The world without Izaiah

7

Sunday was visitation day for Christo. His mother was the only one to come to see him. She came with sympathy cards from his bandmates. They were all just trying to make him feel like they cared, of this much, he was sure.

His mother passed him an envelope and a grocery bag. "I got permission to bring you a few things."

In the bag were flip-flops for the shower, a bar of soap, a shampoo bar, and a coloring book that came with crayons.

"Thank you so much, mom. But what's in the envelope?"

His mom wiped a tear from her eye. "Just open it."

He opened the flap and pulled out a stack of papers titled The Curtains by Izaiah Walker. "What? He never told me he was working on a new project."

"Not just any project, honey, a book." She dabbed the last tear from her eye. "Just read it. It's his best work yet."

Christo glanced down at the table. "Mom, I'm so sorry. I know that won't bring him back, but I regret everything. I don't deserve to be alive while he rots. I deserve to have died that night instead of him." Tears cascaded down his face.

"Christo baby, sure, you could have been dead, but you're not. God didn't want you to die."

"So what you are saying is that God wanted Izaiah to die instead? How could you say that?"

His mom grabbed his hand from under the glass. "It's not like that, honey. God didn't wish him dead. Izaiah died because of evil in the world. The same evil that drew you to drink that night. God chose not to stop that evil because he gave us free will. The greatest joys and the greatest tragedies come from being free. Without great tragedies, there would be no great joys. Don't you see? This isn't God's fault. Don't blame him."

Christo squeezed her hand and thought for a moment. "Yeah, that makes sense. It's not going to take my anger, but it helps."

Francine smiled at him. "Take care, sweetheart."

"Take care, Mom."

What his mom had said to him gave him some sense of relief, yet he wasn't sure why.

He thought for a long while. The following day, he requested therapy. When he finally went in to meet with the therapist, he was nervous.

The therapist introduced herself as Linda West. She was a younger woman, but she spoke confidently, reflecting her adequate education and emotional intelligence.

I went through the events of the night of the crash. She asked me how I got hooked on alcohol.

"My band introduced me to hard liquor. I was never much of a drinker before; neither was Izaiah. But once I started rehearsals with them, they expected me to drink. If I didn't, they would call me names."

"That night when you decided to get in the car,  what was going through your head?" Christo sunk into his seat.

"I just wanted to escape. We were getting booed because our performance was bad; we were all extremely drunk. The crowd was angry. They wanted their money back. They saw me stumbling around on stage. I could barely stand up. Nobody stopped me when I grabbed Izaiah and led him to the car. Izaiah was so drunk he couldn't even protest. They kept forcing alcohol on him, and he looked green."

"I take it he wasn't a drinker?"

"No, he rarely touched alcohol. Izaiah only knew my bandmates because they worked together for a while at the thrift store. Izaiah trusted people, even when it wasn't a good idea."

"So Isaiah got in that car on his own accord? Or did you make him?"

Christo looked offended. How dare she suggest something like that. "Of course, I didn't. I would have never forced him to do anything he didn't want."

"You do realize, while you are to blame for the accident, his death falls partially on him. You never forced him into that car. It would have helped if you had stopped him from getting in, but he made that choice, too. It could have just as easily been him driving that car."

"Huh, you're right."

"And what about your band? They knew you were extremely intoxicated, and they didn't try to stop you. They watched you walk out and didn't even bother to check on you? In my opinion, they are guilty too. Christo, you're not alone in this."

He wasn't alone in this mess. He was the driver, but other people were also guilty. It's not what he thought he'd learn from therapy, but he did. He still blamed himself because it was his fault, after all. But at least he knew he wasn't the only one holding guilt.

"How was therapy kiddo?" Arnoldo put down his book and closed a tissue between its pages.

"You know, it was okay. I learned some things."

"Izaiah is happy to see you smile. He knows you feel guilty, but he feels guilty too. He feels guilty for choosing to get in that car. He puts part of the blame on himself."

Christo froze in place. How did Arnoldo know what he had been talking about in therapy?

"You need to stop prying." The older man just laughed.

"You are fortunate that god wanted you to be alive. He has a great purpose for you. Just open that book young man, and let your words flow freely. It's what he would want."

Christo picked up the manilla envelope and held it to his chest. "I hid this under my pillow when you were gone; how did you know? How? That's not possible unless you went snooping."

"Izaiah told me all about his writings. He knew you thought they were all bad. That's why he wanted to impress you."

"This isn't possible! You're fucking with me. How did you know my husband? Tell me now!" He got in the older man's face.

"I know him well, Christo. He is an angel. He speaks to me about many things."

Christo turned white as stone. "This can't be happening. It just can't."

"But it is."

"This is bullshit!"

The men in the surrounding cells oohed "fight!"

Arnoldo shook his head, "I don't fight."

"Neither do I consider yourself lucky."