You'll Always Be Forgotten

I was so certain this was what I wanted—my out. I was so sure that everything would be made better for me; nothing would matter anymore. I didn't think about anyone but myself—I've always been the selfish one. I never thought that I really mattered to anyone.

I wanted it to stop—all the crying, the tears that were falling for me. I didn't deserve to be mourned. I wasn't anything special; I was a stupid kid who had one too many bad things happen in their life. I was a failure; I couldn't do anything right, always put down by my peers.

I just wanted all the pain to go away—I wanted it to end. I hated the constant name calling, the teasing; I was different, that's all they had against me. I didn't conform my first day of high school and I didn't conform my last day either. I don't think they'll miss me though—just add names to their never-ending list.

I wasn't sure why I was able to see what was happening to my family; I didn't mean for this to happen. I thought they didn't care; I thought they'd be better off without me. My mother hasn't left her bed for three days now; my father hasn't stopped drinking for three days.

They have to know it's not their fault; I'm the one to blame. This was my choice, it was what I wanted. I wasn't ever going to amount to anything; my father and teachers constantly told me that much. My mother and guidance counselor were the only two who believed in me—remotely.

I've been afraid to go and see my only friend; afraid of what I've done to him. My parents are devastated—I always thought they didn't care about me. I couldn't stand haunting my house any longer; not with the rapid destruction of the people my parent's used to be.

I went to my grave; it's surreal standing over your own grave. Seeing that polished, overpriced stone, your name staring you in the face, mocking you; letting you know just how pathetic you really are. I noticed a figure by my stone; first time since my funeral—another surreal thing to watch.

I couldn't make out just who it was but I heard everything they were saying. I ventured closer and closer until I realized just who was knelt over my grave, hand caressing my carved name. Their breath was broken by sobs, sniffles and I watched as they would reach a hand to wipe away tears I'm sure.

"You're an idiot, I hope you know that. I also hope, wherever you are you're happier than you ever were here. I don't know how no one else saw how unhappy you were…I wish I said something to someone, even if it were just my brother—your best friend. He'd have done something to help you through whatever it was you were going through."

He sniffled again and wiped his face; I moved, walking around to see who was kneeling on my grave. I was shocked to see who exactly was here; I'd never have expected to see him here. He let out a demented chuckle before continuing.

"You know, he blames himself, everyone blames themselves. Your parents blame themselves, your peers at school blame themselves—some wondering if they were to have lightened up or stopped you wouldn't have done this; you'd have done it anyway. You were always the stubborn one, the one to stick to your mind, your plans and never one to back down. This time so many people wish you had."

I was crying at his words; someone who never wanted to be noticed by others noticed everything about those who surrounded him. I didn't want his brother to blame himself, it wasn't his fault—my peers, I didn't care about them, even if this was partially based on their actions, their words.

"I, I know we never were that close but I saw you every day. The night, the night you, the night you committed suicide—I'm not going to use any other words for your action—I had the feeling that was the last time I was going to see you. It was. I'll never forget that phone call; nor will I forget the look in my brother's face the moment our mother hung up the phone. Tears were threatening to fall from her eyes as she turned to face us; she placed a hand on her chest before she fell to the floor. She always loved you like a son—the news hurt her."

I wish I could touch him, speak to him, to let him know I was still here. He pulled his jacket sleeves up, revealing the lower portions of his arms; they were littered with scars. Small lines covered the underside of his arms; I was shocked. He was the one that always seemed so together, the one that wouldn't ever break—the strong one. He was showing me his weakness, his flaw, his humanity.

"We were more alike than you knew. I'll admire you for your ability to actually leave this place; I've tried, always failing. I guess I fail because I don't use a sure-fire method; pills and razors. I'm afraid of guns and I don't have a proper place to hang myself—not like you. I'm sure your mother screamed when she saw your lifeless body hanging from the rafters in your over sized house. I'm sure your father sank to the ground when he got that dreaded phone call at work. My brother ran to your house, he ran to see if you had really taken your own life."

He moved and was now sitting cross-legged in front of my stone; his sobs had subsided, tears still fell from his eyes though. He had brought his own hand from my stone and fiddled with his fingers on his lap. He lowered his sleeves, glanced around and did something that shocked me. I was intruding on a speech, a personal speech meant for me, but I wasn't supposed to really hear it.

