How To Save A Life

I was once told ‘A beast does not know he is a best, and the closer a man gets to the beast the less he knows it.’ I never thought much about it until now. Was it possible that the very same thing was happening to me and Audrey? What about Jack and Parker? Who knew? All I knew for sure was if for some reason I was becoming a beast, I knew nothing about it.

“So what brought on this thought?” asked Mr. Shrink-My-Head, scribbling on the stupid pad of his again. I hated that pad so much. It was an irrational hatred, but hatred none the less. It was better then hating Mr. Shrink-My-Head.

“Its true thought isn’t it? From the time we’re born we start to die,” I said, leaning forward. “Every day our hair is falling out and our skin cells are dying. And every day we’re finding something new that we can’t do as well as those younger then us.”

“And what can those younger then you do better then you?” asked Mr. Shrink-My-Head. “If you don’t mind my asking.” He added shortly after, not looking up at me.

If you don’t mind my asking? I nearly laughed at that. It didn’t mater if I wanted to share or not. If I didn’t he would only find another thing to diagnose me with and keep me here longer. So I had two choices, give the truth and hope that there might actually be something that Mr. Shrink-My-Head could do for me, or lie again.

My mind told me instantly to lie, and I almost did until I saw something new on his office wall. Mr. Shrink-My-Head with a little girl who looked a lot like him. He had a daughter. She couldn’t be older then five and she smiled at the person taking the picture. It was that proud smile that every little kid got. The one that says ‘My dad can do anything!’

“That’s not the point,” I shook my head. “Don’t you get it? Those younger then us are more live then we are. That’s all I meant by that. Their more alive and have more opportunities. The older you get, the less opportunities you get.”

Mr. Shrink-My-Head nodded. “Tell me more about you’re thoughts that we’re all dying,” he said.

A sigh rolled through me. Of course he wanted to know more about my thoughts of us all dying. He thought I was a depressive too. Hell maybe I was fucked up in more ways then one. Leaning forward I pointed to his hair. “You have gray in you’re hair,” I pointed out. “Can you tell me why?”

Mr. Shrink-My-Head played along, though he finally looked up at me with a raised eyebrow. He paused for a moment before starting to scribble again. “When you get older you’re hair turns gray,” he told me.

“Can you explain to me why you’re hair turns gray?” I asked him, leaning back in my seat with my arms crossed.

“Hair turns gray as we age because the follicles at the base of the hair shaft cease to produce melanin, a chemical that gives you’re hair its color,” Mr. Shrink-My-Head informed me.

“So, basically a part of you’re body stops working?” I asked slowly.

“For a lack of better wording, yes,” Mr. Shrink-My-Head.

“Parts of you’re body are constantly falling off and dying. With every birthday you’re hair turns a gray color, because of a part of you’re body that stops working. You’re bones start to cramp up, you start losing teeth all over again. You’re dying,” I said. “Everyday, when you exhale its another breath you will never get back, and it’s because you are dying.”

“How does this connect to you thought Axel? How does this relate to you?” Mr. Shrink-My-Head asked.

I looked at Mr. Shrink-My-Head and leaned back. Closing my eyes I said the words aloud that my mother had never wanted to hear. “Because I’m not dying fast enough.”