uttered the sentence that would repute every piece of this bullshit pompous self-glorifying essay on Dante’s bus stop I had so proudly constructed in my mind. “Emily, I’ve got to tell you because I think you should learn from this: I was just panhandling you.” I said, “Wait, no, we were just talking.” And he said, “Yes, but how much money did you give me? All the money in your wallet. You didn’t have to give me anything. I would have talked to you whether you gave me the money or not. I just thought you should know what I did to you and learn from it.” I had to give him credit; he had to work for those four dollars. And with that I walked away completely dismantled and wondering how many other people he’d talked out of four dollars on a lonely bus stop bench.

Driving up to the moonlight tower on 41^st and Speedway. You don’t really need directions, it’s rather noticeable. The tower has been around for over 100 years, and is used to its relatively monotonous existence. Today though, the tower and its intersection are having a great day. Firstly, the couple. A young man and his even younger sister approach the tower. The brother, Bob, points up at its peak and explains to his sister, Sue, the history of the structure.

Sue feigns interest; Sue actually has a very short attention span, something doctors are looking into. This is the most attention the tower has gotten in a while. Across the intersection to the east, two neighbors are having a conversation on their lawns. Barbara and Hillary had come out at precisely the same time to check their mail. They each stay on their own side of the lawn and exchange small talk regarding junk mail they both are sick and tired of receiving. In the meantime, Dianne refuses to stay in one place. What should she photograph? Is she going to write her story in first person or second? Why are all her assignments so ambiguous and vague? She notices the bike route and has found her subject. A phone rings. No one actually hears it ring because it is on vibrate, in Bob’s pocket. Sue cherishes the call; Bob has finally stopped talking about the mercury something lamps. Bob talks on the phone. Forever. Or at least that’s what it feels like for Sue. She was happy at first that he quit lecturing, but now she’s just bored. A father carrying his daughter’s scooter is approaching, but that’s not amusing enough for Sue. She fiddles with her hair. Though there is no troublesome humidity, the beautiful day doesn’t stop Sue from letting her hair down and gathering it back up again. Actually, it doesn’t stop her from doing it at least four times. Now what? Sue just stands there, awkwardly, pretending she doesn’t notice Dianne photographing her. Bob has no intention of hanging up. He also goes completely blind to whatever is going on around him. Red sports car with two girls taking notes and photographing him: not there. Dianne walking back and forth taking pictures: non existent.

Barbara and Hillary are nothing like Bob. They are engrossed in a conversation; in fact, Hillary has now relocated to Barbara’s side of the lawn. They are not oblivious to their surroundings though. In fact, their conversation’s foundation is built upon what’s going on around them. They’ve finished discussing Bob and Sue, and have moved onto discussing the most adorable couple passing them on an evening stroll. Actually, the couple isn’t so adorable, the girl could do better. The couple passes Sue eventually. After adjusting her pants, she leans against the tower and glances at them. No comment. Once out of site, Sue gets even more restless. She swings around the pole of the tower. Will Bob ever finish? Someone approaches. A walker, she’s wearing her headphones, and she notices Sue. Sue decides to stop pole dancing and watch the woman. The woman only looks left before crossing the street; hope she makes it to the other side safely. When is Bob hanging up?

Barbara and Hillary spot the woman. She really should look into getting some more sun. There’s a Darque Tan on Guadalupe near MLK. Sue is bored out of her mind. She plays a game where she guesses what color the next car that passes is going to be. She guesses white, it turns out blue. Now she’s bored again. Not for long though because Bob decides to end his call. Sue and Bob waste no time heading north. That’s not along the axis Barbara and Hillary have been discussing. It’s alright though, because they’ve spotted Dianne. Why is she standing in the street looking at her digital camera? Does she want to get run over? Her top is cute, isn’t she cold though? Hillary is… she’s got her arms crossed; her tank top isn’t cutting it. She goes inside. Barbara throws her junk mail away and enters her own home.