"I followed him, mostly for his own sake, but for my own reasons as well. You were always there, always smiling, always laughing—always so happy. For the longest time it was genuine, then one day it wasn't so pure anymore. You never told my brother what changed in you because he never noticed. You kept your happy persona up, probably just for him. He was your best friend; you two would do anything for each other. I've never seen so many flashing lights in my life; an ambulance, four cop cars, one being a trooper cruiser."

I hadn't seen that many lights either—they were all for me. I remember watching as they lowered my body from the ceiling, cutting me down. My body made a disturbing thud as it hit the floor. A police officer restrained my mother from rushing to hold my cold, lifeless form; she fought so hard to get out of his grasp. I heard her screams, her sobs, her desperate pleads for them to let her hold me one last time.

"I could hear your mother still screaming when we arrived. My mother wasn't too far behind. The neighbors were crowded around your yard; we did live in suburbia, everyone knew everything about everyone. They murmured to each other about what was going on; they could hear your mother's screams. Your father pulled up, pain etched onto every part of his face. He argued briefly with an officer before being let into his own home, to see his own wife, his own son."

That gut-wrenching noise that came out of my father as he came into the living room; he saw the paramedics lifting my body into a body bag, his gaze lifting to the still dangling cord hanging from the rafter, swaying in the small breeze from all of the movement. My mother finally escaping the confines of an officer's arms and rushing to my father; they clung to each other, seated on the floor for the longest time—unmoving.

"When they brought out the body bag, that, that's when my brother lost it. He let out a scream, it was as if someone was stabbing him; I've never seen him so hurt before. He kept shaking his head, as if that would make it all go away. You were an only child; he knew that bag held your body. He clung to me like I was the only thing holding him up, at one point I was. My mother rushed towards the door, begging an officer to let her see your parents; it took a while, but he relented and let her in."

She froze when she was the cord, then her eyes searched for my parents, finally spotting their forms on the floor, clutching to each other—dealing with the worst pain in the entire world. She rushed to them, pulling them into her arms; giving comfort she knew meant and did nothing to ease what had just happened. I heard my mother muttering 'why' over and over, my father's eyes locked onto the cord; questions they'll never know the answers to dancing through their eyes.

"The police asked everyone to return to their homes after they loaded your body in the back of the ambulance. The sirens were turned off, nothing but flashing lights to notify everyone who saw that vehicle coming their way, there was a dead body on board. Once everyone was back to their homes they approached my brother and I—we told them our mother was let in the house. He gave us sympathetic looks and led us up your lawn and into your house."

His brother, my best friend, wouldn't step foot inside. He stopped on the porch, said he wasn't going to go in there; he didn't want to see anything. I had been watching my parents to even realize people were outside; I headed towards my best friend's voice. The tears streaming down his face, the way his chest heaved with each breath/sob he let out; the sorrow that was beyond evident in his eyes—that tore me in two.

"I walked right in; you were always eccentric, I expected a big bloody mess—not the cord that danced in the small breeze that came in through the front door. The tension was thick in the air, the house held this overwhelming sense of sorrow and misery. You murdered yourself—how do you get that low? I know I said I'm envious you actually succeeded, but I've never seen you shed a tear, let alone a frown."

I wanted to stop them all from hurting; I wasn't happier, I was the furthest from it. If I wasn't already dead I think I'd kill myself again—running away was not the answer though. This proved it. Suicide was not the answer, I should've talked to my parents, my best friend—someone, anyone. Now it's too late, I can't go back, I'll never grow old, I'll never marry; I ruined everyone's lives by taking my own. I never thought about the consequences—not once.

"Your viewing was a strange experience; you looked like you were sleeping in a coffin—something you said you'd always wanted to do. You got your wish. If it wasn't disrespectful to you I would've yelled at some of the people who dared show up to your viewing. Those kids who threw so many ruthless taunts your way, such harsh names, labels your way; they didn't deserve to ask for your forgiveness. I hope you haven't given it to them."

