I was chickening out. I didn’t really want to die but didn’t know how to proceed from here. I wanted to go home but didn’t know if Bob would take me back or not. I didn’t want to call him and get an angry response because I knew that would send me around the bend and I really would kill myself if I did. So I decided I needed to get rid of the gun before I called him. Trouble was, I didn’t know the area and couldn’t think of a way to just throw it away and didn’t think that would be safe. I desperately wanted to talk to someone but didn’t know who.
I thought about that. A friend of mine’s husband was working on the Coast in hurricane relief—he had been in my Sunday School class for several years. I thought about trying to call him. I realized that I would have to call his cell—he was living in a travel trailer and volunteering for various cleanup agencies. I didn’t know his cell number and didn’t feel comfortable calling my friend to get it.
I thought some more. I had another acquaintance in the area—he worked for Bob’s company in New Orleans and on the coast. I went online and looked up his name on anywho.com in New Orleans and found out he actually lived in Madisonville, just down the road. I looked at my watch—it was around 4:30 p.m. Maybe he would be home for dinner by now. So I called the number on my cell phone.