--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I don't notice the sound my feet make in the snow as I hug my jacket tighter around me. I don't notice the curious glances I attract as I walk to no place in particular either. Even the iron rich taste of blood from my dry and cracked lips doesn't fully sink in. I only tune into my surroundings when I feel a soft tug on my sleeve.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Nobody ever knows exactly what is going on in another person's head. As a kid I wished I could read minds, but once I got older I realized how invasive that would be. What goes on in somebody's head is their own business, and not mine or anybody else's. However, I can think of a few instances where it would be helpful to say the least.
My brother died last year because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was on his way home from work when he decided on a whim to take a detour through the park near our house. I don't know why he decided to change his path from his usual route. I also don't know why someone decided to kill him in the first place. The coroner said he died because of the three bullets in his chest, and that he acquired the smashed skull and collapsed esophagus after he was already dead. Why the killer choked him and beat his brains out after he was already dead is beyond me.
After his passing, the rules in my house escalated tenfold. I'll never blame my parents for wanting to keep me safe seeing as how we all experienced first hand the repercussions of carelessness. My brother knew he should have come straight home so late at night, but then again nobody expects to get murdered. Everyone assumes unexpected things like that are supposed to happen to other people. The flaw with that logic is that that means someone ends up with tragedy when they least expect it.
People react differently to tragedy. My brother's untimely death effected everyone in our family, but I think it effected my dad the most. Not to say the rest of us were unfazed, but my dad changed after we received the news, and he hasn't changed back since. He used to be the life of the party so to speak but now resinates with the wallflowers and takes interest in avoiding eye contact. My mom snapped out of her stupor a few months after the we received the news and more or less pretends like things are normal. For me, the whole thing still feels unreal. It seems like at any moment he'll show up and explain what really happened and how the whole incident was just a sick joke that went too far. Until it feels real to me I can't help but look for him around every corner. Now that I think about it, I can't tell who is coping the unhealthiest.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I look down to see my sleeve caught in a unkept rosebush invading the pathway. An exasperated sigh escapes me as I unhook myself and I see my semitransparent breath in a cloud before me. Finally observing my surroundings, my breathing quickens and my eyes dart around frantically. I shouldn't be surprised my feet carried me here but that doesn't mean I should stay. The last thing my parents need is something to happen to me too. I take out my phone to check the time and continue walking.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Tonight a group of us are getting together to celebrate what would have been his birthday. He would have been nineteen years old. I don't think it's a good idea, but I still have to go anyway. I know it's going to turn out like his funeral did. Everyone is going to tell beautiful stories about him and emphasize what a good person he was by only telling everyone about his good qualities. People remember the way they want to, and nobody wants to get caught thinking ill of the dead. That's how I know celebrating his birthday without him is a bad idea. I can't tell my mom that though since it was her idea. She always acts like nothing is wrong, so when she shows signs of grieving, it's best to go along with it. My dad and I don't want her to think she isn't allowed to grieve externally.
Nobody ever remembers dead people the way they really were. The stories people are telling about my brother make my stomach churn and I'm going to puke on someone's shoes if I can't get out of here soon. After holding out a little longer, I think I'm in the clear. If only that were the case. When my brother's best friend asks me to share a memory of my brother my throat goes dry. I can feel the expecting eyes on me, waiting for my response, but I don't trust myself to speak. I turn to leave but my mom's hand stops me and rubs my back reassuringly. My eyes are trained on the floor and after an overly long silence I start talking and I can't seem to stop.
I talk about how he pushed me off the playground when I was eight and broke my arm. I talk about how he used to sneak out of the house when he was in high school and I would cover for him. I talk about the music he listened to, and the movies he liked, and how he told me the best day of his life was when he got his tonsils removed because he knew it could only get better from there. I talked about how excited he pretended to be when he got accepted to collage and about how scared he really was because he didn't know what he really wanted to study. I talk about how scary he got when he was angry. I talk about who he was as a person not as a glorified concept.
After I'm done I leave the house and my mother doesn't stop me this time. I know storming out was an overreaction but I needed some air. I didn't want to be there in the first place, and after my speech I just needed to leave. Dealing with everyone's responses wasn't an option, so I left. My brother was a good person but that doesn't mean we need to exaggerate that one time he helped an old person cross the street. Anyone who knew him would know that he wouldn't have wanted the praise. I keep walking.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The park looks more or less the same as it did a year ago. There is a bench on the side of the path near where he died now though, so thats new. I remember the high school funding it in his memory, but now is the first I've seen it. It feels strange sitting here in the dark and I can't help but feel both anxious and relaxed at the same time.
It's peaceful out here but the adrenaline coursing through my veins from being alone in the dark sets me on edge.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
My brother was really into philosophy and he used to quote his favorite philosophers all the time. Apparently Euphrates once said, "No one can confidently say that he will still be living tomorrow". He wasn't wrong. People can't predict the future and they can't read minds. Try as we might it just isn't possible. The best we can do is guess, and that never feels like enough. Things don't always work out the way we want them to. I didn't want my brother to die and I didn't want to celebrate his birthday without him. However sitting here in an empty park at 2am on his nineteenth birthday I feel better than I have all year.
