What a thought. It finally reaches April 15th only for it to be a Sunday. The irony in it all is just cruel.
wahmbulance --I don't mind if you comment. Just try to be a little nice. Not for the sake of my well being (Which I know none of you could care less about) But for the memory of the person I am writing this about.-- wahmbulance
My family, my parents and my younger sister, went to church this morning without me. As usual. And as they were gone I left the house and made my way to the site of his body. Just my luck that the wind blew harshly and the weather cold as ever. It was an improvement I guess because the last time I visited it was raining. But I would rather have it rain. It matched the sullen mood unlike the whispering winds.
Life is a fickle and flimsey thing. So fragile. We can either chose to cherish the time we have or waste it. I try to push ahead through the obstacles because that is the test of life. To push as far as you are willing to go. to not give up in the darkest of times because... It's all a big test. And even though you didn't study for it you know you have to pass.
I walked down that long winding path of cement that trailed through the cemetary. I looked at all the headstones of different shapes, sizes, and colors. None of them mattered to me but at that moment I knew that many of them didn't want me there. But I pressed on through the howls of wind and blasts of icy air against my flushed cheeks. Until I stood at my destination.
Damn his parents. I never had really met them on a personal level. He told me never to come to his house. And every time I asked he just smiled and said that his parents were always busy. I wasn't until a few weeks before he died that he told me the truth. The his father was a mad drunk that would beat him to a bloody pulp and throw him in the pit they called a room. And that his mother watched as she kept distance. That she was rarely ever home always playing bingo and caravanning with other men.
Despite all that he still lived there. He tried to help out by doing the dishes.
"So my father doesn't have anything to throw at me."
Tried doing the laundry.
"Cause he would get pissed off and strangle me with his shirts."
Or even take out the trash.
"So I'd have a reason to leave."
And yet they couldn't even spend the money to buy him a proper headstone.
I looked down at the little wooden cross that was anchored into the ground. Bows and flowers hung from them. But I knew that it was mae that way, not that his parents wanted them.
I kneeled down, pressing the knees of my jeans into the grass and dirt, and steadied myself on my hands in front of God and everyone before him and cried. I hadn't even begun to think about him except for his headstone but shuddered as I tried to breathe.
Sniffling I pressed my head into the dirt and whispered to him. Like he could hear me through the six feet of dirt.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." The phrase seemed to repeat itself without my control. To make it stop I held my breath but I soon had to gasp for air and then the phrase reappeared.
"I'm sorry."
It's not enough. Those simple words. I often wonderer if you've forgiven me in the next life. And then I know that you probably haven't. 5 years. I knew you for 7 years but in the last 5 years. Time seemed precious between us. And then.... I left.
At the end of year 5 I tried to ignore you, to push you away from me. We always had fights. We argued to no end but then the next we always saw each other smiling. The fights were over nothing so we never held grudges. They were to let off the steam from the day.
But the last fight we had. It had been petty. Over the people we chose to hang with. You saw it ridiculous that I still chose to go to school. A waste of my talents and life. That if the fellow classmates didn't give a damn whether I died or lived then I shouldn't even bother. Then I got angry.
"I have friends!" I shouted back at you. "True friends and that's more then you'll ever have!" I knew that was wrong. The friends he had bought drugs from him. And only liked him because he was one of the toughest guys there. The women loved him too because he was handsome. And that was all. You got angry to the point were if I came closer you would spin around and lash out.
And I stormed out. Like any other time. After every other fight.
And like always I didn't see you until weeks later. But you didn't show up at my house. I felt it was my fault for saying such things to you. So I went to your house against your orders. As long as I didn't go inside your house it was cool. You and me hung out in your garage anyway.
I lifted my head form the dirt, looking at the white cross in blurry vision. I had given up from wiping my eyes. They would just fill up and fall again. I sniffled loudly finally able to say other things.
"I shouldn't have said those things."
"Would you still be here if I didn't?"
"Why did you leave me?"
The usual things a sad partner says to their belated mate. And it sounds all to cliche'. Like some movie. But when you are there in my position that is all you really find yourself saying.
I sat on my knees and wiped the dirt from my hands on my jeans. The wiped my eyes and face. I prayed. Prayed as hard as I could that you were in a better place then this. That you would forgive me. That I might see you again some day.
But the guilt is a heavy burden. It weighs heavily on my heart and I could feel my chest tighten. I had to take deep breathes to ease the pain.
I knocked on the garage door. Like always. You'd say," Come in." or "Go away.". But I would always come in anyways. But this time you said nothing. I opened the door and found the light turned off. I flicked on the switch and saw you there... Lying on the ground a pool of blood around you.
The entierty of your throat was missing. Chunks of flesh and meat were scattered feet away from your body. And you laid in the middle of it all no longer breathing. A shotgun at your side. And it wasn't until I took a deep breath of the metallic air did I scream. In a long while I had never screamed with such ferocity of loss. And it was that scream that brought your parents.
I was pulled out of class a couple of times by police at school. They would question me and our relationship. Your parents labeled it suicide right off the bat not really caring. Not wanting to go through the hastle. But I was questioned anyways just in case. The first time I left the room in tears. But later I soon didn't care. I drew up walls around me; shutting everyone out.
I hesitated before looking at my watch. The time was now 11:32 a.m. The family would be home soon. It took me a few tries before I could stand again. I didn't want to leave. I wanted to sink into the ground and be with you.
I always pictured dying in a battle. In some heroic way because you were stronger than me. So much stronger. You protected me, made me feel better, and helped me control myself. You were always tehre so that how I always pictured it. Suicide was the last thing I thought about when it came to you. but that's what ended up taking you away.
I brush myself off and bowed silently to your grave marker, whispering a final, "I love you". I left the cemetary feeling a bit better and much worse. A year will help me build myself back up again before I visit you. Only to have the site of your deteriorating cross knock me down again.
Time comes back to us to make fools of us all. Your life ended because of me. That may not be the answer but that's how it feels. A heavy burden I carry now in my life. Through the harsh days of people, trash, and many other things. People can never truly understand how you feel until they've been in your shoes.
wahmbulance -- It's understandable to have emo days when you have someone close to you die. So if I'm not feeling 100% happy on Monday or Tuesday just try to wait for me to feel better. Don't try to cheer me up. It takes time.-- wahmbulance
 SikFox · Sun Apr 15, 2007 @ 07:54pm · 0 Comments |
