Every night, I lie down and stare at the ceiling of my bedroom. It’s covered in glow-in-the-dark stars, constellations sparkling in the darkness of the room. I name as many as I can remember: the Big Dipper, Orion, Sirius, Scorpio, Pisces. You and I used to be able to name them all.
Do you remember when we put those up? It was a rainy day, one of those days when it seems like the sky is falling and exploding into thousands of little pieces. My dad came home with the stickers and told us to “go to town on that boring old ceiling.” You and I stuck them to the top of my room while the sky lit up with lightning and thunder rang in our ears. It hurts to look at them now, but I’d never have the heart to remove them.
My days have gotten better. I find myself smiling from time to time. I don’t spend all of class staring at your empty seat. I can stop thinking of you for a few minutes. I don’t see you in everything anymore. I don’t cry quite as often.
But I still cry myself to sleep.
Every night, I lie down, and I stare at my little sliver of the night sky.
And I remember.
✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩
I remember you. I remember your face, the shape of your eyes, the softness of your hair. I used to run my hands through it, and you’d lean into my hand like a kitten asking to be pet. I remember the way your nose crinkled when you laughed, the way your eyes curled into those little crescent moons when you smiled. I remember the times when you laughed so hard you couldn’t breathe, when you’d clutch your stomach and gasp for air, your eyes vanishing into your smile. I remember the soothing melody of your voice, the sweet timbre of your laugh.
I’m scared that one day I won’t be able to remember. You’re already fading a little, my memories of you blurring, going fuzzy around the edges.
✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩
I remember the years before that day. I remember the year you moved to our town, right next door. I remember saying hi to you in school and talking to you for all of lunch that day. I remember the times we played in my yard, jumped into puddles, told stories under the stars in my room. I remember nights spent studying and goofing around and laughing until our stomachs hurt.
I don’t remember what we talked about that first day. I don’t remember the rules of the games we played or the stories we told in the darkness of my room. I don’t remember your ringtone or your favorite song to study to. I don’t even remember the video we watched one night that had us in fits of laughter for nearly an hour.
I remember shining a flashlight at your window so I could get your attention, and then we would go to my backyard and look at the stars, the Big Dipper, Orion, Sirius, Scorpio, Pisces, all the other constellations I don’t remember.
I wonder if you’re up there. You’d be one of the brightest stars, I think.
We used to wish on the stars. You told me that 11:11 was a magic time, a time when earnest wishes were granted. I told you that was silly, that it was just a story, but I did it anyway. We wished for toys and pizza dinners and eternal happiness.
I wonder if I wish hard enough, I could change the past. If I could turn back time and fix my mistakes.
If I could save you.
✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩
I remember them. The ones who started mocking you in 6th grade after your dad lost his job and turned to alcohol, once your clothes started to get shabbier and shabbier, your school supplies becoming more and more worn, your lunches getting smaller and smaller. It was just that until the first year of high school. Then they pounced on you, choosing you as their special target, their favorite. It got worse, so much worse. They took the demon residing within them and raised it until it frothed at the mouth and demanded more pain, more misery, more tears.
Your pain. Your misery. Your tears.
I don’t even remember everyone who hurt you at some point. It feels like everyone did.
I remember the things they did, the things they said, the things they made you do. I remember, but there were so many things that I’ve forgotten, every incident blurring together. They hit you, beat you up and sent you home with bruises blossoming under your clothes. Sometimes they didn’t even bother with hiding them. I can’t remember what parts of you they spared, what parts of you were never stained purple.
They called you horrible things, horrible, horrible, untrue things. Bastard. Whore. Bitch. Faggot. Worthless. A hundred other things I never heard or that I forgot. All lies, empty words only meant to hurt you, and they did.
All because of what? I ask myself that every day, and I’ll never have an answer. Because you were poor? Because you weren’t the stereotypical masculine guy? Because you were pure and kind and good, better than them? Why?
