The Shadows of Nostalgia

June 5, 2012
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“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

This was going to be the last time I heard my best friend’s voice. “Yeah…” It was a lie. I wouldn’t see him tomorrow, or ever again for that matter. I looked back at him before I got off the bus. He smiled. It was hard, but I made this decision for myself. I would never see my friends again. They where amazing. The day was too. The cool October breeze was the most refreshing thing I have experienced in my 17 years of life. I seemed to notice the beauty around me more then I ever did on my walk from the bus stop. The purple flowers where living their last moments of life before the change in season. They made the town an amazing sight when they where in full bloom. That was the difference between us. The flowers had beauty, purpose, and even though their life would be short, the time that they spent on earth meant something, unlike me. I was the weed. I was Just an ugly hassle. Like the weeds I to had to be removed.

My walk was shorter then usual. I was lost in my mind, my surroundings very surreal. At the front gate of my house I stopped. The big white colonial with a unwelcoming black door stared back at me. I remember the first day we moved in. I was only three. It was one of my earliest memories of my childhood. It was also one of the happiest. My mom was still with us then. I played on the large pebble drive way as the movers did their job. Me and my mom chased butterflies around the yard. When I caught one I ran to my mom’s arms. I always felt safe there… until she left me. That thought, that idea that a women would leave her family burned in me. I was unwanted. This thought made what I was about to do so much easier.

The foyer was always cold. My father was a snob. He could only live in the best, meaning high ceilings completed by a crystal chandelier, grand oak stairs, and hard marble floors. I knew all too well how hard they where. I was standing right where my body had landed that day. It was a year ago on one of the rare days my father was home. School was about to start the second semester, and report cards where sent out. Mine arrived on Saturday as I sat in my room. I was terrified. Suddenly he burst into my room. “What the Hell is this!” I said nothing. “Answer me you stupid son of a b****!” I coulud tell he was drunk by the slur of his words. I shook with rage, trying not to turn around and drive my fist through his face. All it would take was one punch. I was bigger then him. Only I didn’t have the nerve to do it. He knew this as well.
“I’m sorry; I have a lot on my mind and…” I wasn’t defending my self, only trying to get him to leave.

“A lot on your mind! Do you have to work all day to pay bills…” he went on and on. I blocked it out as I had taught my self how to do. I got out of my desk and walked to the door. “Hey! I’m talking to you.” He followed out the door. My destination was the front door. But before I could get to safety, he grabbed me by the back of my neck, spun me around and released me. Falling down a flight of hard wood stairs seemed to take hours. My body was limp as I lay on the marble floor. I could hear his foot steps as he slowly immerged down the stairs. I didn’t dare to move. As he was stood over my shaking, he dropped the piece of paper and walked out the front door. My eyes started to water. I stared at the paper. Math A+. US History A+. Chemistry A+. And there it was. The reason I was in so much pain lying on this cold floor. AP Lit… B+.