Ups and Downs

After the miserable weather of the past few days, the sunny Sunday was a welcome change. The people returned to the streets once again to enjoy the passing of another day. One bit of West St. running behind Austin Community College saw a surprising number of visitors for a weekend afternoon. At first glance, the street seems like any other, but after careful observation, a gentle rise in the road can be detected. Like a water droplet hitting the surface of a pond, this subtle change in the path is one that has far reaching effects.

The sound of plastic rolling along the asphalt echoes off the surrounding buildings. Three adolescent boys come surfing down the paved hill. They weave from side to side on the two-way road, unimpeded by stop signs or oncoming traffic on the almost deserted street. On this lazy afternoon, the boys are headed toward the nearby elementary school, where steps and handrails are plentiful, to practice their newest skateboarding tricks. They all wear the same uniform: black t-shirt, jeans, and cap. Despite their need to rebel against the establishment, they still have the need to be accepted by their peers. Each tries to outdo the other by showing off his expertise. The youngest boy eagerly takes the lead, coasting speedily down the hill. He is followed by his best friend, who is trying desperately to keep up. The last boy is clearly the leader of the three. He rides down the street like a master surfer savoring his last wave.

Five minutes tick by. A squirrel pounces on an acorn and scurries up a tree. In the safety of the tree branches, the squirrel begins to gnaw ferociously at its newfound snack.

A couple of twenty-somethings cycle up the street. The young woman, seeing the obstacle looming ahead of her, prepares herself for the journey by pumping her legs vigorously. Up. Down. Up. Down. She and her companion are not dressed for strenuous activity. They had just spent the afternoon at the Austin public library, and they had not anticipated the arduous ride home. The decision to borrow twelve books from the library suddenly seemed like an enormous error in judgment. As they slowly make their way up the hill, her companion tries to make encouraging remarks. Hey, we’re almost there… Look at how far we’ve come… At least you’re not the one carrying the books. But alas, to no avail. Halfway up the street, the couple surrender to the forces of gravity. They make a quick U-turn and head back down the street, looking for easier roads home.

Another few minutes pass. The street is silent. A lone pedestrian crosses the street.

A man on his daily jog appears at the top of the hill. He has been taking the same route every day, come rain or shine. His rhythm is steady as he makes his way down the incline. His arms and legs move in unison, propelling his body forward. The fact that the ground beneath his feet is changing does nothing to change his pace. He has the controlled movements of a well-oiled machine, and he has worked hard to acquire them. Growing up he was an overweight child, and he was often teased about his weight. He finally decided to take control of his own life. Since then he has lost over 200 lb. Now when he runs, the world around him falls away, and he is left only with the sound of his footsteps hitting the pavement.

Moonlight Tower Murder

This is where it all began. Gosh, I cant believe it has been three years since the accident. Beneath this moonlight tower, this beacon of light in the darkness of the night. Its ironic that something so tragic could happen beneath something designed for the sole purpose of safety. The memory of the accident was long forgotten, with so many other equally as tragic incidents to distract the city there was almost no recollection of this particular incident at all.

Now, just as it had been before this terribly unfortunate event, things were running their normal course and at a speed that only regularity can bring. This intersection of 22nd and Nueces is just any other intersection to those unaware of what happened, but those closest to her will never forget it.

Three years. Even so the events of that night run through my head so often I don’t think I could forget any detail if I tried. It was a typical Saturday night of not knowing what we were going to do and only at the last minute finding a party through a friend’s friend. We promised each other that if the party just wasn’t for us that we would just go home and relax, perhaps watch a movie. After being at the party for like 15 minutes or so I really didn’t feel very comfortable so, reluctantly, she agreed to leave. This is the part of the story that really gets me because both of us had walked this route hundreds of times both during the day and at night with little or no incident. Come to think of it neither of us had ever witnessed any major problem at all at this particular intersection. This intersection was a typical west campus intersection, a one way street intersecting a two way street and with stops signs in all directions. Some people said at the time it was the fault of the construction company near by, seeing as there were signs all over the street warning of the dangers of the construction site. It was one of these signs that was said to have slightly hindered the driver’s sight from seeing the stop sign. All I could think was that these signs had been there for months so surely he would have already driven through and known there was a stop sign there. Later we would find out that the driver was severely intoxicated from a night of partying as he had just turned 21 and was using his newly acquired ability to go down to 6th street and buy himself as many drinks as he wanted. This in the end was the final reason for his conviction of manslaughter.

