Behind the Door

January 17, 2018
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He stands there outside the room with perfect posture, for it is easier to focus on that than what has just happened. He tries to play it cool, be the strong dad that holds his family together in this hard time. But underneath his sunglasses are red, distraught eyes beginning to water again and underneath his collared shirt is a thumping heart, racing faster than his crowded mind. Underneath his straight face is a sad one, fighting to break out and show. Behind the closed door is the beeping, on and off again. Connected to the beeping are the tubes and IVs that thread down to the limp body of his only son. Because underneath his son’s smile was a sad face.  And hidden in his laughs there were tears. Buried under confidence were his insecurities, tearing him up inside. Behind his bedroom door was loneliness and his last hope hidden away. Hidden in his closet was a gun and now he lays, almost lifeless, on the other side of the door. If his life is over, the pain is gone, there is nothing to hide anymore.


But crouched down next to the hospital bed is his mother praying and inside her prayers are cries for help and hate upon herself for she feels the blame is on her. Because hidden in her “How was your day” was eagerness to talk about her own. And thinking of her regrets she sees the cries for help and sad faces, that she let her son cover up with a fake smile, only because things looked better that way. But she was different, she didn’t hide her emotions as her husband did, she only hid the true reasons behind her cries. Because inside each tear was the question “why?” accompanied by the fear that she would be part of that answer.


Standing alone at the edge of the door was a young boy, deciding on the appropriate time to walk in. And under his discomfort were sadness and confusion. Because laying in front of him his was the body of his best friend. And on his phone was the text saying goodbye. And on the rim of his eye lid there were tears building up faster than the questions that raced in his mind. Because their friendship was made up of fake laughs and no real feelings. Hidden under his friend’s smiles were struggles that he told him not to worry about. And within his “don't worry” was a faint cry for help but now he was no longer the one crying. Because gathering in the room were doctors and becoming further apart was the beeping. Limp and pale was the body. The body of his only son,the body of her only son, and the body of his best friend. Inside the mouth of the doctor was a loss of words, for he struggled to say what he had to. Hidden in his “I’m so sorry” were tears of his own building up.
Now in each of the father's tears were questions and in the mother's sobs were hopes that she was only dreaming. But found in the pocket of their son was a small paper. And scribbled on that paper were the words “I’m sorry”. And under the “I’m sorry” was a scribbled message. “I didn’t want to put you through this so that I apologize for. But I could not stand hiding it anymore. Hidden in my “goodnight” was a wish that I would never have to say good morning. And outstanding of all of my flaws was my inability to express myself. I wish you all got to know the real me, I wish I didn’t feel like I had to hide. Because I was truly so much more, but all my pain built up, and I had to end it, things were so different, behind the door.”






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