The Foyer leads to three different rooms. Straight ahead was the kitchen. On the right was the formal living room. And to the left was a hallway that leads to my fathers study. I slowly started to walk down the hall. When I got to the doors I froze. I was given strict orders to never go in. I suppose at this point I didn’t care. Besides I needed what was in that safe. The study was big. The walls where lined with law books. There was a single picture hanging on the wall in-between the shelves. It was a family portrait. At the sight of it, my stomach flipped and a rock began to form in my throat. My mother was beautiful. I hated this room more then any other in the house because of her. At night I would hear him scream at her. Her sobs filled the house creeping their way to my room. This room was the last place I ever saw her. They had been fighting about the same thing as always. “You never come home! Who is she!” I could only make out these few words because her cries muffled her voice. I was standing at the end of the hall way when the study door opened. She came running to me, bent down and kissed me. “I love you. You’re such a good boy. Now go to bed.” Her smile as she said these words is burned into my brain. Standing in front of the picture I grabbed a scotch glass from the table under the picture and whipped it at the wall. Doubled over, I sobbed. Screaming because the pain was unbearable. I ripped the picture off the wall to reveal the safe. I typed in the code. The day my father got his position of ADA. A******. Unlike most people who picked a code for the day there only child was born, he chose that.
There in the safe was the cherry polished box I had only seen once, the day after my mom left. Hands shaking I took it out and set it on the desk. In the box was a gun. Loaded and ready. Making a complete turn I left the study, not bothering to clean up the mess I had made. I walked up the stairs with tears dripping to the floor, and the gun in my hand.
My bedroom was the only place in this house that I liked. It was comfy. It was me. Black and white walls and furniture, but as plan as it was, it had a certain edge to it that only I could bring. I was never a boring person. I had the grades, the friends, and the charisma that got me what I wanted. Only I knew this was all a lie. Yes, I was high in the social hell that was high school, but I was in pain. Pain that none of my “friends” could ever understand. The only place in my room that really reflected my personality these days was my closet. Dark and filled with pointless things. Leaning on the frame of its door I feel. My body knew it was in the place it would die. My energy was gone. No my life was gone. Over. And how it managed to last this long is beyond my comprehension. Today I would die. At no ones hand but my own. Why here. Why this closet? I have no idea. It just seemed… right.
I sat on the floor with the gun lying in front of me. I could barley see it. My vision was so hazy. My body was in some kind of a shock. I proceeded to become sick in to the close basket next to me. The tears began to flow again. I hate throwing up. The only times it had ever happened to me I was when I was so loaded with booze I couldn’t remember. I puked every day… Ya I was a teenage alcoholic that could make it through the day with out a drink. So what. That was the only good trait I inherited from my father. The ability to drink. And keep drinking past the point of my friends. One night when I was 14 I found a key a kitchen drawer. It was marked cellar. I didn’t know we had a cellar. I went to the basement. I guessed that the cellar would be behind the bar. I put the key in the door and from that moment on I became a different person. Luckily for me my dad drinks so much he couldn’t keep track of the countless missing bottles. I was disgusted with my self. But what ever. My grades where still fine. I guess all that b******* they feed you in middle school health really is just that, b*******.
I was usually a well mannered drunk. I don’t know what made that night different. I have never let it go. And the days I try to forget, I see her. She walks past me with her head down. That still doesn’t hide the little scar above her eye. Thinking about this upsets me more then anything that has ever happened in my excuse for a life. After my hit he dead on. I had hit her. My girlfriend. I was just like him! I saw my future as a drinking nothing, just like my father. Would my wife leave me? Would I make others around me just as miserable as me? I wasn’t going to be around that long. I was seizing with anger. My historical cries made it hard to breath. I would probably die from hyperventilation. The room was getting smaller. Reality was skipping in and out as I picked up the gun. With one swift implosive move I put the gun in my mouth closed my eyes and as the gun clinked and chipped my teeth I pulled the trigger.
It clicked. It was jammed. Explosive sadistic laughs shoot out of me. Things began to look normal once again. I was… relived. I don’t know why but I felt better. Safe, even comfortable in this dark closet. I had only felt this way once before in my life. The day we moved in to this house and my mom held me as she wisped that she loved me. I could even swear I heard it now. I could even feel he holding me. I smiled, took a deep breath and stood up. Walking to the door felt like walking on a cloud. It was very dark. I had to feel for the handle. My hand made a pass. Where was it? The handle wasn’t there. Or there. I was confused. I put both hands behind my head. I began to feel scared. Removing my hands I felt something strange. Warm, sticky, my heads where covered in blood. I screamed in fear. Spinning around to look back I saw it. My dead body. Gun still in hand. I was dead. My mind went blank. I didn’t know what to do. There was nothing to do. This feeling was indescribable. Worst of all I… I think I liked it. What the hell was happing? I looked closer at my body. I wasn’t alone. I knew the face instantly. It was beautiful, soft, it looked at me. “Mom” I whispered as I began to cry. I could cry still. She smiled.
It all began to fall in place. I was young and unobservant then. But it made sense. I never saw my mom leave that night. It was storming. Enough noise to cover a gun shot. But in my bedroom as I slept? Why would she do this to herself? In my closet? And the next day after school I didn’t come home. I went to my dads moms. Every one around me seemed so different. They seemed sad. The week I was gone was enough time to clean up and for my dad to gather him self enough to bring me back home and tell me my mom left. I looked at her. I didn’t know what to think. She did love me. She was just to in to much pain. Just like I had been. She held out her hand. I hesitated but took it. All went quite.

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