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Status: Regular updates every Sunday and Wednesday (when it begins)
Brendan Dude
Use Your Words
I’m not really sure what I was doing the next few days. It was a weekend. I know that. And I knew we kept getting calls from the police and hospital and shit. Interrogations. “Sir, are you aware you son had possession of an illegal substance…” “Ma’am, are you aware your son was underage drinking…”
It got old.
I don’t wanna say I was apathetic. I don’t even know what I was feeling. You can’t recall the feeling of something. All I know is that whatever I was going through made the days seem so much longer. And Joey actually wasn’t harassing me…thank God.
I also remember that it took guts to tell my band that I couldn’t go over to practice. It was hard; music was my life and my way to get away from those feelings. It was pretty bad when I didn’t even have the effort to do that.
The day I read David’s journal was a Sunday afternoon. I really wasn’t doing anything other than listening to Peter Frampton on my SkyPod and lying in bed.
The bed next to me was empty.
It’d never be filled again like it was.
Dad came in and knocked on my door like he was respecting my privacy, but he came in anyway. “Brendan?”
I didn’t hear him.
“Brendan.”
Still nothing.
“For God’s sakes, boy, get the crud outta your ears!” He yanked the buds out and I was brought to attention.
“What?!” I growled.
Dad sighed and sat on my bed next to me. He was old; older than the parents of all my friends. He looked like all the life was sucked out of him. You know? He just had all those wrinkles and extra skin that made him look a million years old, and his dark skin and salt-and-pepper hair that came with being an aging Greek guy didn’t make him look any younger. Now, he just…I don’t know. He just struck me as a tired old man.
“You did a great thing,” he mumbled, making eye contact, “savin’ Joey.”
I smiled a little on the outside, but on the inside, I was so happy it hurt.
Dad handed me a notebook. It was tattered and torn, grease-stained, and smelled like pot…then again, our whole room smelled like pot.
“They got it figured out,” he explained.
“What figured out?” I spoke, voice cracking.
“They figured out why David crashed.”
“He was high.”
“Well, yeah, but…they think it was suicide.”
My heart lurched. I couldn’t say a word.
Dad patted my shoulder, looking away like he was ashamed to let me see him shed a tear. “…He had this journal. The police had to use it as evidence but they’re done with it. And…there’re a few things in it I think you should read.”
And when he left the room and Frampton faded into Skynyrd, that’s when I read it.
The inside cover said DAVID VEINS in big scratchy letters. Blue ink. He was left-handed; it was hard to read.
And then the first page was a bunch of scribbles dating back to when he was twelve. This thing was old, man. It was pretty much just normal stuff a kid his age would write – Lindsay is so cute; Brendan is so annoying – that one made me smile a little – I hate Mrs. Fencer so much…
Generic stuff. The pages were clean except for a few thumbprints in the corners, a sign of reading the entries too much. Here and there the ink was smudged, but other than that, it just looked like an old diary.
But when the entry dated March 28th at age 13 came around, I got this really sick feeling in my stomach and almost couldn’t read it.
Fuck, man I really fucked up now.
I can’t believe it Joey’s in the hospital cause of me. I just I was tryin to get dad’s truck outta the hole in the backyard and I accidentally hit him
And then hes totally uncons unconshis not awake and fuck! The second it happened I knew something was wrong and now I feel like such a dipshit and GOD! GOD!! GOD!!!
THANKS FOR FUCKING ME OVER
I DON’T KNOW WHAT I DID
AND I DON’T KNOW WHY YA DID IT
BUT YOU SURE MUST HATE ME OR SOMETHING CAUSE IM FEELIN IT
I DON’T KNOW WHAT IM FEELIN
BUT IM FEELIN SOMETHING
AND THANKS FOR MAKING ME A GIANT MIDDLE FINGER AND MAKING ME SO SCARED AND I TELL YOU THIS –
IF JOEY DON’T COME OUT ALIVE
I WILL FUCK YOU OVER JUST LIKE YOU DID TO ME
I DON’T CARE IF YOU’RE THE COOLEST LITTLE THING
YOU BETTER HELP ME OUT HERE
And then this page was blurry and smudged and dirty and torn, folded, everything a person could do to a piece of paper short of burning it.
That entry…man, it just…I don’t know. I barely knew him…I realize that now. And when I was old enough to really understand what he did, he wasn’t anywhere there.
OR I WILL COME UP THERE BY KNIFE AND MAKE HEAVEN A LIVING HELL
AND I KNOW IM COMING THERE CAUSE IM A GOOD KID HONESTLY…
(Somebody just needed to tell him that)
AND SOMEDAY YOUR GONNA FEEL REAL SHITTY CAUSE I WILL NOT BE ALL SMILES
And then that entry ended.
