92 Days Excerpt

Posted this recently to another blog in the course of a discussion about authors. Thought I'd put it here too, just because it's that kind of day.

(If you gank yourself do you grow hair on your palms?)

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A passage from Larry Brown's "short" story, "92 Days," which appears in the comp Big Bad Love. This is told from the perspective of an alcoholic writer. Alisha is one of his two children.

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Alisha died right after that. They said it was crib death, SIDS, but I don't think that's what it was. I thought it was punishment to me for giving up my wife and my family and all the wrath of God howling after me all the days of my life to the ends of the earth. I wanted to go out into the forest and live like a madman with leaves for clothes and live in a hole in the ground and throw rocks at anybody who came near.

My whole family was there. I was stunned with all the marijuana and liquor I could stuff into myself and still remain standing. I signed papers, made promises, heard prayers and screaming and gnashing of teeth. Cried till my eyes were sore. I took on a pain that would never leave me, never let me rest until years had passed, and then it would always remain like lead that had settled in the bottom of my heart, a little sad face smiling up, reminding me always, even when I lay on my deathbed, Alisha, born wrong, Alisha, child of God, Alisha a soul wafting out across space with her tiny hands clapping.