|Observation of a Stupid Waste submitted 2011.07.21 06:36 AM by skrapmetal viewed 2714 times|
|The song from M*A*S*H was only partly right. It brings on changes and you can take or leave it alright, but it's not painless. Not if you stop for a moment to think about anyone but yourself. Not at all, in the least, in any way.|
Apparently he'd planned it all out in advance. Text messages, work schedule, the motel room, everything. Enough assurances to make family and friends think he was out having fun but without enough information to give anything away. Everyone thought he was coming around after being sort of a stay-at-home kid, but it was all of a plan.
After two days without anyone hearing from him the police were called, and shortly thereafter a relative found his car in the parking lot and called his family. And thus the plan to disappear quietly unraveled. It was two members of his family that kicked the door in and found his body there, destroyed by the gunblast. He had planned to be remembered as having simply went off to do some errands and never returned; instead his family will remember the horrible scene in the cheap motel room next to the highway.
A couple days later, the family's house is strewn with pictures of him. With family members, doing stuff, sleeping in the back seat of the car, anything other than being a bloody mess on a thin mattress in a shitty room next to the highway. It's some comfort to the family that's shown up since then, but the pictures do little to erase the images burned into the minds of the two who found him. The older of the two, who is one of his parents, cannot speak without a crack of voice and the beginnings of tears. The younger of the two is almost catatonic from the meds. Is this what he wanted? No, but it's what he got.
It's been four days. On a table in a corner of the family room is a pile of pictures and a black box full of ashes. One of his relatives has put a pile of blank cards and some pens on the table. We're all at the house for a makeshift memorial. We're supposed to write something on a card and put it in a box with some of his stuff, if we want to. I write my card, seal it, and drop it in. Someone asks me what could have been going through his mind and I momentarily hate myself for even thinking of the joke. He would have laughed, though. His favorite music plays on the computer. It's almost funny to see his grandparents wincing to Avenged Sevenfold. We all tell a few stories and listen to many more. The computer hangs up and someone remarks that it means he's there with us, since you remember how he could break any computer just by being next to it? Remember that one time...
There are floating candles in the pool. We each of us put them there, one at a time. All are clinging together in one corner, except one by itself at the other end of the pool. Someone says that one was his favorite color. Stop it, it's just surface tension and underlying currents. Isn't it, though? I don't say anything. Ozzy's "Mama I'm Coming Home" plays on the computer.
Goodbye, kid. What the hell were you thinking?
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