The next one was dated a month later:
You know what
I don’t even care anymore
Joeys a little brat a little fucker. I tried to help him and I fucked up! I know that! I know I fucked up! I don’t need him telling me that and makin me feel worse
I wanna hate him
I do
I really really do
He hates me
It would be natural right?
BUT I CANT
CAUSE YOURE NOT SUPPOSED TO HATE YOUR BROTHER
AND I KNOW THAT’S JUST A GUIDELINE
BUT I REALLY KNOW…
Fuck. What do I know
I KNOW THAT I CANT HATE HIM NO MATTER HOW HARD I TRY
AND I HOPE THAT SOMEDAY WHEN IF I CARRY OUT HE’LL READ THIS…
AND IF YOUR READING THIS JOEY
I WANT YOU TO KNOW
THAT THIS IS THE TRUTH
AND I DON’T CARE HOW MUCH YOU HATE ME
JUST KNOW ILL STILL LOVE YOU
WHETHER I’M DEAD OR ALIVE…
I read it over and over.
And somehow it added up…and somehow…it didn’t.
David couldn’t act like he hated anybody. The night he died…and he said he hated Joey…there was just a look in his bloodshot eyes that made me doubt. He loved Mom and Dad. He loved me. And he loved Joey. It was all right there. David must’ve been a terrible actor for me to see behind it and know that there wasn’t a soul out there who could drag him down that low.
‘Cause he was too high up to ever sink, and I’m not just talking about drugs.
This one was dated February a year later.
I’ve stopped feeling now. Joeys just nothing
And ya know why Ive lost all feeling? Cause I scored a bag of weed from Jules after school. And you know what? I like it.
I don’t think Ill quit anytime soon
And Im fine with that
Fine with it…
Oh god…I remember that time. I was almost twelve and that’s when David went from depressed to just…quiet. Just…quiet, and…apathetic. Long after he moved into my room, that’s when he started coming in real late at night. I had guessed that that was when he started doing stuff – so early – so it wasn’t too shocking.
The next one was:
You know that kid Luke? Course ya do your me.
Instantly, I had to raise an eyebrow.
Dunno why but I just really wanna give that kid a hug. Hes an orphan and he’s always smiling but I just…I dunno.
I think he’s hiding something
And I just wanna hug him
But he’s just Brendan’s friend I mean I barely know him. But theyre like brothers – like Joey and me used to be – and so its only natural to treat Luke like a bro. I mean I love Brendan and I don’t think he hates me right? it all makes sense.
The way the words were printed – a few periods here and there, apostrophes scattered – were almost lyrical in their essence. And just reading what he had to say was a little heartbreaking. As far as I knew, David and Luke weren’t, like, tight, but they were friends.
I wondered if David ever got his wish.
I flipped through a few blank pages and then came across a torn bloodstained entry that I think might have been useful to the police…
YOU KNOW WHAT
IM DONE
IM DONE
IM DONE!!!
IM SICK OF IT
SICK OF THIS SHIT
SICK OF GETTING SPAT ON EVERY DAY
SICK OF IT…
ITS GONNA END SOON
AND NOBODYS GONNA STOP ME
January 20th. Three days before the talent show, three days before it all set off…
And then, January 23rd –
Probably at night.
Probably after I left him.
I did it
Im done
I crashed
Got the joint in my mouth (one more high)
Pen in my hand
Windshield broken…
Brendan left me I don’t care I still love him. Still love mom and dad. I still love JOEY
IF ANYBODY IS READING THIS
KNOW
THAT IM NOT YOUR BURDEN ANYMORE
IM OUT OF YOUR LIVES
YOU DON’T HAVE TO DEAL
And if the blood comin out of my nose and hands and shit makes this unreadable them please
Just PLEASE…
…I dunno
If you cant read it youll never know
BUT IF YOU CAN
If by some odd chance when they pry this book from my hands and its comprehensible just read it and KNOW IT
I cant feel a thing
Its so weird like theres glass everywhere – pole’s halfway in the dashboard…my heads bleeding so fuckin crazy
WHY AM I NOT DEAD
After that was a big glob of blood that soaked through the last pages of the notebook, and on the very last page in tiny scribbled letters, it said:
Hey God I see you
Im pullin you outta the sky
Im gonna be your worst nightmare
And the book ended.
I had run my fingers along the bloodstains. They were all so recent. Only a few days ago…fresh ink…fresh blood…
Where the hell was I?
