Good Night Moon

Four days ago, I drove away from E. Alternative School for the last time. I took my keys out of my pocket, put them in the ignition, and rolled slowly out the gate. I took a right on Perdido, a left on Galvez, and then I drove home. I think Jimmy Buffet was playing. It was hot, and I was already sweating.

I’m thinking: what am I thinking? What am I feeling? What should I be thinking? What should I be feeling?

I rolled out of that goddamn parking lot as confused as I was when I rolled in. Shit if I know.

I spent the past two years of my life in New Orleans, Louisiana employed by the Recovery School District. I worked for two alternative schools designed to hold and theoretically rehabilitate expelled students. I came in with no idea, and now I’m leaving fortified with the knowledge that I really, really have no idea.

I took out my phone and texted everyone I’ve managed to maintain contact with in the past two years, which is hardly anyone at all. “Done!”

“Yay!” “Wow!” and “Who is this?” my phone beeps with each incoming text. In the face of probably one of the greatest anti-climaxes of my life, I got back in the car and drove to help one of my friends pack her UHAUL. The two of us moved everything she and her boyfriend own in two hours. I drank half a pitcher of lemonade, we ate lunch, and I went home.

I’m laying on the couch surfing the internet when Joshua comes home. He’s brought me a present of Ben and Jerry’s and a card, and he asks me how I feel now that I’m done. I tell him that I have no idea how to process any of this, and he suggests that we get drunk.

Instead, we watch the last episode of the last season of The Wire. Jimmy McNalty lays on the pool table of the policemen’s bar in Baltimore. It’s his funeral; he’s leaving the police. They tell him he was an asshole; he was a great police. Akeema forgives him, and he forgives her, and rather than have one last drink, he walks away. He goes home to his girlfriend and her two kids, and the game goes on. Marlow sells his connect, and Cheese is shot in the negotiations. Good Night Moon. Good Night Baltimore. Good Night Hookers and Thugs. Good Night Police.

Next, we meet up with Stacy, my freshman roommate from college, her husband, Kyle, and their dog, Mimi. We drive to City Park, and walk through the old golf course as dusk is just starting to fall. I talk to Stacy, and we try to muddle through our thoughts teaching, accountability, responsibility, and blame. We try to do head stands on the grass.

That night, Joshua and I go to sleep in our room in New Orleans. The floor is strewn with our washed and unwashed clothing. Oscar lies at the foot of the bed. Thibodeaux rests with her head on my knees, and the air conditioning hums us to sleep.