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Chapter 7
Suicides, Sex Services, and Starting College

Early one morning I was making a round through the cemetery before starting my work there. I saw a guy sleeping at the foot of a tomb. Loreauville is a very small town and we didn't have any vagrants, so this seemed strange. As I got closer I saw a dark pool of liquid staining the green grass. When I got close enough to realize the dark color was red, I could also see that he'd shot himself through the head.

The sheriff's department office was just one block away, it was faster for me to go there, than to run back to the rectory. He must have shot himself many hours earlier because his body was already stiff as they carried him out of the cemetery on a stretcher. Later that day as I was using a hose to soak the ground around that area I noticed something move in the breeze on the tomb he had been in front of. An envelope was sticking out from under the flower vase on the tomb. It was a suicide note. This guy had shot himself at the foot of his father's grave. When I later researched their family name I learned that his father had locked himself in the family car, in the driveway, and shot himself through the head while the son and rest of the family tried to get him to unlock the door. These events had taken place many years prior, but had apparently left deep emotional scars on the recently deceased man.

A friend of mine, years later, took his life by hanging himself from the rafters of his dad's barn. His name was Bernie, and though he was several years older than I, we connected on a very strange level. He confided to me that he preferred to spend his money on record albums rather than on dating. He said the albums were more fun and lasted longer. I firmly believe that we were kindred spirits, that I had found another person who was “like me”, even though we never spoke of it, even though I wasn’t exactly sure what being like me really meant. Bernie introduced me to the music of Cat Stevens. His music touched that aching part of me and would play an important role in my life as I was coming out a year or so later.

I was reached that awkward age where, even though I knew nothing about it, sex seemed to be the most important thing to know about. Besides the normal fumbling experimentation of youth, I remember a couple of situations where I was propositioned, but did not accept the offers. The first was from a well known townsman. I had a habit of going for walks at night, either openly, or by sneaking out of my bedroom window if I were grounded. Somehow it felt liberating to sneak out of the house. When I ran across this townsman that evening I stood talking to him through his open car window. He invited me to sit in the car and talk for a bit. He said:

" You know sometimes when a guy doesn't get what he wants from a girl, it can be frustrating." He placed his hand on my thigh "I could help you out during those times Craig."

I nervously told him "No thanks", and excused myself, saying it was time for me to go home.

My other recollection isn't as clear, but it involved another well known townsman (actually related to me). This person was married with several children. I happened to be in his office in New Iberia trying to sell him an advertisement space in the high school yearbook. He made a reference to a group of guys he knew that got together to "fool around with each other", and asked me if I was interested in joining them? I again declined. I didn’t feel that kindred spirit rising with them, even though it seems they saw something of that aching in me calling out to them.

I went off to college in Lafayette, about 30 miles away. I knew from the start that I would live on campus. I knew I needed to get away from my families control over me. I started school majoring in Art and Architecture and excelled at the Art end of things. I was always an accomplished artist, and when it came to the architecture side, I thought I was doing a great job too. It was kinda fun to draw buildings, or pieces of things, in detail. When it came time to have my first architectural drawing graded, I received low marks. I was appalled! Didn't they see how beautiful my building was? Didn't they see how artistic I was? Well maybe they did, but the teacher pointed out that if this building were actually built, the walls wouldn't meet -- pointing to the corners of my lines and showing me that they didn't quite touch. The next day I dropped architecture and decided to major in Computer Science. I heard they had this cool start trek game that some of my campus friends had played. Here was a major that would let me play games, cool!

Computer Science turned out to be a lot more than playing games, but I enjoyed it. It seemed I was grasping things a bit quicker than most of my classmates, and as always I was looking for easier ways to do things once I grasped the concepts. Ironically this is the trait that got me in the most trouble with my dad. If he showed me how to do something then damn it that was the way it should be done. I was yelled at or even punished for improvising. I guess in my father's military one didn't improvise, one said "SIR YES SIR!" and buried any sense of pride or individuality. Here in college was a new world, a world of people who encouraged you to be an individual and come up with new ways to solve old problems. I was beginning to feel that I’d found my place in the world.

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