Take a Mile (Being Revised)

Chapter Two

I dropped to the floor and crawled towards his lifeless body. I pulled his head into my lap and stroked his hair. He really did it. I can't believe that he actually pulled the trigger. He had had thoughts of suicide before but, he never ever acted on them. He knew of the consequences. I guess he was just into much pain to even care. I should have noticed that pain. Maybe if I had I could have stopped him, made a difference. Maybe I might not have. I couldn't help think that it was partly my fault that he was gone now. I should have noticed the signs of depression and lack of communication.

I figured maybe it was just from losing his job down at the jazz club. And Patrick had left. He really liked it down there and it was quite obvious, he did meet Patrick there. Now he was gone and I had no idea things had gotten as bad as they had. I felt like an idiot. The gun on the floor was smoking. I stared at it intently. Maybe that was the only way out. With one pull of the trigger and you would be free. I wanted to be free I should take that way out. Because I was reflecting and thinking I didn't hear the sounds of the sirens or the front door being kicked in. I didn't hear the shouting of the police or feel my body being lifted from the ground away from Tyler. Neither did I feel the gunshot wound that had penetrated my shoulder. All I could do was watch them lift Tyler away from me and watched as he was placed on a gurney outside. I stared blankly at his face sitting on the curb of the place he shared with a group of people he had called friends.

Before the body bag was closed I ran over asking for them to stop. They nodded but said that I should hurry. I nodded my thanks looking down at my best friend in the whole wide world. Looking into his lifeless eyes made me rethink my whole life. I had to start taking life just a little less seriously. Follow my goals sure, but to have some fun along the way. I had to learn to start taking risks. Nothing extreme of course, but I needed to do things that I could think back on and go, hey, that was stupid but I had fun. Now I understood. I kissed his forehead feeling his cold skin on my lips. I closed his eyes with my finger tips and smiled. "I get it now Ty, I have to take a mile."

I sat on the site of his grave running my fingers through the grass on his grave. In the quiet of the moment I reflected on the past 2 years. It was the second anniversary of his death. Tyler had only been 18 at the time of his death and I was 17. His death inspired me to do so much with my life and for that I had to thank him. Like him, I had always been a people pleaser and now, I stood up for myself. I had been tired of being pushed around and treated like a child. So I grew up. I graduated early with high honors and then got a well paying job. I left my foster parents as soon as I turned 18 and got my own place.

It was a risk but, I took the mile. I got a job at as a receptionist for a small catering business and bought a car. I didn't have friends, I chose not to. Getting close to someone wasn't good for me. I guess I probably should but, I was never the people person. I preferred to be left alone to my own thoughts. People left me alone so it worked. I was intimidating when I wanted to be so I pushed people away. I was still approached frequently because of my looks. I was 5'11 with long raven hair and I had eyes that changed color depending on my emotions. My mocha colored skin added to the exoticness. Most said my smile was the killer because of my pearly whites and dimples. I thought that was funny because I rarely smiled anymore.

I was far from perfect though. I carried a lot of baggage and guys run away from that. I also developed Parkinson's a year after his death. In a sum of things, it's basically uncontrollable shaking in the body. For me it's in my hands. It made things people do in everyday life that much harder. Like tying your shoe laces, yeah that takes me a good 2-3 minutes nowadays. That's a big step up from where I was. Writing was one of the things that got worse. I used to love writing but the constant shaking caused me to stop. I only did it when it was necessary. I used to write in pretty bold and cursive letters but now, the best I get is chicken scratch.