Through a Photograph

It was hard at first; so impossibly hard that we knew it could never get any worse. Brian took it the hardest, of course; that call from Leana completely killed him. I remember the look on his face when he answered the phone. He and Michelle were at my house that day, the two of us watching the game, our girls on our laps, when his cell rang. In all my years of knowing him, I never knew him to be one for crying, but man did he cry. His face crumpled and he dropped the phone then ran out to the back. I picked up the phone, wondering what had happened and Leana’s sobs filled my ears. The one thing I could understand was, “He’s dead, oh God, he’s dead.” That was the first day in years I had truly sobbed.

Things were bad for a long time. Our eyes never seemed to dry and our hearts never seemed to stop hurting. No one talked at Jimmy’s funeral. Not as the preacher spoke, not as his family spoke, and especially not as Brian tried to speak, not as he struggled through his best friend’s name or his final “good-bye”. No one spoke as his arms trembled as he helped lift our brother’s casket.

After the funeral, Brian didn’t say a word, hardly ate, and never left the confines of his house. Not for two weeks. When he finally began to eat and communicate and be himself we thought he was beginning to heal. Only, his medicine seemed to be drugs and alcohol. When we found out we tried to help him. Michelle, God bless that beautiful woman’s heart, stayed by her fiancé’s side through it all. Pulled him into bed when he could hardly stand, let alone walk, turned her head to the other women, and as we found out later, played punching bag to his anger.

She kept her head up until the end.

Val found her on April 12, 2010 broken and bleeding on the floor.

She fell into a coma on April 14th.

On April 29th, Michelle DiBenendetto died.

Val, well, Val wanted to kill Brian. My baby, the love of my life, wanted to and tried to kill my best friend. He killed her sister and she wanted revenge.

On May 3rd, Valary Sanders shot my best friend, and then turned the gun on herself.

She missed Brian.

In my eyes, my life, my world had completely crumbled. Johnny had left after Val died and, last I heard, he and Lacey were expecting a baby in northern California. Zack married Gena and tried for months upon months to heal me.

“I miss my best friend, Matty.” August 17th.

“Won’t you be there for me and Gena, best man?” March 28, 2011.

“I love you, man. Please, please come out of this.” June 8, 2011.

“I can’t watch you rot anymore, Matt.” December 24, 2011.

The last had come through the speaker of my answering machine fourteen months ago. I haven’t spoken to him since.

There have been times when I thought of just letting go. I missed Val so much. And I get so close, but then I remember her words to me.

“If anything ever happens to me, Matty, I want you to live on.”

And I can’t do it.

By February 9, 2013 I had completely lost myself. I have no idea how I lasted so long, but one thing was certain. There was no way I was surviving this night. It was only two-thirty in the afternoon and I was already shit-faced drunk. I was stumbling around my shitty little apartment mumbling about I don’t even remember. I had just fallen flat on my face when there was a loud knock on my door.

“Comin’.” I open the door and see the last person I would ever expect to see. It had been three years since I had seen the bastard, and yet there he stood, looking strong and sober with a look of pity in his eyes.

Brian.

My brain was trying hard to understand what the hell was going on, even as I pulled my fist back and let loose. Brian was all I thought as my fist crashed into his perfect nose and sent him sprawling to the ground.

If I thought losing two best friends, a sister, and a wife within six months of each other was hard, seeing Brian again was harder. By the time I had come out of my drunken stupor Brian was awake and moving around. For the first time in years my place was clean and smelled like something other than stale beer and blood. I went into the kitchen to get another beer to restart the cycle when I noticed him at the counter.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He didn’t even flinch.

“I-uh I came to see you Matt, but I didn’t expect this.” I blew up. The only thing I remember of the next few hours was pain. Lots of pain. Mine, his, physical, emotional. Pain. In the space of three hours my place was trashed. Trashed and scattered again-NO!! Do NOT go back there, it’s not safe. My knuckles were bloody and tears were falling down my face. Cautiously, ever so cautiously, Brian approached me. For the first time I realized that he was crying just as much, if not more, than me.

