Why, God? Why? I want to die too. I swear I can’t live with this pain anymore. It’s driving me insane.
My father doesn’t acknowledge me, but I don’t expect him to. He’s staring slightly above my head, his mouth slack.
“Do you know who I am?”
Nothing.
“Look at me.”
Still, he gives no reaction.
“August thirtieth,” I say.
The day Cole died. His eyes slowly focus on me, and there’s a spark of recognition in them. Tears glisten in his eyes before running down his cheeks.
“You were never around, but you should’ve been.”
I start crying like a pussy, but I can’t control my emotions.
“Damn you, damn her, and damn me. We failed him. It should be us in the ground.”
He opens his lips, attempting to speak, but unintelligible sounds leave his mouth.
“What are you trying to say?”
“Sorry,” he says in a cracked, barely audible voice.
I lean forward in the chair, clutching his face and looking into his eyes. “Being sorry isn’t going to bring Cole back!” I yell.
We deal with the loss of Cole in our own ways. My mother chooses to pretend he never existed, my father hides inside his own mind, and I attempted suicide.
He cries harder.
I remove my hands from his face, leaning back against the chair. I wipe the tears from my cheeks.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be back to see you again, Dad. I’m going to live with Ricky for a while but after that, who knows. Goodbye.”
I leave the room without looking back.
I exit the facility, hopping onto my motorcycle to beat a path to North Carolina. The cold air whips across my face as the miles fly by. Mommy dearest already had my stuff delivered to my uncle’s house. I didn’t seek her out before leaving this morning. Her car was in the garage, which is surprising, because it’s rare for her to stay home on a Friday night. I guess she wanted to play the role of mother by seeing me off. The old man tried to persuade me to move in with him a few more times, afraid my uncle is going to turn me against him, but I refused.
I made it through another Christmas withouthim.I stayed in bed with the lights off. Grief never goes away or gets easier like some people claim. The urge to buy cocaine consumed my every thought until I finally left home on a mission to get high. Before I made it to my destination, I came to my senses. That’s a dark path I don’t care to venture down again. I parked my motorcycle on a side street then took off running. I ran until my body shut down and my mind became numb. I collapsed to the cold hard ground and crawled to the side of a building to lean against it. That’s where I stayed for several hours before walking back to retrieve my motorcycle. There are three days that bring me to my lowest: August thirtieth, December twenty-fifth, and February fifth—Cole’s birthday.
I remember the day he entered this world. My nanny brought me to the hospital. I was so excited to meet him. He was a wrinkled weird-looking little thing, but that didn’t matter to me. I was a proud big brother. I was allowed to sit in a chair and hold him. I thought to myself,I’ll always protect him. I’ll always be there for him. I’ll be the best big brother.But I wasn’t. There are only two aspects of my life now—beforeColeandafterCole. Before he died, my life was filled with limitless possibilities, but after he died, my life became an all-consuming darkness. Now every day I wake up hoping it’s going to be my last day. If only I’d cut a little bit deeper, I would be six feet under right now.
By the time I arrive at Ricky’s house, it’s pitch black outside. It took me about twelve hours to drive to my new home. I park my motorcycle directly in front of the house. I check the time on my cell phone.
8:03
I climb off the motorcycle, stretching my stiff limbs. It’s been awhile since I last stopped, so I have to take a piss. The house is yellow with white shutters. All they need is a white picket fence to qualify for the all-American family award.
I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.
I walk up the porch steps then knock on the front door. Ricky answers with a wide smile on his face. I can tell he’s nervous and the smile is forced. He knows he has a ticking time bomb on his hands now, and he has no idea when it’ll go off.
“Hi, Art, how was the ride over? I was a little surprised when your mom told me you’d be riding your motorcycle here.”
“It was fine. Is your plan to play Dr. Phil and try to fix me? Unfortunately, for you to accomplish that, you’ll need superglue, tape, a needle and thread, and a bunch of other shit to put me back together again. The only thing that could help me is not remembering.”