I wish I could've yelled at some of those kids too. They meant it though, their apologies, they've changed, only if slightly. Bullies are bullies; that's what they do. The boy in front of me was always in the shadows of every memory I was recalling. I always knew he was there, I just never paid attention to him—I never knew he paid so much attention to me.

"No one knows I'm here right now; my parents and brother think I'm sleeping in my room. Your parents don't answer the phone, or the door; my mother's worried about them. She knows how guilty they feel; how they wish they could've paid more attention to you, told you they loved you, showed you they knew you existed. Is it lonely where you are? Are you truly happier? Would you take it all back?"

I hate that my actions were what caused my parents to finally take notice of my existence again—to finally care. I'm very alone; it's disturbing how alone I am. My life mocks me, I can see everyone I ever cared about anytime I want—letting me know what I've given up. I'm no where close to happy; I'll never be happy, not till I meet them again. To have my life back, I'm not sure. I'd still have my uncaring parents, my oblivious best friend, the older brother of my best friend who seems to know more about me than I know of myself; I don't know. I'd like to think I'd tell him yes, I'd like a second chance. I know that's not how life works though; we've got one shot to live our life—I ended mine before it truly began.

"I'd like to think we'd have been good friends, not best, that place is forever my brother's, but we'd have been good friends. We never gave the other a chance, I wish I had. I almost said something that night you left to never see another day again—almost. I'm not blaming myself, I doubt I could've changed your mind, as I said, you were always the determined one; never backed down. I've come to say my own goodbye, an honest goodbye."

He moved to his knees and then stood, staring down at my stone now. With the exception of the occasional glance around that's all he looked at—my polished rock. He brushed himself off as he spoke the next few words. Words that hurt, but spoke the ultimate truth; he shoved his hands in his pockets as he gave me his final goodbye.

"You know, you're a suicide, you'll be forgotten in a few months. They'll forget they had some spastic kid in their classes, they'll remember you years later though. Years later when someone finally pushes their buttons too hard and too far; words that hurt them to the core as they did to you. Then they'll feel guilt; feel remorse for aiding such a tragic moment in their high school careers. Then in a blink of an eye they'll be back to being the sadistic bastards they are, the fake Barbie dolls of our time. They'll only remember you when they feel pain, the same pain they caused you and only then."

I moved to right in front of him, his breath showing in the air, his eyes darting around, as if searching for something—someone. He gave a small smile and then a weak chuckle before tears fell again. I wanted him to stop saying what he was; I didn't want to know I would mean nothing, nothing to anyone but my parents and his family—no one else. I was nobody; nobody's were forgotten after time—I would be forgotten.

"My brother will never forget you, but he'll move on, find another best friend, your parents will move on, my mother will move on; they'll all find ways to remember you without it hurting. They'll wake up one day and the thought of your missed smile, your missed laugh won't hurt them anymore, they'll be fond of the memory, no longer desperate for a tie to hold on to you. They'll move on."

He closed his eyes as tears still fell; he was fighting himself to say or not say what he held on his mind, on the tip of his tongue. He was right, one day they will have moved on, they'll remember me and it won't hurt—well it will, just not so much. He took a step forward, running his fingers along the top of my stone, taking a deep breath before giving in and speaking his final thoughts.

"I fought so hard to deny it, tried so hard to not get attached; it's too late but I had to tell you for myself—I love you. I don't feel any better telling you, you can't hear me, you can't say it back, you can't even tell me how you feel, you can't even tell me why you did what you did. Let go, let go for our sakes, they say some people, when they die stick around—please don't. It'll only make it worse on you; we're human, we'll adapt, we'll learn to cope—we have each other."

He brought two of his fingers to his lips and then brought them down to my stone. Closing his eyes once more as tears fell down his cheeks before he turned and walked towards the gate—away from me. He was right though—I need to let go. Take responsibility for my actions; I watched his retreating figure for as long as I could make out his body until he blended in with shadows and the darkness.

I felt myself fade into nothingness—truly to be forgotten. I became lost in this huge black abyss of others who had done just what I did. Who were so lost they thought death was the only way out—it's not. I've learned that the hard way. Life is a test and I gave up like so many others. I was a quitter; I took the easy way to solve my problems. I gave in to the one thing that made things anything but easier and gave up on the one thing that could save me—myself.