Sunday, December 11, 2005
So this morning I cleaned the medicine cabinet.
Into the garbage went empty tubes of lotions, the expired tinctures, and a bottle of homeopathic belladonna which DID NOT WORK. Away went a bottle of tylenol (nothing left) and kids' motrin (drowned ant). Then I got to the top of the cabinet and saw something that startled me. A roll of film.
It's a piece of my life from South Carolina, when I was 19 and crazy. I had a great roomate, but she left to take a job in Charleston. So a co-worker and her boyfriend took the room - it was all downhill from there. The creepy boyfriend would steal beer. "They won't let me buy it, so I'm entitled to take it." He was also dealing his psychiatric meds out of the apartment. One day they just left. Left with their dirty dishes in the sink, left with all their stuff upstairs, left without giving me their half of the rent.
My downstairs neighbor - a busybody studying criminal law - told me to take pictures of what they left behind. She supplied the film and marched us back upstairs. We went into their room and peered around. The room was totally, totally trashed. She snapped picture after picture, all the while commenting on the chaos. Then she took a picture of their dishes, which I refused to wash. They were moldy. She gave me the roll of film and told me I could use it as evidence.
They did come back (and move out), but I had lost the apartment by then. I moved in with some friends, and moved out when everyone went on Dead tour. I slept on a friend's couch (for a week or two), but that wasn't working for either of us. Eventually I drove back home, totally defeated.
I still have this roll of film, 11 years later. I'm not quite sure what to do with it. There's a part of me that wants to throw it away. Another part wants to develop it, and face that strange time of my life. Of course, I could always let it sit another 11 years.
What do you think?