Today Is The Day
I Did It.
Today is the day. No, never mind. It’s never going to be the day. I’m never going to do it. Because me doing it makes it seem like I care. But I don’t because no one else does. I keep to myself a lot. Never win anything, never lose anything. Nothing special.
“Stranger to some, vision to none” as my father told me. My dad is an aspiring – and failing – poet. He talks to me a lot. He’s the only one. Except for yesterday. Yesterday he came home from work, grabbed a beer, and went to his room. Yesterday was the anniversary of my mother’s death. Yesterday was the day I knew what I was going to do.
“Addams.”
“Here.”
“Burburs.”
“Here.”
“Cadler.”
“Present.”
“Devons.”
“Pass.”
“Funny.” The teacher said, not amused. “Detrucci.”
“Evans .”
“He’s sick with the flu.” Someone said.
“Harper.”
“Yo.”
“Granners.”
“Heyy.”
“Madison.”
“Present.”
“McCalister.”
“Package.”
The teacher ignored him and kept taking roll. “Morner.”
“Here.”
“Olton.”
“Present.”
“ Pardee.”
“Surprise.”
“Peterson.”
“Here.”
“Rivers.”
“Here.”
“Samson.” I said nothing. “Samson?” I was marked absent for the period.
“Stevens.”
“She’s visiting her grandparents in Washington.”
“Stuarts.”
“Begrudgingly here.”
“Trenton.” No answer. “Not here.” The teacher muttered to herself. “Warner.”
“Here!”
“Okay class…” Past here, past this day, there was nothing. Not for me, anyway. I’ve been marked absent five times, even though I know I’ve been to school every day this year. I’ve discovered the teachers don’t look up in the back corner of the room by the book shelves very often. If I keep my hood up and my head down, no one ever talks to me.
Today was the day.
I was unworthy of their time. I was unworthy of everybody’s time. Last night, when I went to take a shower, I found my father’s body in the tub. Every drop of blood had escaped from his veins via the slit in his throat. Last night I lost myself. He left me a note:
Damien:
On your face is a map of the world. Let someone discover it, let someone read it. It’s coming for me. I don’t want it to get to you as well. I pray that you don’t let it get to you. I didn’t want to read the message here, the message you have for me. You’ve been trying to tell me. I forgive you. I forgive you for everything. It’s here. The fear. I’m taking it with me, away from you. Live your life from yesterday. Be someone else’s vision now. Climb down from that mountain of yours. From yesterday I understood your message. Be a vision, Damien.
That was it. He knew. I don’t miss him. I wish I could. But I’ve learned that the only way to stay safe in the world is to not let anyone but yourself in. I will always be a stranger. I will never be a vision. My dad was naïve. He knows that I’m never coming down from the mountain I sit on. Or I guess he knew. Past tense. He doesn’t know anything anymore. No one knows anymore.
Yesterday is today’s past. My father is in the past. If anyone reads this, they’ll have my past right in their fingers.
Attached to my shirt is the note I wrote my mom exactly one year ago yesterday. She never got to read it, she died. In my left pocket is the note from my father. Safety-pinned to my hoodie is my map of the world. In my right pocket is the note I wrote my father after I found him. He never got to read his note, either. Underneath my hoodie is my birth certificate. It dates back to January 17th, 1990. Exactly nineteen years ago today. In the back left pocket of my jeans is a picture of me, my mom, and my dad.
Today is the day. Tomorrow’s too late. Yesterday’s gone. Today is it. Tomorrow isn’t coming for me.
As I was climbing the cold, corporate staircase, I looked up and saw a light shining in from the little window on the door. It seemed to taunt me. You’re not going up, it told me. The farther up I climbed up, the farther down I went. It was the building that overlooked the courtyard. Students were eating lunch on the grass and at the table set out under the shade. None of them saw me, the invisible kid standing on top of the six story parking garage built for the skyscraper bank next door to the school.
I turned up my face, stretched out my arms and stood on the edge of the building. The bittersweet sun kissed my face, teased me.
“I’m being a vision, dad.” I said to myself. Then I let my voice get louder. I let the strangers know my presence. “This mountain I’m sitting on is crumbling down. This is how it ends and begins.” I shouted. “The map has been open for reading ever since it’s been made. Everyone will know me, dad! I won’t be a stranger anymore.”
With that, everyone outside was looking at me. Somebody called the cops and others were just standing around, gawking at the boy that wasn’t so invisible anymore. “Today is the day. Can you read the message now?” Then I was falling. The terrified screams and shrieks were unheard by my ears.
I was gone now. The only thing left for me to do was hit the ground. All of my life was over. The only purpose I had, had been for my dad to understand. And he did.
My name is Damien Samson and one year ago yesterday, I killed my mom. She’s calling out to me. She wanted me to read the message. So I did. I gave her what she wanted.