I wish I could ask them, but I know there’s no point.
What kind of response could they give me, anyway?
✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩
I remember the nights you called me, sobbing. The frantic calls you made, crying that you were tired, you were tired and worthless and didn’t want to keep going. And every time I told you no, don’t pull the trigger, don’t pick up the blade, don’t get the rope because I love you, you’re my best friend, the best person I know, and hold on because eventually this will all be a testament to how strong of a person you are. I told you that you mean so much to so many people, you mean so much to me.
You still do.
I remember sighing in relief every time you whispered “Okay. I’ll try again.”
I remember the times I succeeded.
✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩
I remember that day.
You called me thirteen times.
Thirteen times.
And I didn’t pick up.
I went out to a movie with some of my other friends, and I had put my phone away so I wouldn’t be distracted. I turned it to silent even though I never did that, I even turned the vibrate off. I wondered what would happen if you needed help, but I pushed it away and told myself that it’d be fine, you’d be fine.
I opened my phone during the walk home. And I saw the messages, and I’ve never felt dread as cold as that. I saw that you had left a voicemail, and I opened it, praying “please, please, let it just be about homework, about school, about your dad, anything but that.” I listened with terror suffocating me and rising in my throat, pleading with whatever higher power there is to please let it be homework, school, your dad, anything but that.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Thank you for everything. Don’t blame yourself, please. I’m the only one to blame. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but I’m tired, I’m so tired. I can’t do this anymore. I’m so sorry, I promise I tried, but it’s too much, this is too much. I can’t fight it anymore. I love you so much and I’m so, so sorry.”
I called you, praying that you were waiting, ignoring the time stamp that said the message was from hours ago. You didn’t pick up, but I didn’t hang up. You had changed your voicemail, and as I listened, I knew that my prayers hadn’t been answered, not this time. Not when it mattered most.
“I’m not available and I’ll never be available again. I’m gone, I’ve been gone for a while. I don’t exist, I stopped existing a long time ago. I’ve been killed. I’ve been murdered and hung up for everyone to see. I’m nothing anymore. Don’t try to bring me back, don’t try to save me. I can’t be saved, I don’t want to be saved. It’s too late.” The recording cut off, and I stood still as a statue for a long moment.
The dread solidified to fear, fear in as pure of a form as I’ve ever felt it.
✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩
I remember running to your house as fast as my legs could take me, shouting for you, but I was too late, too late, too little too late. Even from a block away I could hear the wailing of the ambulance sirens, the screams of your family, your mother screaming for you to wake up, please, please wake up. I got to your house and I saw one of my worst nightmares come to life, a nightmare I never even wanted to imagine, there in horrifying detail.
This is the part I don’t want to remember.
✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩
I remember being numb. Not feeling anything.
I didn’t want to feel anything.
✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩
I picture your final moments. You went home after another long day, your heart throbbing in your chest. You called me, hoping that I would pick up, but there was that little hope that I wouldn’t, that you could finally be free from this world, from this pain. You gave up after the thirteenth time. You felt alone, forgotten, abandoned. But you still left a voice message for me.
You went to your father’s room and opened a drawer. You brought it back to your room. You laid it next to you, on your bed, and you changed your voice message. You were alone in the house. Your family wouldn’t be back for at least an hour. You faced the mirror.
You picked up your father’s gun and held it in your soft, delicate pianist’s hand. You looked your reflection in the eye, a person with dark circles under his eyes and hurt glistening in his eyes, a person you barely recognized, and told yourself that no one would miss you. You closed your eyes and let another tear join the streams flowing down your face. You pulled the trigger, and as you fell, the walls behind you were painted scarlet.
As you fell, my world fell apart.
✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩
I stare at the ceiling and I play a thousand, a million, a billion, an infinite amount of scenarios in my head. What I would’ve said if I had picked up, if I had reached you in time.
