I was feeling pretty OK after the talk with the pastor but while we drove back to Jacob’s house I started feeling sad again. It wasn’t like I usually felt sad though. It was like I didn’t actually feel anything. Kind of like I felt right after Eli died. I just went and laid on Jacob’s bedroom floor for a while. The bottle of vodka was still hidden under the mattress so I had a sip. It made me feel a little nauseous so I put the lid back on. It was kind of nice to feel something though.
I just laid there on the floor thinking for a few hours. Thinking about what it would be like living with Jacob until I moved out on my own. Thinking that if I ever had kids, would I be like Eli? How if I was already like Eli I should just never have kids. And besides, how would I ever even get a girlfriend? It’s not like people like hearing about someone’s awful depressing life. I wondered if I would just be the kid people felt sorry for. If they’d look back at an old yearbook and just say “That’s Ben, both his parents died before Senior year.”
Eventually Jacob came in and said it was time for dinner. While we ate, his mom said Mrs. Glass made a plan to sell the farm. Said she’d get a really good price on it.
“Imagine that, Mrs. Glass negotiating a good price on something,” I said. We all laughed a little thinking about Mrs. Glass sitting across a desk from a banker shaking in his boots.
We ate in silence for a couple minutes, and Jacob’s mom said “speak of the devil.” We turned around and sure enough, there was Mrs. Glass knocking on the door. Jacob’s mom told us to wait at the table, and she went and talked to Mrs. Glass for a while. Then Mrs. Glass gave Jacob’s mom a box. One of those big gray plastic boxes people put their Christmas lights in so they can pile them into a garage. Mrs. Glass was already back in her car by time Jacob’s mom brought the box to me.
“They found a few sentimental things in the house. They put the big stuff in storage, but they thought you might enjoy having a few things. To remember them by.”
I lost my appetite, so I said thanks for dinner and took the box to Jacob’s room. I set it on the bed and sat right next to it. Right on top was a note from my mom. The note Eli told me about when I was in the hospital and I got dizzy walking down the hall with the bright lights and the stupid blue walls.
I got a little dizzy. It felt just like when that stupid doctor told me she died. I wanted to run. But I didn’t have anywhere to run to. I laid down for a minute. Just laying there, trying to decide if I wanted to find out why my mom killed herself. I already knew why. We all knew why. But there was still a note.
I read it. I shouldn’t have. But I did. I’m not gonna tell you everything it said. Most of it was that she was sorry, and that she loved me. That was nice to read. It didn’t make anything better, but it was nice. But there was one line. Ben, use this experience to become a better person. Don’t you dare turn out like your father. And don’t try and fix destruction with more destruction.
I started bawling. How the hell was I supposed to become better? She was the only good influence I ever had and now she’s dead. Between all my crying I read the last line. It made me smile. Eli, burn in hell. It was nice to finally hear her stand up for herself. Like I should have stood up for her.
I folded the note up like it was when I got it and tucked it back in the box where Jacob wouldn’t see it. I laid on the floor for a while and just thought. I spend so long thinking.
How the hell do I not turn out like Eli? I’m angry as it is, damn angry. And people always said Eli was a piece of trash cause he got angry and never did anything to fix it. But people are dead and gone. How the hell do I fix that?
I guess I fell asleep, cause I woke up covered in a blanket on Jacob’s floor. My heart was racing. I think I had a nightmare or something cause I was covered in sweat. Or maybe it was just the damn Texas heat.
I still couldn’t sleep, and I felt really shaky, so I woke Jacob up. I asked what he would do if he was me. He said he’d probably kill himself. Said he can’t believe I put up with as much shit as I did.
I sighed and rolled back over. I think he said something else but I just said goodnight and tried to get to sleep.
“You could write it down,” he said right as I was falling asleep.
“Write what down?”
“Your story. It’s interesting. The counselor at school said if you’re dealing with tough shit to write it down. Said it helps with trauma or whatever. And if your story is sad enough I guess you can make a fortune making a book out of it.”
I figured I couldn’t sleep anyway, and my English teachers always said I was pretty alright. So I turned on the lamp at Jacob’s desk and started writing. I guess you figured that out, cause here you are reading my story.
I didn’t write this fancy like my teachers say to. It’s my story and I’m telling it how I want to.
But while I wrote this I realized I didn’t want to be the guy who wrote a sob story and got famous. I figured I’m probably doomed to turn out like Eli. I’m already causing problems for Jacob’s family.
Jacob fell back asleep, so I’ve got a whole bottle of headache pills. A couple hundred should work. Some kid at school said that’s how his aunt did it. Said she took them before bed and never woke up.
So now you’ve read my story, you probably figured it out. This story is my note. And my last advice to the world, if this ever makes it that far, is the same as my mom’s.
Don’t you dare turn out like Eli.