Permanent Record

6.25.2013
LAX to HNL. Wore the copper-colored wig to the airport, through security,
and throughout the flight. Sandra came with. We grabbed a gross preflight
lunch in the food court. More TVs tuned to CNN, still showing Ed, and still
surreal, which is the new real for everyone, I think. Got a text from Agent
Mike, telling me and Sandra to come see him at Gate 73. Really? He came up
to LA from San Diego? Gate 73 was roped off and empty. Mike was sitting
waiting for us on a row of chairs. He crossed his legs and showed us he was
wearing an ankle pistol. More macho bullshit intimidation. He had
paperwork for me to sign in order for the FBI to release Ed’s car keys to me
in Hawaii. He said two agents would be waiting for us in Honolulu with the
key. Other agents would be with us on the flight. He apologized that he
wasn’t coming personally. Ugh.
6.29.2013
Been packing the house for days now with only minor interruptions from the
FBI, coming by with more forms to sign. It’s torture, going through
everything. Finding all these little things that remind me of him. I’m like a
crazy woman, cleaning up, and then just gazing at his side of the bed. More

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often, though, I find what’s missing. What the FBI took. Technology, yes, but
also books. What they left behind were footprints, scuff marks on the walls,
and dust.
6.30.2013
Waipahu yard sale. Three men responded to Sandra’s “take it all, best offer”
Craigslisting. They showed up to rummage through Ed’s life, his piano,
guitar, and weight set. Anything I couldn’t bear to live with or afford to ship
to the mainland. The men filled their pickup with as much as they could, and
then came back for a second load. To my surprise, and I think to Sandra’s,
too, I wasn’t too bothered by their scavenging. But the moment they were
gone, the second time, I lost it.