Learning to Live

We somehow managed to unload all our things from the UHaul truck, and my father returned it before 6 o'clock that night. Mom was on a "make it feel like home" rant, so she made my favorite dinner for me that night - homemade lasagna. My mother's mother was basically the epitome of the Italian stereotype, so she taught my mother how to cook at a young age. My mom liked to say that Grandma cared more about getting her cooking than getting her walking. My Grandmother died before I was born, so I never got to confirm this statement.

By 9 o'clock I was back in my room, trying to make it feel just a bit more like my own. I had unpacked almost every box, hung all my clothes up, and my bed was nestled into one corner already made and ready to sleep in. I walked over to the window opposite the door. There was a room directly across from mine. The light was on, but it was shaded by the blue curtains that hung on the window. I could see shadows behind it and a quick thought flashed through my head that it may be Shawn's bedroom. I stepped away from the window however and drew the newly bought red curtains that hung in front of my window shut.

I went back to placing books on the white bookshelf I had brought with me from the old house. The Bell Jar, Night, The Glass Castle, Everlost. My favorite books were the ones I put towards the left, and the ones I either didn't care for as much or didn't bother to read went to the right. It was a habit I had picked up from my father. I organized most of my room according to color, importance, or size. I wasn't OCD or anything, but my father had grown up in a military family and was always taught that order equaled happiness. I knew this wasn't something he particularly agreed with, but it was just a value he had been instilled with that he couldn't shake so easily.

As I arranged the books on the shelf I came across one I didn't particularly recognize. The binding was blue and after I pulled it out I could see that both covers were white. The title wasn't printed anywhere on the book, and when I opened the first few pages, they were filled with the crammed writing I knew all too well - Ben's handwriting. I flipped through page after page of writing and saw that at the top of each new entry there was a date. This was a journal. I never knew Ben to be the writing type, so it was odd to me that he would have ever kept something of this nature. I noticed my hands were shaking as I read the first page.

September 6th, 2004
It's Labor Day today. Tomorrow is my first day of high school. Hopefully I won't have to endure the hazing rituals and teasing that is rumored to happen to freshman. I got my schedule two weeks ago and I'm in all advanced classes. It wasn't much of a surprise since almost every teacher told me they were going to give me a recommendation to be able to be in the AP classes. Ricky isn't in any of my classes though, but we have lunch together so I'll get to see him then. Mom's calling me down for dinner though.
-Ben

It was less than half a page of writing, but it had somehow made my eyes start to water. I could see him in my mind scribbling this down quickly at his desk while my mother prepared dinner downstairs. I was probably sitting on a barstool at the counter in my volleyball uniform watching her make it. I had completely forgotten about Ricky until I read his name there on the page. He and Ben had been best friends all through elementary and middle school. When they entered high school he stopped coming over and I didn't hear anything about him until Ben's junior year when RIcky was in the sports section of the newspaper because he had made the winning touchdown in the state playoffs for football. Ricky had been killed in the shooting.

I turned the next page and started to read.

September 7th, 2004
High school is everything and nothing I expected. There are mostly upperclassmen in my classes and I briefly saw Ricky at lunch, but he was sitting with some kids he met in his weight training class and there wasn't enough room at the table when I went over to sit with him. It happens though. I'm sure we'll be able to eat lunch together some other time.
-Ben

September 17th, 2004
I've been incredibly busy with homework the last two weeks that I haven't been able to sit down and just write about what's been going on. I made it through two weeks of what seems like hell. I'm thinking about asking mom and dad if I can possibly be home schooled or take classes online. I don't think I'll be able to put up with the stuff that's been going on.
-Ben

What had happened in those first two weeks? I tried to think back that far but found that all I could remember from my 7th grade year was hanging out with my friends and trying to get guys to notice me. I didn't remember hearing about any of Ben's problems, and he managed to make it seem like nothing was wrong when he was around me.

September 21st, 2004
I walked into my Algebra II class today only to learn that Mr. Roberts changed the seating arrangements and he sat me next to Garrett Chambers. Garrett's the quarterback of the football team and has taken a certain liking to making me feel like I'm worthless. I don't remember the last time I walked into class without getting whatever I had in my hands knocked to the ground. I've learned to keep everything in my backpack and not look to Mr. Roberts for help. He ignores it.
-Ben

I knew for a fact that Garrett had graduated that year, but Mr. Roberts had been shot twice. He was still alive, but from what the news said he was paralyzed from the waist down.

