Sanctuary

Alexander William Gaskarth had grown up in a suburb not far from the well-known city of London, a suburb in which the highlight of the weekend was someone’s house being trashed with toilet paper. He grew up slowly and happily in a quaint little home with his mum, dad, and older brother. He wasn’t a very rowdy kid, made fairly average grades, and never found much comfort in being a part of the "in" crowd. Then again, he grew up in a small private school setting, so aside from his 42 classmates, he never bothered to expand his social scenery.

Well, before his family moved to the States.

It was the summer after year 7, Alex being only eleven, when his father received a letter, golden seal and all, from the head of the engineering firm with which he worked. They were looking for experienced employees to do a start-up in the United States. At first, the old man was hesitant, but when the new salary was mentioned, they were on the plane to Baltimore in a heartbeat.

Young Alex left behind all that he'd ever known: all of his friends, extended family, his way of life. The “land of the free” was a whole new world in the eyes of an eleven-year-old.

Not long before the move, he had begun taking guitar and vocal lessons. When he looked forward at his future, he saw himself playing shows all around the world in a famous band, but always calling the rainy land of Great Britain his home.

Then he found himself waking up at the crack of dawn one day in early August, the sun beaming down through the cracks of his blinds (an occurrence that was almost as foreign to Alex as the country itself.) He pulled a tee shirt and jeans, a ritual he was unaccustomed to having grown up wearing uniforms. Then he hopped into his mum’s car, rather than catching a train, and headed off toward his first day at an American school, thousands of miles from his home.

So much for his dream.

Though he had grown up in a British private school, and his dad certainly had a large enough paycheck to afford a spot in the private school system for both Alex and his brother, Seth, the teens chose to attend one of the local public schools. If what they had seen on the television was correct, the kids in American private schools were selfish brats who rolled in their fathers' money and drove expensive cars. Plus the boys wanted the freedom to wear Blink-182 and Fall Out Boy shirts every day rather than a collared shirt and pleated pants.

Alex was assigned into the sixth grade upon his arrival, the bottom of the totem pole in what was known as junior high. It was apparent by his first week there that sixth graders weren't exactly the most admired people in the school.

He was already very anxiety-prone to begin with, but the first few weeks in an American public school were hell for him. Each morning the Brit begged and pleaded to stay home to no avail.

Soon enough, however, word spread that there was a new boy at school. A boy with a weird accent, from some mysterious, far off land. Girls in eighth grade, the oldest of the school, were approaching the scrawny kid and asking him to say various things, then cooing over the way that the words were pronounced.

By mid-term, the boy was swarming with friends. There were no more anxiety attacks at night over an overwhelming loneliness. He gained a new confidence in himself and even began to grow indifferent towards this new environment.

Soon enough came freshman year; he was back on the bottom of the totem pole in a larger school with older, more intimidating kids.

After three years in the States, the thick accent had become faint as he blended into his surroundings, like ice melting in a glass of soda. He no longer drew attention towards himself unless there was an effort put into his full-blown, London street rat accent. He was now just a scrawny, long-haired punk at the local public high school. He was just another freshman, the scum of the school, and was treated as such.

Don’t get the wrong idea, there were friends who always had it worse. He wasn’t popular, but he wasn’t that dork that got picked on all the time. He found friendship in a group of five very relaxed guys whom he shared musical tastes and talents with, and he decided that they were all that he needed. Together, the six would pull each other through the next four years.

Most of freshman year was smooth sailing; Alex had average grades, good friends, a few female interests. Everything was starting to fall into place.

But just as things fell into place, they fell into pieces once more.

Around the end of the school year, the teen was sitting in algebra 1 finishing up some review work when his name was called over the intercom. Like any other teenager, he immediately panicked. ‘Shit… I’m not failing a class. I don’t do drugs. I haven’t really gotten into trouble. What’s going on?’ he thought as he dragged his heavy body to the office. To this day, the Brit recalls the receptionists’ eyes as she led him into a small conference room in the back of the office, the way they pierced through him with such horror, as if she were leading him to his own deathbed.

He was aware that something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

With his heart in his throat, he took a step into the pale colored conference room, and heard the door shut behind him as eye contact was made with the principal, a towering, middle-aged bald man with Harry Potter glasses and a constant grimace on his face. But even he looked broken, his grimace contorted into a somewhat relaxed position.

Then he noticed his parents sitting on either side of him. His dad was silent and had his arms crossed, staring at the table as if he were attempting to burn a hole through it with his eyes. His mum, on the other hand, jumped up immediately and flew to Alex's side to embrace him in a sob-filled hug. “Mom,” he mumbled as her tears dampened his dark brown hair, “what’s going on?”

“Y-your brother, sweetheart. I-I came home from work for my lunch break and h-he,” there was another heart-wrenching sob, “he had hung himself from a rafter.”

Growing up, Seth was Alex's best friend. It was he who pulled the younger through the big move from England to America. He taught him how to play Pokemon cards when they were young. He was supposed to be there for Alex throughout his life, giving brotherly advice and being his support.

Alex was outraged. 'Why did he do this to our family? Why did he do this to me? How could he be so selfish as to take away my comforter and my hero? Was he that hungry for attention?'

Soon enough, his thoughts turned more towards, 'Maybe this was all my fault. We were in an argument not long ago. I could have stopped this.' He was overwhelmed with the feeling that he was the meaning behind all of this.

It was through Seth's act and his self-blaming that he began turning to the wrong coping methods. Though he never really found interest in drugs and alcohol, he mainly found relief in a habit that he still wears scars from. Almost every night he would lie awake and drown in his misery, often talking to Seth as if he could hear him as he ran a blade across his arms, his thighs, and his stomach. ‘Do you see what you’ve done to me? You’ve literally torn me apart.’

It took months of these self-medication sessions for Alex to realize that maybe /he/ was the selfish one in this situation. But he couldn't stop himself. The path that he had chosen started out as a small foot trail and was now growing into a steep mountain slope. He was stuck in a nightmare that he couldn't wake up from, no matter how hard he tried.

It took a near-death experience to wake him up from said nightmare.

After an episode in the shower in which he made an incision or two that were far too deep, Alex couldn't blame his parents for signing him up for the local Catholic school as soon as they could. Neither himself nor his parents claimed Catholicism, but there were very few non-religious private schools in the area, so there were few options. They couldn't risk losing their now-only son.

‘Maybe this is just what I need,’ Alex thought to himself as he adjusted the collar on his black polo shirt. It was the morning of his first day at yet another new school. ‘Maybe this place will give me the peace I’ve been looking for.’

In his peripheral vision, the three bright pink, raised scars on his forearm stuck out like a sore thumb. He was still far too shy visit a doctor about getting them removed. He just wanted to forget about the entire episode altogether.

The Brit heaved a sigh as he pulled on a sweatshirt in spite of the August heat. All of the memories of movies he'd seen where the private school kids were vicious, heartless creatures ran through his head. He couldn't risk his past being given away by very obvious keloid scars.

'I just want to feel comfortable again. Can that ever happen?'

Alex switched off the lights and tried to abandon his anxiety at the front door as he headed for the car.