This journal held the reasons. The reason for all he did. David’s words could have changed Joey. They could’ve changed me. If somebody had read this before and realized what a fuck up he thought he was then things could be so much different.
I could be at band practice.
Joey could be out back, playing football or something with David.
…And it wouldn’t hurt so bad to look at the bed next to me.
I just sat there for a while looking at the dusty bloody cover. White dust. It made me wonder if David went against what he told Joey that one Wednesday midnight.
Only a slap on the cheek from no one other than Joey himself could snap me back to reality.
“Wha?” I croaked. God, I was almost crying as I read the last page.
“What’s that?” Joey asked, pointing to the journal.
I hesitated. I didn’t know how he’d react if he knew what it was. “It’s, uh…a diary.”
“A diary? What’re you, gay?”
“It’s not mine,” I said firmly. “It’s David’s. Was David’s.”
He went from smirking like an evil little elf to frowning like a little kid who lost his candy. “D…D-David’s?”
I nodded a little. “Yeah…yeah.”
“Wh…what’d he write in it?”
I almost didn’t do it. But I ended up handing him the journal and hoping for the best.
Joey smirked a little, not opening it. “Does he cuss me out in it?”
I shook my head. “No, but he…”
I didn’t want to give it away, so I left it up to him to find out.
For the first few entries he had this glazed-over look in his eyes. But when he found the entry dated the day he fell into the concussion, I’m pretty sure he got the same feeling I got when Dad gave me the journal.
I can’t say I was surprised when Joey started crying. He was always the “sensitive” one of us; he’d cry until he got what he wanted when we were younger.
What surprised me was when he stood up real quick, turned a bright shade of red, and shouted, “FUCK.”
Then he punched the wall and left a dent.
I was so scared that I backed away instantly, freaked out beyond belief. Then there was a brief quiet in the world as he turned back around to face me.
“J-Joey?” I whimpered.
He closed his eyes, sighed, and crumbled onto the bed in a crying heap. Bawling, muttering, coughing.
I didn’t want to leave him alone. Something told me that something would happen if I did. So I sat next to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulder.
It was awkward, to say the least.
“Why…why didn’t he t-tell me…” he heaved, talking for the sake of speaking.
I wanted to say, “He tried to,” but I just didn’t have the guts.
So we sat there for a long time, just idling around. 3:30 rolled by. 3:45 went past. It was 4:02 when Joey broke away and looked me in the eye.
And he told me, “I’m sorry.”
It got old.
I don’t wanna say I was apathetic. I don’t even know what I was feeling. You can’t recall the feeling of something. All I know is that whatever I was going through made the days seem so much longer. And Joey actually wasn’t harassing me…thank God.
I also remember that it took guts to tell my band that I couldn’t go over to practice. It was hard; music was my life and my way to get away from those feelings. It was pretty bad when I didn’t even have the effort to do that.
The day I read David’s journal was a Sunday afternoon. I really wasn’t doing anything other than listening to Peter Frampton on my SkyPod and lying in bed.
The bed next to me was empty.
It’d never be filled again like it was.
Dad came in and knocked on my door like he was respecting my privacy, but he came in anyway. “Brendan?”
I didn’t hear him.
“Brendan.”
Still nothing.
“For God’s sakes, boy, get the crud outta your ears!” He yanked the buds out and I was brought to attention.
“What?!” I growled.
Dad sighed and sat on my bed next to me. He was old; older than the parents of all my friends. He looked like all the life was sucked out of him. You know? He just had all those wrinkles and extra skin that made him look a million years old, and his dark skin and salt-and-pepper hair that came with being an aging Greek guy didn’t make him look any younger. Now, he just…I don’t know. He just struck me as a tired old man.
“You did a great thing,” he mumbled, making eye contact, “savin’ Joey.”
I smiled a little on the outside, but on the inside, I was so happy it hurt.
Dad handed me a notebook. It was tattered and torn, grease-stained, and smelled like pot…then again, our whole room smelled like pot.
“They got it figured out,” he explained.
“What figured out?” I spoke, voice cracking.
“They figured out why David crashed.”
“He was high.”
“Well, yeah, but…they think it was suicide.”
My heart lurched. I couldn’t say a word.
Dad patted my shoulder, looking away like he was ashamed to let me see him shed a tear. “…He had this journal. The police had to use it as evidence but they’re done with it. And…there’re a few things in it I think you should read.”
And when he left the room and Frampton faded into Skynyrd, that’s when I read it.
The inside cover said DAVID VEINS in big scratchy letters. Blue ink. He was left-handed; it was hard to read.