It was these events, when we actually got to the intersection, that I would run through my head the most. Why did we step out into the street so assuredly the car would stop? Why didn’t we even take the time to look at the oncoming car? These are the questions that need no answer. In any other circumstance there would be no problem, there would be no question that the car would stop. In any other circumstance the driver could have not been drinking or he could have seen the stop sign and stopped or the construction sign would have been farther back as to not get in the way of the stop sign but on this particular day none of these were the case.

Every once and a while I will go to that intersection and just sit to observe the way the intersection runs so smoothly. I see a constant interaction between the people walking, the people just meeting up with friends, people on bicycles, the cars and any other object or being that is joining in the everyday interaction of an intersection.

These are the simple facts that one sees at an intersection that is guided by stop signs. Cars yield to other cars that were there first. Pedestrians have the right of way. In the end it was these simple rules of the stop sign that ultimately lead to her death.

bench on 22nd and rio grande

EMILY (ACTOR 1) ENTERS THE SCENE.

Emily walks towards 22nd and Nueces, in search of the Moonlight tower. As she approaches, she feels a little silly that she’s passed the metal structure so many times without even acknowledging its presence. However, this story is not about the moonlight tower. It is about her sitting on the bench near the bus stop.

Since she plans on sketching, Emily looks for a comfortable place to sit down. “Great”, she thinks to herself, “The bench is on the sidewalk. Apparently there is construction going on right in front of it.” The bright plastic mesh was supported by rusty poles, creating a rectangular fence around a plot of mud. She tried to get comfortable as she began sketching.

YOUNG MAN (ACTOR 2) ENTERS THE SCENE.

As a young man walked on the cracked concrete sidewalk, he asked Emily, “Excuse me, how long have you been waiting for the bus?”

“Oh! I’m not waiting for the bus… I’m doing a project… But the last bus passed about 15 minutes ago. It wasn’t a Dillo though. You can look at the schedule on that bus pole, over there, to see when it’s coming however.”

“Thanks- good luck with your project!”

“Thanks. I need it.”

YOUNG MAN (ACTOR 2) EXITS THE SCENE.

Emily felt awkward the whole time she sat on that icy bench. She starts to sketch the first thing she sees: the tacky orange fence’s pattern. She tried to move her feet under the bench when people walked by, to help them pass by more easily. She noticed how the only light source (besides the homes) was the moon light tower. The tower didn’t really create a light, but more like a haze as if she was in a dream. Although emergency call box close by, it did not make her feel particularly safe as the sun set. She was tempted to get The Daily Texan from the news stand, but decided against reading it. So far, she had only drawn the overflowing trashcan which strangely resembled the UT tower (Did the designer of the trashcan do that on purpose? Or maybe she was overanalyzing the purpose of the trashcan by then.) She looks up from her work as another man passes by.

OLDER MAN (ACTOR 3) ENTERS THE SCENE.

Older man is carrying CVS bags in each arm. He sees the little Asian girl sitting on the bench, blocking the pathway on the sidewalk. In most cases, he would be able to pass her, but the temporary fence makes the pathway narrower. Older man decides to walk in the road rather than clobbering her in the head with his groceries. Emily, the little Asian girl, is appreciate.

OLDER MAN (ACTOR 3) EXITS THE SCENE.

Emily is ready to leave now. She’s drawn a collage of objects that she’s “interacted” with during her short stay on the lovely bench. She decides to draw a quick perspective of the scene since her camera’s battery is low. She realizes that the bench is in a stupid location, because it’s not even close to the bus stop pole. She leaves before it gets any darker.

EMILY (ACTOR 1) EXITS THE SCENE.

