7 Years
I Remember You.
7 years ago, I found you hanging from a noose tied to the old oak tree we used to climb up and smoke cigarettes in back when we were still in high school. It was in the middle of summer; 2 a.m. meant the sky was lost to an eerie dusk.
Earlier that night, you’d been bumming around my house and confessing to me how you hadn’t been happy in a long time. That it wasn't my fault in the least, it was something I couldn't know.
"You don't have to let me in." I told you. That I could hold everyone off, and it could be us versus everyone. Their words couldn't hurt us anymore. We could escape the lows and get lost in all the highs. Just us, alone together. Exactly how it should be.
That I loved you more than all the words that I could ever scream.
Like many times that night, you looked up with your distanced sad eyes and asked me if I’d remember you tomorrow. Thinking back, maybe that should have scared me, but I looked down and mouthed out a silent 'Yes'. That you would 'always be the better part of me'.
I watched you put out the cigarette that had been just another mindless compulsion to light and forget about. All night we’d been getting drunk and stealing sips of cheap wine straight from the bottle. I was paralysed as I watched in awe how you tipped your head back and let the deep red liquid run down your throat. We reeked to high heavens of all the toxins and chemicals we'd been ingesting, but it was a distaste that became my something safe.
“Stay with me tonight.” I pleaded so many times. It’s not that I worried you’d get hurt walking home; you’d always been able to take care of yourself and not get hurt. I was afraid I’d miss you when you walked out my door. I've never done well when I was left alone, but I had been able to keep those feelings in my head, and use cheap tricks to make myself think happy thoughts. But you said you couldn't stay... that you had... something you had to do. That it couldn’t wait till tomorrow, and I couldn't know what it was.
Before you left, you gave me a blowjob and a simple “Thanks.”
I watched you walk away till you turned the corner, stepping pavement like you were stone cold sober. It would have only taken you maybe 20 minutes to walk home and pass out on your couch, so I stayed up pouring more of the wretched wine into my body. I didn’t even want to turn the TV on. Haphazardly, I loaded an overly-abused album in my equally abused CD player. Between the music and the thoughts of you haunting my tainted mind were enough to entertain me.
My cell phone vibrated in my pocket; I’d suddenly regretted letting you go home.
the old oak tree
That’s all it said. In the drunken mess of clarity I was working with, I staggered and stumbled my way to the park where we wasted so much time. I found you hanging from a noose tied to the old oak tree we used to climb up and smoke cigarettes in back when we were in high school. It was the middle of summer; 2 a.m. meant the sky was lost to an eerie dusk.
Without knowing what else to do, I climbed up the limbs till I found the red pocket knife you always kept in your back pocket stabbed into the bark with 3 words scraped and scratched next to the weapon.
I Remember You
For what felt like hours I just sat there staring at the words, feeling my body rid of the poisons in me. As sick as it was, I took pictures of everything. The words, the tree, even you.
I took the last picture of you.
By 4 a.m. I called the cops. I told them to keep their sirens off; I couldn’t handle seeing a crowd of people coming to point and whisper about your body hanging. Right then I couldn’t feel anything aside from your cold, deadened flingers against my regrettably living ones. Until the police showed up, I’d been holding your hand from the branch you’d stepped off of. As if to tell you everything was alright. Help was on the way.
For months, I was a wreck. I was just so angry, and my eyes were always blood shot. Everyone told me I looked horrible. That I lost too much weight, and I needed to stop drinking. Fuck them.
I’d been drunk on cheap wine for 3 years… then I just stopped. I stopped being angry, I stopped crying, and I stopped drinking. I was sick and tired of being sick and tired. Not that I’d gotten over you in the least; I was hurting to where I’d do nothing but sleep.
When I was asleep, we could still smoke together.
It took me 4 years to finally walk to the park and see the old oak tree. The words were still carved into the bark. And I could almost swear that it was burns from our cigarettes up in the limbs. For a second I thought I felt you trying to climb up to the branch I was standing on. But it wasn’t.
It still kills me to think that it’s been 7 god damn years. And I’ve driven myself half to death trying to find any kind of will to stay alive.
All I do is think about you.
