The graveyard is eerily silent, the only sound being the sharp call of a bird somewhere in the skeleton-like branches of a tree. No one is here except for me. It has only been 4 months since I was last here. Four months since the funeral. Four months since a part of me died.
I stand in front of the grave, fresh dirt speckling the hem of my black mourning skirt. The wind lifts my loose brunette hair off my neck, tangled and unbrushed. I clutch a bouquet of fresh roses, red as blood, a black ribbon holding the stems together. I slowly kneel down until I can touch the smooth granite tombstone. The suface has no markings except for a name and years of birth and death. Alex Morgan, 1991-2008. Seventeen years. Today is the day he would've turned 18. He had his whole life ahead of him. He had so many chances to turn around. But it was too late. I was too late.
He
was my best friend
I tried to help him
But
he traded everything for suffering
And
found himself alone
I remember when we met. It was at my friend Sara's Halloween house party. I was sitting on a porch swing, looking up at the stars and not really talking to anybody. Since Sara lived on the edge of town, there were no city lights to obstruct the view. I heard a voice ask, "Someone call seat backs?" I looked up and saw a guy standing there, a cup of punch in his hands. I let him, and he sat down. He told me his name was Alex, and we just started talking. Since it was a Halloween party, I was in my costume; I noticed Alex didn't eye my costume the way other guys had been. (It was a little slutty---red fishnets, black heeled boots, short and low-cut dress---the whole thing.) Alex was quiet and intelligent compared to my outspoken goth chick personality, but I liked him right away. We found we had a lot in common. We liked alot of the same music. We both liked to read, draw, street dance, and play video games. I could play the electric guitar while he was a klutz at all instuments. Our birthdays were only a week apart. We both wanted to go join the Navy; his father had been an Ensign. My grandfather had been a Lieutenant on a submarine and my father had been a Captain on a destroyer.
I was a rebel, like most cocky teenagers. I had an attitude of 'If you don't like it, piss off' where Alex was more the 'Just shut up and you'll survive' type of guy. I could kick anybody's ass and was up for challenges while Alex was more passive. He wasn't a coward; he just wasn't as confident as I was about being outspoken. As we grew, so did our friendship, and with that, our dependence on each other.
My home life had become increasingly difficult. My dad was an ex-alcoholic who was still trying to cope with staying clean; he got angry alot and was in a recovery program in another city, so we didn't get to see him that often. My mom smoked marijuana and didn't really give a damn about what I did. She slept a lot and struggled to pay the bills. My older brother was on parole for car robberies and drug dealing. I myself had crack, cocaine, and even heroin, but I just never got hooked. Alcohol and weed weren't addictiong; I could stop whenever I wanted. I didn't need drugs to be happy. They just made me feel good when I needed a lift. I began to rely on Alex more and more to get me away from my crappy life because he had it so easy. Then we found out that his mother had developed breast cancer and was given only seven months to live. That's when it started.
I
watched the lying
Turn into hiding
With scars on both his lips
His
fingertips were melted to the bone
I started seeing less and less of him. I didn't think much of it at first since I myself had been cutting class to drink or smoke some maijuana. But then I would go an entire week without seeing him, and when he did show up, he avoided me. I started asking around and found out that he had started smoking crack cocaine. I had kind of figured it out since I could see the signs. The funny thing was, he hadn't told me he started using drugs. Why? Alex had never hid anything from me. In fact, we told and trusted each other with everything. Or so I thought.
I should've asked earlier. Life doesn't always give us second chances.
But
I can still remember what his face
looked like
When I found him in an
alley in the middle of the night
I was walking past Cuttroat Alley one night--someone's twisted word play on an alley where alot of suicides were committed--when I saw him. He was kneeling on the ground, shaking violently. Tears dripped down his face when he looked up at me. And I saw everything in the most tortured face I had ever seen. I dropped to my knees and held him, neither of us saying a word. We didn't need to. He knew I already knew. I knew, but I didn't understand. I was lost to the reason why.