And then the first page was a bunch of scribbles dating back to when he was twelve. This thing was old, man. It was pretty much just normal stuff a kid his age would write – Lindsay is so cute; Brendan is so annoying – that one made me smile a little – I hate Mrs. Fencer so much…
Generic stuff. The pages were clean except for a few thumbprints in the corners, a sign of reading the entries too much. Here and there the ink was smudged, but other than that, it just looked like an old diary.
But when the entry dated March 28th at age 13 came around, I got this really sick feeling in my stomach and almost couldn’t read it.
Fuck, man I really fucked up now.
I can’t believe it Joey’s in the hospital cause of me. I just I was tryin to get dad’s truck outta the hole in the backyard and I accidentally hit him
And then hes totally uncons unconshis not awake and fuck! The second it happened I knew something was wrong and now I feel like such a dipshit and GOD! GOD!! GOD!!!
THANKS FOR FUCKING ME OVER
I DON’T KNOW WHAT I DID
AND I DON’T KNOW WHY YA DID IT
BUT YOU SURE MUST HATE ME OR SOMETHING CAUSE IM FEELIN IT
I DON’T KNOW WHAT IM FEELIN
BUT IM FEELIN SOMETHING
AND THANKS FOR MAKING ME A GIANT MIDDLE FINGER AND MAKING ME SO SCARED AND I TELL YOU THIS –
IF JOEY DON’T COME OUT ALIVE
I WILL FUCK YOU OVER JUST LIKE YOU DID TO ME
I DON’T CARE IF YOU’RE THE COOLEST LITTLE THING
YOU BETTER HELP ME OUT HERE
And then this page was blurry and smudged and dirty and torn, folded, everything a person could do to a piece of paper short of burning it.
That entry…man, it just…I don’t know. I barely knew him…I realize that now. And when I was old enough to really understand what he did, he wasn’t anywhere there.
OR I WILL COME UP THERE BY KNIFE AND MAKE HEAVEN A LIVING HELL
AND I KNOW IM COMING THERE CAUSE IM A GOOD KID HONESTLY…
(Somebody just needed to tell him that)
AND SOMEDAY YOUR GONNA FEEL REAL SHITTY CAUSE I WILL NOT BE ALL SMILES
And then that entry ended.
The next one was dated a month later:
You know what
I don’t even care anymore
Joeys a little brat a little fucker. I tried to help him and I fucked up! I know that! I know I fucked up! I don’t need him telling me that and makin me feel worse
I wanna hate him
I do
I really really do
He hates me
It would be natural right?
BUT I CANT
CAUSE YOURE NOT SUPPOSED TO HATE YOUR BROTHER
AND I KNOW THAT’S JUST A GUIDELINE
BUT I REALLY KNOW…
Fuck. What do I know
I KNOW THAT I CANT HATE HIM NO MATTER HOW HARD I TRY
AND I HOPE THAT SOMEDAY WHEN IF I CARRY OUT HE’LL READ THIS…
AND IF YOUR READING THIS JOEY
I WANT YOU TO KNOW
THAT THIS IS THE TRUTH
AND I DON’T CARE HOW MUCH YOU HATE ME
JUST KNOW ILL STILL LOVE YOU
WHETHER I’M DEAD OR ALIVE…
I read it over and over.
And somehow it added up…and somehow…it didn’t.
David couldn’t act like he hated anybody. The night he died…and he said he hated Joey…there was just a look in his bloodshot eyes that made me doubt. He loved Mom and Dad. He loved me. And he loved Joey. It was all right there. David must’ve been a terrible actor for me to see behind it and know that there wasn’t a soul out there who could drag him down that low.
‘Cause he was too high up to ever sink, and I’m not just talking about drugs.
This one was dated February a year later.
I’ve stopped feeling now. Joeys just nothing
And ya know why Ive lost all feeling? Cause I scored a bag of weed from Jules after school. And you know what? I like it.
I don’t think Ill quit anytime soon
And Im fine with that
Fine with it…
Oh god…I remember that time. I was almost twelve and that’s when David went from depressed to just…quiet. Just…quiet, and…apathetic. Long after he moved into my room, that’s when he started coming in real late at night. I had guessed that that was when he started doing stuff – so early – so it wasn’t too shocking.
The next one was:
You know that kid Luke? Course ya do your me.
Instantly, I had to raise an eyebrow.
Dunno why but I just really wanna give that kid a hug. Hes an orphan and he’s always smiling but I just…I dunno.
