Not One to Talk

Not One to Talk (Chapter 2)

Tyler:

     You know how people often say "never take your life for granted" and "be thankful for what you have"? It's not uncommon, and quite frankly I hear those sayings more often than not, but that's not of my choosing.

     Now, I'm not going to go into some deep, moving speech about the meaning of life and whatnot, mostly because I would probably have to kill myself if I did. That is, if I didn't bore myself to death first. But what I am going to say is that now, in the darkest point of my life, those two sayings mean more to me now than they ever have before. And that is because of the one night that changed my life forever. The one night that eventually caused me to meet the love of my life and get into more trouble than I ever have before. And what was I doing on that very important night? 

     Making chicken stir-fry.

     I wish I could say something more dignified than that, but yeah - I was cooking dinner.

     My parents weren't home yet (they never were) so I was alone in the house with only my thoughts to keep me company. Well, that, as well as Diane Sawyer's voice coming from the television, talking about the Tuscon, Arizona shooting. 

     That made me wonder why all the people in the world had to suffer so much. I didn't care if we were at war with them or close allies - that made no difference to me. I mean, people were being killed everyday and yet no one was being punished for it. The only one's being punished were the families of those people who had to deal with all the pain and loss. And then the bad guys were still running around like maniacs and causing more pain. It sickened me to think of that. But sadly, it was true. 

     I had to snap out of my little world as I grabbed a knife out of the kitchen drawer to cut the vegetables with. The whole room smelled strongly of Chinese food - rice, chicken, vegetables, and Teriyaki sauce. I, however, was too distracted by the TV too really take much notice. 

     Diane Sawyer was interviewing someone about the shootout and I saw at the bottom of the screen that his name was Dr. Robert Smith. He looked like the typical businessman, all dressed up in a suit and tie. Either he was a quiet talker or my hearing was bad because I had to strain to listen:

     “No one should have to suffer the way the families on the victims have. And it’s not just the victims’ families – the relatives of the shooter also have to deal with the sadness of this terrible situation. They have to live with the fact that their son, nephew, cousin, or whatever did so much damage to the lives of so many. It is terrible to think of, but I don’t think we can even begin to understand the feeling. . . “

      I shut the TV off. I didn’t need to be hearing this.

     The house was utterly silent now that no one was talking. The only noise was the far-off purr of some car engine in the distance. That wasn’t enough to console me, though.

     I continued half-heartedly cutting the food while still being careful not to slice my fingers off. I had to admit, as much as I didn’t want to, that I loved to cook. I didn’t have a set reason why, but I enjoyed it all the same. Maybe it was the feeling of accomplishing something when you were done or being able to think Hey, I made this. Well, whatever the reason, I loved to do it.

     I had moved on the cut the chicken, which was a huge piece of slippery, wet meat. My nose wrinkled at the smell of it.

     As I cut, my mind wandered. I thought about music – the songs I had written in the past few days, possible lyrics floating around in my head. What can I say - I was a compulsive music writer. It was in my nature to think of things like that.

     Letting my mind wander was not a good decision.

     I was being so absentminded that I wasn’t paying attention to what I was doing. I looked down to see my progress, but I saw what had happened to late. I didn’t even feel what I had done.

     The knife had slipped from my grasp and punctured my midsection.

     My stomach reeled when I saw the blade was still stuck in my torso. It was stained red. Stupidly, I held my breath and yanked it out and I screamed in agony, not caring who heard it. Blood began to pour out of the wound. It was deep. How could I have been unaware of that?

     I doubled over, clutching my midsection, overtaken by pain. Black spots danced across my vision, threatening to black me out completely.

     I tried to hold on. I refused to give over to unconsciousness. I had to call for help. No one would come to my aid if I didn’t make myself heard.

     I desperately attempted at screaming again, but no sound came out of my mouth. I was losing the fight. The sickening sound of blood dripping onto the floor reached my ears and my stomach twisted.

     Never take your life for granted. . .

     At that point, I wasn’t taking my life for granted. I just wanted it to go on. Not to end like this.

     That was my last thought before darkness overcame me.