“God, Matt, I’m so sorry. So sorry for everything. For Michelle, for Val, god it’s all my fault. Please, please forgive me, I’ve been looking for you, and I just-please Matt, I’m sorry.” He fell to his knees next to me and sobbed. I wanted to kill him, but the look on his face was so fucking heartbroken that I couldn’t take it. At first I had no idea what to do. Part of me wanted to kick his ever loving ass and yet another part of me wanted to hold him and more. I went with the latter.

I found out later what had happened to Bri after Michelle and Val. After their death, he tried to join them, and got close enough to land himself a bed in the Huntington Beach Mental Rehabilitation Center. He told me that his doctor there had showed him another way of life, one of sobriety and healing. He also found out about his feelings for the uh, rougher sex.

After his stint, he went back to the Musician’s Institute and graduated top of his class. He told me about the school he currently worked at. He was the music teacher at a high school for troubled kids. He was happy now, at least as happy as he could be.

He told me how he had spent the last two years looking for me. He told me about how God had come back into his live and showed him how to forgive himself. He told me how he wanted to help me.

I didn’t trust him, I didn’t believe him, and I definitely didn’t want his help. Not at first, at least. I kicked him out of my house the day he showed up, but he came back. He came back every day for the next three months, knocking on my door and pleading to let him help, all as I drowned myself in anything alcoholic.

And then came that day. It was May 3, 2013 when my heart stopped thanks to a full bottle of JD and twenty-eight sleeping pills. Twenty-eight, the final age of my wife, my sister, and my brother. I thought it was appropriate.

It was May 6th when I woke up to Brian’s face and a hospital room back drop.

On May 11th, I was checked into rehab.

I don’t really like to think of that time. It was full of darkness and pain and withdrawal from drugs I still won’t admit I was on. But then there was a light. The woman that had helped Brian brought back the old Matt Sanders and I was glad for it. During the time I spent with Dr. Amy I learned a lot about myself. A lot of things that I am still coming to terms with.

It had been almost a year since I got out of rehab, and the anniversary of Jimmy’s death was fast approaching. I lived with Brian, by then. I forgave him and we were finally brothers again. I had recently gotten a hold of Zack and Johnny who were coming down to visit; Johnny with his twin daughters Emma Rae and Leah, and Zack with his son Matt. Things had been tense then, and most of the time the tension didn’t come from thinking about Jimmy.

I had started to…notice things about Bri. His silky hair, his husky voice, and those damn eyes that could melt anything with their heat and intensityand love. I couldn’t take it.

Zack and Johnny’s visit had come and went, things happening similarly to Brian’s first visit to me. More crying and more pain, but this time, more healing. Zack and Johnny left with their families with smiles on their faces.

It had been a week of more torment and tension before anything significant happened. Sure, there had been gentle touches and lingering glances, but I wasn’t satisfied. I wanted him. Lord knows I did, and He was probably the only one who knew why.

It was January 5th when I “made my move.”

There he stood in all his glory, making us dinner and humming to some song I couldn’t hear, when I slid my arms around his waist and kissed up his neck. Soon enough our moans were filling the house as I dri-

“Matty?” I look up from my lap to my beautiful lover.

“Yeah, babe?”

“What’cha looking at?” He sits next to me on our bed and looks down at the photo album I’m holding.

“Memories.”

As the two of us look back through our lives together, I hold Brian close. We laugh through pictures of our childhood, all goofy smiles and easy going. When we get to the hardest part of the album, I feel his hand grip mine tight. Pictures of me and Val’s wedding and reception stare back at us. I see a tear drop fall on the picture of Bri on his knee in front of Michelle.I’ll never admit it was mine.

We almost never take out these pictures; it’s so, so hard seeing the smiling faces of our dead family. Bri still has nightmares of the night we never talk about. The night that Val took fate into her own hands.

I turn the page one last time and there is the picture that makes it all better.

There is me and Bri, clothed in tuxes and matching rings on our fingers smiling with our friends. With out looking I already know what’s written on the back.

Matt & Brian Sanders
May 3, 2015
♥