Small Town

My brother and I drove home together yesterday because we could.  Originally, we'd planned to go home Friday evening, but I had to work Saturday.  Going home to the small town is about an hour drive.  I used to commute, so I kind of enjoyed the nostalgic ride home (the cows weren't out, but I still saw goats, and my tree friend-- and, my brother drives a lot like I do.)

Yesterday at work I asked V, a good friend of the family, what happened with this girl (she's only a year older than I) who I heard had died.  And V told me it was uterine cancer, and that another prominent member of our community and someone who lived down the street from me had committed suicide.  My emotions went straight to anger.  Why would you do something like that, when you had so much going for you?  This person was, by far, one of the most respected members of our community, who had vision and leadership and artistic talent.  He directed the play I was in, he ran an art gallery, he sang in his choir at church.  I mean, what the hell?

I admit, I've been a bit depressive since returning to the 'States and being unable to find my dream job, or any job for that matter.  But I tend to put these thoughts on paper and I feel better after doing so.

This piece is from the end of April.  Sketch paper, sharpie, gel ink pen.