Demons (Jonathan Toews)

Chapter One

Suicide. It was a word I first learned when I was seven years old. I remember the day vividly, like it had only happened a few hours ago. It was a Friday, the Friday before winter break. The Friday before everyone went home in anticipation of Santa Claus, presents, desserts, family gatherings, warmth and love. That day, there was a snowstorm. The grey clouds overhead had spewed at least four inches of snow over the small town in Michigan, and because of this minor threat to roadways, the schools were let go early. This meant that I would have to meet my older brother, Jeremy, down the street from my school, and from there he would put his arm around me, walk me the three blocks down the back roads from the school, and into our house where we would either fight in the snow in the backyard, or go inside, make a fire in the fireplace and do our homework until our Mother got home from first job.

That day, I stood on the corner of those two streets for at least an hour and a half. Parents came and went, children ran passed me, calling names to each other, staring at me as a pile of snow collected on my head and backpack. Everyone in the school knew who I was, although I didn’t know them. When I was younger, I didn’t understand why parents kept their children away from me, why my mother was badmouthed and doubted for her ability to care for her children. Now that I’m older, I understand completely, but that is a story for a different day.

After those minutes spent standing on the corner of the street, I decided to venture into the back roads I had traveled what felt like hundreds of times with my older brother. In my mind, I figured he forgot about me. He was in high school after all, a Freshmen, and as of late he was becoming more forgetful, distant, and quiet. When I was younger, I didn’t care much about his change. I figured it was what happened when you grew up. I just thought he was being ‘cool’.

When I had finally made it home, after circling blocks a few times, my small body was shivering uncontrollably, and tears were close to falling from my eyes in fright and pain. Every movement I made, every inhale that pushed my lungs against my rib cage made my body ache. Rubbing my arms, I walked through our small home. I went from room to room, calling my brothers name, threatening him that if this was a joke, it wasn’t funny.

And what I found when I finally reached his room wasn’t funny at all.

The picture of my brother hanging from the ceiling fan still haunts my mind thirteen years later. The way he swung ever so slightly in the wind, lifeless, cold, and empty. I remember screaming his name, tugging at his pant leg, begging him to talk to me, to open his eyes, or end the prank.

But it never ended.

When I realized my brother wasn’t there anymore, I curled up under his body and cried and whimpered like a small dog that had just been kicked viciously. It felt like days of laying there before I realized I needed to call someone, beg someone to help me.

So I grabbed the phone from the small end table next to the couch in the living room, and called the police. When the woman answered monotonously on the other end, I told her what I had walked home to. When she asked my age, and I replied, I remember the silence. The eerie silence of the other end of the line. A silence that broke the small and innocent mind I had once had. It was the silence my mom had when her and my brother fought. The silence that was left when there were no words to say.

The woman eventually started to talk again, telling me that nice men would be at my house to help me in a few minutes. She asked about school, and my parents, but during the whole meaningless conversation, all I could do was focus on the pain in her voice. The pain that made me realize this wasn’t anything minor. This was huge.

My brother was gone. Not for a week, or a month. He didn’t go off to college early or move away. He was dead. He would never walk me home, smile at me, keep me warm, help me with my homework, draw with me, play video games with me, make me dinner, or hold me through thunderstorms and nights with bad dreams.