“Please just wait a little longer, I’m coming over and I’ll bring mint chocolate chip ice cream and gummy bears and we’ll stuff ourselves and I’ll wipe your tears away and tell you it’ll be alright, because it will be. Please just wait. Please. Don’t leave me yet. ”
I imagine what I would do if I saw you one more time. Just one more time.
✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩
Your little siblings told me it wasn’t my fault. Your mother told me it wasn’t my fault. Everyone tells me it wasn’t my fault, but I know they’re lying. How could it not be my fault, when I was the one who promised I’d always be there for you and wasn’t when it mattered most?
I cried when your sister told me she doesn’t blame me. She’s so young. All smiles and laughter and innocence. And that was taken away from her. She carries herself with a new heaviness, the carefree light in her eyes replaced by the glisten of tears. She said that “Mommy told me that some people are so perfect that God wants to take them home quicker. Because he misses the angel he sent down.”
She’s grown up too fast. We all grew up too fast.
* * * * *
I miss you so much. There’s a hole into my heart that can never be filled, a chasm that separates me from everyone around me, a void where you once were. I’ve cried oceans for you, pleading with the stars to turn back time so I could see you, so I could apologize and try harder and so I could save you. I set alarms for 11:11 and wished as earnestly as I could, I begged for time to turn back so I could save you.
For months after you died, I’d cry every time I saw something that reminded me of you. I’d see you everywhere.
I’d see your smiling face out of the corner of my eye and turn around to find nothing but air. I’d feel your hand in my hair, but it was always just the wind. I’d hear your laugh and whirl around, but I’d find no one. I’d see a person wearing a hoodie that was the same color as your favorite hoodie, the blue of a sunny summer sky, and run to them, your name at the tip of my tongue, only for it to fizzle away at the sight of the person’s face. I’d see red and suddenly you were in front of me, smiling softly, that red-splattered wall behind you.
I’d feel your light touch on my shoulder and put my hand there, but all I’d find was myself. I’d hear your voice but it was just my head playing cruel tricks on me, I’d see you smiling at me in the mirror, but you’d vanish when I blinked my eyes. I’d hear your screams in my ears, but when I called your name you never responded.
I feel your blood on my hands, but when I look down at my hands they’re clean but they’re still dirty, so dirty.
I’m dirty.
* * * * *
I look at the bright blue sky, your favorite, and I hate it. The sunny sky disrespects your death with its beauty, the wind whispers your name in my ear. Flowers decorate the fields, I wake up to birds singing and sunny, beautiful days. Even the rain comes lightly. It’s not fair, it’s not right. The world should be crying and cold, dark and lifeless. The skies should weep poison tears, the sun should hide behind stormy clouds. The birds should shriek of death, the flowers should die in tribute to you. The sun is gone, my sun is gone, my world is gone. The sun, the flowers, the birds, the sky, they all mean nothing, they’re not beautiful anymore. Without you, they mean nothing at all.
Beauty died along with you, life died with you. There is only survival, bare survival.
* * * * *
Why didn’t you just take everything? Why couldn’t you have taken my memories of you? Why did you leave them? It would hurt less if I didn’t remember anything, if I never knew that you existed. I’d be empty, I’d still hurt, but maybe it wouldn’t burn so much. The hole you ripped into my heart, the edges are messy and they hurt. Every time I remember something about you the hole gets a little bigger. Soon everything will be gone, and there will be nothing but emptiness. And one day I’ll be gone too, off to join you wherever you are.
Besides, what is there to live for when the biggest part of my life is gone?
I won’t kill myself, I never could. I don’t deserve freedom from this pain, I don’t deserve to see you again. But I can’t live either. I’m stuck somewhere in-between life and death, and I’m just so confused.
I just want to be okay.
I wrote this like 2-3 years ago, and tbh I don't think the storyline is very good. It's very unrealistic, and it drifts a little too close to romanticizing suicide/mental illness for my comfort. But I do really like some of the imagery and the actual writing. So here it is!
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