Tell
me what you know
Tell me what you've
gone and done now
A gun'll do the
trick to get it over with
You're
better off to take all that you got
'N
burn it on the spot
Just to get
high, high, high, high
I was over at his house one night when he told me everything from the beginning. He had started smoking when his mother had entered chemotherapy. By the time the cancer was successfully removed, crack cocaine had become a part of Alex's life. He couldn't stop; he needed it to function normally. He spent every penny on it and smoked it in alleys and empty parking lots with other druggies. He hid from his friends and excluded himself from his family. He knew he needed to stop, but he couldn't. He wanted to stop, but he needed it to survive.
He had access to firearems at home. He told me he had had suicidal thoughts and wanted to take one of his dad's pistols to his head, ready to pull the trigger. He never did, but he came close. He considered himself dead already, even to me.
Three
days no sleeping
He gave up eating
He sold his mother's rings
She
said nothing and pretended not to know
He needed more money to buy more crack. He gave up everything for the sake of being high. All he could think about was when he could get his next dose of crack. All he could do was smoke crack. He stole and sold his mother's wedding rings and other jewelry. She knew. His entire family knew. They thought it was just an 'angry, confused teenager' phase.
He
started stealing
To supply the
feeling
Found out he pulled a knife
on someone's wife
And held it to her
throat
He learned how to pick locks. He figured out which houses were unlocked during the day. He began to steal from people he knew as well as random people on the street. Jewelry, money, clothes, shoes, and even a couple of cars were stolen because he was so desperate. Two months before he died, he saw a woman with a wallet full of cash. And he needed more money for more of the drug. So he threatened to slit her throat unless he gave him the money. Alex found himself with a handful of twenties and handcuffs around his wrists. He spents 10 days in Juvenile Hall.
But
I can still remember what his face looked like
When
I found him in an alley in the middle of the night
Tell
me what you know
Tell me what you've
gone and done now
A gun'll do the
trick
To get it over with
You're
better off to take all that you got
'N
burn it on the spot
Just to get
high, high, high, high
He knew his life was gone. He saw it happen, just like the rest of us. His money was gone, the crack dealers were dry, his girlfriend had dumped him, and I was his only friend. He knew he had made a train wreck of his life. He had watched it happen, day by day, like we all did. And yet he continued to let it go downhill. We let him dig himself deeper into the pit he had created.
Tell
me what you did
Where you got it hid
Show me, it's what you
really want
Watchin' what you got, slowly
Circling the drain,
throw it all away
Just to get high, high, high, high
He watched his life unravel before his eyes without doing anything to reverse it. But it wasn't his fault. The signs were all there. We could've helped him, but we didn't. Instead, we let him suffer in silence alone. By the time one of us reached out to him, it was already too late.
Tell
me what you know
Tell me what you've
gone and done now
A gun'll do the
trick
To get it over with
You're better off to take all that you got
'N burn it on the spot
Just
to get high, high, high, high
One day, he was home alone. Alex had made up his mind. He called me; he said he loved me and he was sorry, but he had to do what he had to do. By the time I got over to his house, he had already pulled the trigger to deliver the fatal shot.
I couldn't stop crying. The paramedics said I couldn't have done anything for him, that he had too much cocaine in his system and would've died from an overdose anyway.
But I knew I could have done more when Alex was still alive. A lot more.
Tell
me what you did
Where you got it hid
Show me, it's what you really want
Watchin' what you got, slowly
Circling the drain, throw it all away
Just to get high, high, high, high
Today
would've been his 18th birthday. He would've graduated high school.
He would've accepted a $2500 scholarship to Stanford. He would've
been congradulated instead of having a lone friend mourn him 4 months
after a much-too-early funeral. Now he lies 6 feet under, cold and
alone, like the year before. Four months ago he said his last
goodbyes, but it doesn't seem like he's gone completely. Maybe it's a
false hope that he's still alive and this was all just a mistake. Or
maybe it's because I remember. I remember his story.
Circling
the drain, throw it all away
Just to
get high, high, high, high
I reach out an arm and let the flowers fall from my pale grip, a few tears landing on the dark red petals. I wipe my eyes and stand up, giving a silent prayer. I look once more at the near-blank tombstone. A tombstone I won't be seeing for another 6 months. And as hard as it is, I walk away.