I think he’s hiding something
And I just wanna hug him
But he’s just Brendan’s friend I mean I barely know him. But theyre like brothers – like Joey and me used to be – and so its only natural to treat Luke like a bro. I mean I love Brendan and I don’t think he hates me right? it all makes sense.
The way the words were printed – a few periods here and there, apostrophes scattered – were almost lyrical in their essence. And just reading what he had to say was a little heartbreaking. As far as I knew, David and Luke weren’t, like, tight, but they were friends.
I wondered if David ever got his wish.
I flipped through a few blank pages and then came across a torn bloodstained entry that I think might have been useful to the police…
YOU KNOW WHAT
IM DONE
IM DONE
IM DONE!!!
IM SICK OF IT
SICK OF THIS SHIT
SICK OF GETTING SPAT ON EVERY DAY
SICK OF IT…
ITS GONNA END SOON
AND NOBODYS GONNA STOP ME
January 20th. Three days before the talent show, three days before it all set off…
And then, January 23rd –
Probably at night.
Probably after I left him.
I did it
Im done
I crashed
Got the joint in my mouth (one more high)
Pen in my hand
Windshield broken…
Brendan left me I don’t care I still love him. Still love mom and dad. I still love JOEY
IF ANYBODY IS READING THIS
KNOW
THAT IM NOT YOUR BURDEN ANYMORE
IM OUT OF YOUR LIVES
YOU DON’T HAVE TO DEAL
And if the blood comin out of my nose and hands and shit makes this unreadable them please
Just PLEASE…
…I dunno
If you cant read it youll never know
BUT IF YOU CAN
If by some odd chance when they pry this book from my hands and its comprehensible just read it and KNOW IT
I cant feel a thing
Its so weird like theres glass everywhere – pole’s halfway in the dashboard…my heads bleeding so fuckin crazy
WHY AM I NOT DEAD
After that was a big glob of blood that soaked through the last pages of the notebook, and on the very last page in tiny scribbled letters, it said:
Hey God I see you
Im pullin you outta the sky
Im gonna be your worst nightmare
And the book ended.
I had run my fingers along the bloodstains. They were all so recent. Only a few days ago…fresh ink…fresh blood…
Where the hell was I?
This journal held the reasons. The reason for all he did. David’s words could have changed Joey. They could’ve changed me. If somebody had read this before and realized what a fuck up he thought he was then things could be so much different.
I could be at band practice.
Joey could be out back, playing football or something with David.
…And it wouldn’t hurt so bad to look at the bed next to me.
I just sat there for a while looking at the dusty bloody cover. White dust. It made me wonder if David went against what he told Joey that one Wednesday midnight.
Only a slap on the cheek from no one other than Joey himself could snap me back to reality.
“Wha?” I croaked. God, I was almost crying as I read the last page.
“What’s that?” Joey asked, pointing to the journal.
I hesitated. I didn’t know how he’d react if he knew what it was. “It’s, uh…a diary.”
“A diary? What’re you, gay?”
“It’s not mine,” I said firmly. “It’s David’s. Was David’s.”
He went from smirking like an evil little elf to frowning like a little kid who lost his candy. “D…D-David’s?”
I nodded a little. “Yeah…yeah.”
“Wh…what’d he write in it?”
I almost didn’t do it. But I ended up handing him the journal and hoping for the best.
Joey smirked a little, not opening it. “Does he cuss me out in it?”
I shook my head. “No, but he…”
I didn’t want to give it away, so I left it up to him to find out.
For the first few entries he had this glazed-over look in his eyes. But when he found the entry dated the day he fell into the concussion, I’m pretty sure he got the same feeling I got when Dad gave me the journal.
I can’t say I was surprised when Joey started crying. He was always the “sensitive” one of us; he’d cry until he got what he wanted when we were younger.
What surprised me was when he stood up real quick, turned a bright shade of red, and shouted, “FUCK.”
Then he punched the wall and left a dent.
I was so scared that I backed away instantly, freaked out beyond belief. Then there was a brief quiet in the world as he turned back around to face me.
“J-Joey?” I whimpered.
He closed his eyes, sighed, and crumbled onto the bed in a crying heap. Bawling, muttering, coughing.
I didn’t want to leave him alone. Something told me that something would happen if I did. So I sat next to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulder.
It was awkward, to say the least.
“Why…why didn’t he t-tell me…” he heaved, talking for the sake of speaking.
I wanted to say, “He tried to,” but I just didn’t have the guts.
So we sat there for a long time, just idling around. 3:30 rolled by. 3:45 went past. It was 4:02 when Joey broke away and looked me in the eye.
And he told me, “I’m sorry.”
♠ ♠ ♠
Bolded stuff is David's handwriting.