And maybe one day I’ll finally off myself. I haven’t been happy in a while. It’s been 7 fucking years.
Earlier that night, you’d been bumming around my house and confessing to me how you hadn’t been happy in a long time. That it wasn't my fault in the least, it was something I couldn't know.
"You don't have to let me in." I told you. That I could hold everyone off, and it could be us versus everyone. Their words couldn't hurt us anymore. We could escape the lows and get lost in all the highs. Just us, alone together. Exactly how it should be.
That I loved you more than all the words that I could ever scream.
Like many times that night, you looked up with your distanced sad eyes and asked me if I’d remember you tomorrow. Thinking back, maybe that should have scared me, but I looked down and mouthed out a silent 'Yes'. That you would 'always be the better part of me'.
I watched you put out the cigarette that had been just another mindless compulsion to light and forget about. All night we’d been getting drunk and stealing sips of cheap wine straight from the bottle. I was paralysed as I watched in awe how you tipped your head back and let the deep red liquid run down your throat. We reeked to high heavens of all the toxins and chemicals we'd been ingesting, but it was a distaste that became my something safe.
“Stay with me tonight.” I pleaded so many times. It’s not that I worried you’d get hurt walking home; you’d always been able to take care of yourself and not get hurt. I was afraid I’d miss you when you walked out my door. I've never done well when I was left alone, but I had been able to keep those feelings in my head, and use cheap tricks to make myself think happy thoughts. But you said you couldn't stay... that you had... something you had to do. That it couldn’t wait till tomorrow, and I couldn't know what it was.
Before you left, you gave me a blowjob and a simple “Thanks.”
I watched you walk away till you turned the corner, stepping pavement like you were stone cold sober. It would have only taken you maybe 20 minutes to walk home and pass out on your couch, so I stayed up pouring more of the wretched wine into my body. I didn’t even want to turn the TV on. Haphazardly, I loaded an overly-abused album in my equally abused CD player. Between the music and the thoughts of you haunting my tainted mind were enough to entertain me.
My cell phone vibrated in my pocket; I’d suddenly regretted letting you go home.
the old oak tree
That’s all it said. In the drunken mess of clarity I was working with, I staggered and stumbled my way to the park where we wasted so much time. I found you hanging from a noose tied to the old oak tree we used to climb up and smoke cigarettes in back when we were in high school. It was the middle of summer; 2 a.m. meant the sky was lost to an eerie dusk.
Without knowing what else to do, I climbed up the limbs till I found the red pocket knife you always kept in your back pocket stabbed into the bark with 3 words scraped and scratched next to the weapon.
I Remember You
For what felt like hours I just sat there staring at the words, feeling my body rid of the poisons in me. As sick as it was, I took pictures of everything. The words, the tree, even you.
I took the last picture of you.
By 4 a.m. I called the cops. I told them to keep their sirens off; I couldn’t handle seeing a crowd of people coming to point and whisper about your body hanging. Right then I couldn’t feel anything aside from your cold, deadened flingers against my regrettably living ones. Until the police showed up, I’d been holding your hand from the branch you’d stepped off of. As if to tell you everything was alright. Help was on the way.
For months, I was a wreck. I was just so angry, and my eyes were always blood shot. Everyone told me I looked horrible. That I lost too much weight, and I needed to stop drinking. Fuck them.
I’d been drunk on cheap wine for 3 years… then I just stopped. I stopped being angry, I stopped crying, and I stopped drinking. I was sick and tired of being sick and tired. Not that I’d gotten over you in the least; I was hurting to where I’d do nothing but sleep.
When I was asleep, we could still smoke together.
It took me 4 years to finally walk to the park and see the old oak tree. The words were still carved into the bark. And I could almost swear that it was burns from our cigarettes up in the limbs. For a second I thought I felt you trying to climb up to the branch I was standing on. But it wasn’t.
It still kills me to think that it’s been 7 god damn years. And I’ve driven myself half to death trying to find any kind of will to stay alive.
All I do is think about you.
And maybe one day I’ll finally off myself. I haven’t been happy in a while. It’s been 7 fucking years.
♠ ♠ ♠
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