The all-powerful traffic light at the unusually deserted intersection

It is hard to believe that just a few days ago Austin was coated in a considerably thick (really more like a ¼ of an inch) layer of ice. Confusion swept the city. Accidents occurred everywhere. Children frolicked in the once green pastures trying to make miniature snowmen. Adults fought off cabin fever. And architecture students rejoiced as they snuggled up in bed and slept that extra few hours or watched that fifth movie of the day. But today is Sunday and the “Texas Winter” weather has returned.

The sun is shining brightly for the first time in a week, warming the air surrounding the ACC Rio Grande Campus to an almost spring-like 65 degrees. It seems all too perfect. This is the type of weather off of which the city of Austin thrives. But something is different here. Whereas the rest of the city is probably alive and well, this intersection is abandoned, forsaken…dead. All that seems to be missing is tumbleweed and the music from an old western film playing softly in the background.

A few blocks down, Creighton hovers over his bicycle, carefully pumping air into each of its two tires. Just as he screws the cap onto the valve of the back tire, his girlfriend, Felicity, emerges from inside the house, strapping her helmet onto her head and flashing a wide grin. A single glance at her, with her hair being pushed into her face by the large object on top of her head, sends Creighton into hysterics. In one swift motion, Felicity removes her helmet and hurls it at her boyfriend. The two share a laugh for a moment, then grab their bikes from the floor of the garage to set on Rio Grande Street for their weekly downtown ride.

On campus, Jeremy, a sophomore at UT, locks the door to his apartment on Rio Grande, hops into his SUV, puts the key in the ignition, and buckles his seat belt without once removing his cell phone from his left ear. He laughs aloud as his best friend reminds him of what he did at the party the night before. Suddenly, he hears a beep and glances at his phone. It’s his mother. After cutting the conversation with his friend short, he answers the call, apologizes for running late, and assures her that he will be at the restaurant within ten minutes. As he quickly approaches 12th Street, he hangs up the phone, turns up the radio. and slows down as the light turns yellow.

With a bag in hand, Hubert makes his way back home from Lamar. Remembering all the unfortunate events of the prior week, he frowns and begins to stomp his feet. After being fired from his job and the car being rear-ended by some moron college student who was driving too fast on the ice, all he wanted was a bagel from Einstein’s for breakfast. A simple bagel with cream cheese…is that too much to ask? Apparently so because he awoke to find a note from his wife saying that she took the car to go shopping. Perfection! Deciding there was no way a lack of transportation would keep him from getting that bagel, he laced up his tennis shoes and walked. Sure, the trip to Einstein’s was an easy one. Each step brought him closer to his tasty reward. But now? Now that his stomach was full and his goal reached, all he had left to do was return home…on foot. Not even an extra bagel for the road could make this enjoyable. As he walks up 12th Street towards Rio Grande, he sees a car at the stop light and a young couple riding up on bicycles. At least they have a mode of transportation. How wonderful. With this sudden jealousy, Hubert picks up his pace, hoping against all odds that he will be able to cross the street before the light on 12th turns red.

When Creighton and Felicity pull up to the intersection, they are forced to come to a halt, the red light blaring at them. There is no traffic on 12th Street, but they stop anyway. Almost immediately, the light turns green and the car next to them speeds off. From across the street, Jeremy watches the couple, waiting for them to cross the street so he can turn onto 12th. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel as he sees the young woman struggle to start pedaling, wondering to himself if he should have just gone on red. Once she crosses, he quickly turns and speeds toward downtown, wishing that he hadn’t stayed at home that extra 15 minutes to see the end of the last episode of “The Real World”.
As the car’s taillights disappear and the young couple rides off into the distance, Hubert finds himself alone, cursing the fact that he didn’t make it to the light in time to cross. He waits for a few moments, shifting his focus from the red hand staring him down on the other side of the street to the barren intersection. Finally, he decides he has had enough and crosses prematurely. Striding swiftly and gracefully, he glances suspiciously at the two architecture students seated at the otherwise deserted bus stop. As the space between him and the intersection increases, all movement ceases once more except for the changing color of the traffic lights. Green, yellow, red: three simple colors; three separate messages; a worldwide understanding.