They’re trying to revive me. There’s no point. Tomorrow isn’t coming for me. I tried to tell them that but no one was listening. Then again, maybe I wasn’t making any noise.
“Stranger to some, vision to none” as my father told me. My dad is an aspiring – and failing – poet. He talks to me a lot. He’s the only one. Except for yesterday. Yesterday he came home from work, grabbed a beer, and went to his room. Yesterday was the anniversary of my mother’s death. Yesterday was the day I knew what I was going to do.
“Addams.”
“Here.”
“Burburs.”
“Here.”
“Cadler.”
“Present.”
“Devons.”
“Pass.”
“Funny.” The teacher said, not amused. “Detrucci.”
“Evans .”
“He’s sick with the flu.” Someone said.
“Harper.”
“Yo.”
“Granners.”
“Heyy.”
“Madison.”
“Present.”
“McCalister.”
“Package.”
The teacher ignored him and kept taking roll. “Morner.”
“Here.”
“Olton.”
“Present.”
“ Pardee.”
“Surprise.”
“Peterson.”
“Here.”
“Rivers.”
“Here.”
“Samson.” I said nothing. “Samson?” I was marked absent for the period.
“Stevens.”
“She’s visiting her grandparents in Washington.”
“Stuarts.”
“Begrudgingly here.”
“Trenton.” No answer. “Not here.” The teacher muttered to herself. “Warner.”
“Here!”
“Okay class…” Past here, past this day, there was nothing. Not for me, anyway. I’ve been marked absent five times, even though I know I’ve been to school every day this year. I’ve discovered the teachers don’t look up in the back corner of the room by the book shelves very often. If I keep my hood up and my head down, no one ever talks to me.
Today was the day.
I was unworthy of their time. I was unworthy of everybody’s time. Last night, when I went to take a shower, I found my father’s body in the tub. Every drop of blood had escaped from his veins via the slit in his throat. Last night I lost myself. He left me a note:
Damien:
On your face is a map of the world. Let someone discover it, let someone read it. It’s coming for me. I don’t want it to get to you as well. I pray that you don’t let it get to you. I didn’t want to read the message here, the message you have for me. You’ve been trying to tell me. I forgive you. I forgive you for everything. It’s here. The fear. I’m taking it with me, away from you. Live your life from yesterday. Be someone else’s vision now. Climb down from that mountain of yours. From yesterday I understood your message. Be a vision, Damien.
That was it. He knew. I don’t miss him. I wish I could. But I’ve learned that the only way to stay safe in the world is to not let anyone but yourself in. I will always be a stranger. I will never be a vision. My dad was naïve. He knows that I’m never coming down from the mountain I sit on. Or I guess he knew. Past tense. He doesn’t know anything anymore. No one knows anymore.
Yesterday is today’s past. My father is in the past. If anyone reads this, they’ll have my past right in their fingers.
Attached to my shirt is the note I wrote my mom exactly one year ago yesterday. She never got to read it, she died. In my left pocket is the note from my father. Safety-pinned to my hoodie is my map of the world. In my right pocket is the note I wrote my father after I found him. He never got to read his note, either. Underneath my hoodie is my birth certificate. It dates back to January 17th, 1990. Exactly nineteen years ago today. In the back left pocket of my jeans is a picture of me, my mom, and my dad.
Today is the day. Tomorrow’s too late. Yesterday’s gone. Today is it. Tomorrow isn’t coming for me.
As I was climbing the cold, corporate staircase, I looked up and saw a light shining in from the little window on the door. It seemed to taunt me. You’re not going up, it told me. The farther up I climbed up, the farther down I went. It was the building that overlooked the courtyard. Students were eating lunch on the grass and at the table set out under the shade. None of them saw me, the invisible kid standing on top of the six story parking garage built for the skyscraper bank next door to the school.
I turned up my face, stretched out my arms and stood on the edge of the building. The bittersweet sun kissed my face, teased me.
“I’m being a vision, dad.” I said to myself. Then I let my voice get louder. I let the strangers know my presence. “This mountain I’m sitting on is crumbling down. This is how it ends and begins.” I shouted. “The map has been open for reading ever since it’s been made. Everyone will know me, dad! I won’t be a stranger anymore.”
With that, everyone outside was looking at me. Somebody called the cops and others were just standing around, gawking at the boy that wasn’t so invisible anymore. “Today is the day. Can you read the message now?” Then I was falling. The terrified screams and shrieks were unheard by my ears.
I was gone now. The only thing left for me to do was hit the ground. All of my life was over. The only purpose I had, had been for my dad to understand. And he did.
My name is Damien Samson and one year ago yesterday, I killed my mom. She’s calling out to me. She wanted me to read the message. So I did. I gave her what she wanted.
They’re trying to revive me. There’s no point. Tomorrow isn’t coming for me. I tried to tell them that but no one was listening. Then again, maybe I wasn’t making any noise.
♠ ♠ ♠
Anyone?