A Thousand Words

When I was five and Jay was six, a photograph was taken. Nothing special, just a blotchy Kodak picture taken with a disposable camera, now wrinkled and ripped from dealing with the hardships that even something as minuscule as a photograph must face in this world. The photograph, although mundane to some, means more than anything in the world to me. We were in a kiddie pool, smiling at the camera with wide toothed grins and sunburned cheeks. I see the toys, the uncut grass in the picture. I tried to hit Jay with a shovel for taking my toy truck. I remember my mother, "Now Hannah, be nice, you wouldn’t want to hurt Jay now would you?"

No, I would never, ever, want to hurt him.


We grew up together, Jay and I. Our mothers were best friends, and consequently so were we. Its every kids fantasy living next to your best friend, having sleepovers every night of the week during the summer. Scraped knees never stopped me from sticking up for him on the playground, and laws never stopped me from saving him in that hospital room, and condemning myself to the prison cell in which I am now writing, reminiscing my days on this earth. Thinking of the taboo shoestrings hiding under the mattress, I know that these days will be my last.

My memories of him are all I have now. When I was six, we were inseparable. At seven, he helped me learn to ride a bike without training wheels. At eight, we played basketball until our mothers had to drag us off the driveway. Ages ten through twelve we remained the same people, until I was thirteen and he was fourteen, then everything started to change.

I wanted to be a journalist; he wanted to be a doctor. We both had such high aspirations for ourselves, and we always knew that everything would work out perfectly. That is, until his eighteenth birthday.

He blew out the candles and I knew things were about to change. His grades slipped, he started drinking, smoking. His college acceptances got revoked. But I still loved him, and he was still my hero.

There were so many nights that I spent alone, waiting for his bedroom light to come on when he got home. I can't say we had a complete romance, but I loved him and he loved me, our relationship punctuated by a few drunken kisses in the front yard, tainted with the tinge of alcohol and high school parties. The parties were an occasional occurrence to me, but for him, they were a way of life.

But as with any tragedy, the life that had been hiding in his shadow throughout the day finally caught up with him. He got in his car around 3:00 AM, with a blood alcohol of .13. He managed to make it about three miles before he hit a tree less than two miles away from his house, and destroying himself completely.

I received a phone call at 3:36 AM that morning and hit 80 going to the hospital. I ran through the white fluorescent hallways of the hospital. Did the purposely make that hallway look as if you were speeding through a tunnel into unconsciousness, chasing death itself? Ironic, an institution that attempts to save lives never fails to at least simulate death. I finally found room 602, filled with weary eyes and sobs from the people that couldn't save Jay any more than they could save themselves.

His face was barely recognizable, closed eyes covered with black and blue marks and cuts running across his face in every which way. His rhythmic breathing controlled by a respirator cut through the silent mourning, the lucid nightmare that we were now in.

Another photo was taken, this time not by either of our parents, but by the police. This time there is no sunshine, no smiles, no love, just a dead boy hooked up machines living for him. I cant stand to see him this way. The doctors said he was brain dead, and everything in my life just falls out of place. I lay on the bed with him, take his hand in mine. I don't know if he can feel me…Can angels still feel?

I feel his pulse against mine, all that’s left of him. His body's already dead, they shouldn't let him go on like this, and they're trapping him. I just want him to be happy, for once in his life, he should be.

Everyone else is asleep.

They
Will
Never
Understand.

But I'm saving him, and that's all I need to know. Just the simple pull of a wire and my job is done. Before I let him go, I hold his hand in mine, feel his pulse. I slip off his bracelet, put it on my own wrist. A cheap piece of fabric can hardly take the place of his pulse against mine, but at least there will be something there, and that's better than the haunting emptiness that I would soon be left with.

One last kiss and he's gone. Drifting away while the alarms go off, machines scream flat line. He won't ever have to hear the wretched wailing again. From now on, only heavenly chords will be struck against his ear, and he can live in peace with everyone, and most importantly himself.

Later the men in blue suits come with metal handcuffs. I don't mind, I know that in your eyes I'm wrong. But someday you'll see, you'll understand why I had to do this. I couldn't let him die. I'll never ever let him die…smiling, I clutch a different photograph. We are in junior high, He's whispering something funny into my ear and I am laughing smiling. Things are no different now. He is still whispering in my ear, smiling down on me. "Come along now…"

I reach for my shoe laces.