A Melody, a Memory, or Just One Picture

I tried my hardest that day to keep him from seeing me. I didn't want this as his last memories of me. Sprawled out on the floor, pills and empty beer bottles scattered around my 6' 4” frame. I had followed him into the house and all the way upstairs, trying to get him to leave, all to no avail. He continued walking through my house yelling my name, joking around that I was hiding form him. I would have answered if I could. This was his first clue that something was up.

He pushed open my bedroom door and I could see the confusion on his face at the mess on the floor and the messy bed. I was messy but it never got this bad. The sheets were haphazardly thrown off the bed and the mess of pills and bottles continued into here. This was hint number two. He walked out of my room and continued down the hall opening every door and calling my name.

When he didn't get an answer he made his way back down the hall and into my room. He started walking slowly towards the bathroom and I screamed at him to stop, but he kept walking, I knew he couldn't hear me. He pulled open the door and froze. I walked over to him and tried to get him to snap out of it but I knew he wouldn't.

He slowly put his hand over his mouth and a sob escaped his lips. He collapsed to his knees and tears started pouring down his face as he cried out that this couldn't be happening. I stood by and watched as Brian Haner Jr. cried over my body, me, Jimmy Sullivan.