September 27th, 2004
There's a junior in my biology class named Chelsea Winters. She's beautiful and even thought she's a lot more popular than I am, she treats me like I'm a human. Every day she takes the time to say hi to me and to ask how I'm doing. I haven't really had a "crush" on a girl since 7th grade, but I think I may have one on Chelsea. I'll keep it to myself for now though.
-Ben

I felt a little awkward reading the entry in which my brother admitted to finding a girl attractive, because he had never admitted anything of the sort to me. It was comforting that this Chelsea girl had been kind to him though.

October 7th, 2004
Chelsea and Garrett Chambers started dating yesterday.
-Ben

My heart ached for Ben when I read that sentence. Ben had always been the "knowledge is greater than love" type, so I knew it was a big deal for him whenever he was actually into a girl.

October 22nd, 2004
Garrett's decided that I'm "gay" because I don't have a girlfriend, so now anyone that will take the time to listen thinks I'm into other guys. I knew it wouldn't do me any good to tell him that I wasn't anywhere near gay, that in reality I'm completely in love with the girl he's seeing.
-Ben

November 1st, 2004
I opened my locker this morning only to find 4 pieces of folded lined paper. Each one said "HOMO" in thick, black sharpie. I didn't tell my parents or Rachel. They wouldn't have been able to do anything that would help me or stop people from doing this. I'm just going to have to wait for it to pass, I guess.
-Ben

November 10th, 2004
Ricky hasn't acknowledged me any more than a slight nod in my direction in the hallways. I've noticed that he and Garrett Chambers are hanging out more often. I'll see them walking down the halls and if Garrett notices me he'll cough "homo" and that gets a laugh from Ricky. Ricky knows I'm not gay, but I'm sure he's just trying to impress Garrett.
-Ben

It was now that I realized Ben had been going through high school and dealing with all the problems it handed him completely alone. He didn't want to bother my parents and I with what he was facing, and he didn't believe we could fix anything even if we did know. He had no friends to turn to and no one to tell all his problems to. I wished then that he had told my parents what was going on. They could have at least gotten him a counselor so all his feelings weren't boiling inside.

December 6th, 2004
I'm feeling so much hatred lately. I want to lash out and hurt people. It seems like it's the only thing that would make people just completely leave me alone. The whole football team is seemingly out to make my life unbearable. I just don't understand how some people can be so damn cruel.
-Ben

It was when I turned the page that a piece of paper fell from the journal and into my lap. I stared at the words before I realized what I held in my hand. Written in red ink were the names of 15 different people.

This was Ben's hit list.

I dropped the journal and the list and crawled quickly to the last box sitting on the floor left to unpack. I pulled the carboard flaps apart and rummaged inside before I pulled out a folder filled with newspaper articles. As the articles came out one by one I had snuck them away from the pile of newspapers that my father kept by his recliner and clipped out the words that caused my family so much hurt. I read every last one before slipping them into the folder I kept under my mattress. I pulled the articles out and spread them across the floor, then grabbed the list that had fallen into my lap from the journal. My eyes landed on the first name and I frantically fished through the clippings.

Tyler Batey. Dead at 17.
David Truman. Dead at 18.
Travis Jacobs. Wounded in the chest and leg at 17.

I found 11 others who had either been killed, fatally wounded, or whose lives were somehow permanently screwed over by the quick pull of a trigger. But it was the final name that haunted me. Ricky's name. As I continued reading Ben's journal I found that he had been relentlessly bullied and tortured by his peers. Those few who graduated had in a way saved their own lives.

I finally started to understand what had made Ben crack on that fatal day.

In the 4th grade Ben had helped me make a project for our school science fair. He had wanted to make it something complicated, but I had finally made him agree to help me make a volcano that "erupted" when the vinegar was poured onto the baking soda at the bottom of the volcano. On the inside, Ben was much like my 4th grade science project - a volcano filled with baking soda that had been mixed with just the right amount of vinegar.