THE UNTOLD HORIZONS / ORIGINAL CONTENT

V - THE DEATH OF A BACHELOR .

i never liked to swim at the beach; i just liked to sit, and watch as everything passed me by when i was at the beach. ever since i was a child i was like this. even when my brother and i used to sneak out and make our way to Magda Bay. he liked swimming at night, and i liked watching the ships as they departed from the mainland and began their journey at the dead of night. i would admire their silhouettes as they disappeared faintly in the distance, all until josh would make fun of me and ask me why i agreed to go in a midnight swim but not swim? this was always funny to me considering josh knew i didn't like to swim, but asked almost every time. in retrospect, i guess maybe he was hoping i'd break my rule for him and just swim. he was my older brother, and he did just about everything for me, so maybe this was him asking me to do one thing for him. he'd laugh if he heard how analytical i was right now, talking about one of the many trips we took up to Magda Bay. i would have broken the rule for him if i knew that things would be so different now, but i never did, and i still haven't. not even you can get me to go in for a swim.

josh died when i was in my sophomore year of high school. he got into a car wreck, apparently it was late at night, and a semi decided to paint the pavement with my brother. i think i remember something faintly about how my brother was driving east, like he was taking an exit to get out of the state — i don't know a lot about driving in a directional sense, but i knew he was leaving. he was going to go, and not say a word. a part of me was hoping he had text written out for me, but the other part of me knew that the chance of that was slim. josh wasn't the type to plan things out thoroughly; it was more like a vague suggestion, then he would just run with it, and develop it on the go. everyday do i wish that he would have just thought more things through. but as i've mentioned, things are different now, and i constantly think about how if certain things had changed, maybe josh wouldn't be dead.

i remember the day we held the funeral. i hated it. i remember being so angry. standing with my parents as the attendees of our services bowed to us, then twice to josh's photographs; they used his senior photos. it seemed so morbid to use these photographs for his services; he was his usual smiley self, arms crossed — he really wanted one with his arms crossed and leaned against a wall or the column; he said it would make him look cool — he was charming. so bizarre really, this photo was taken about two months before he was shoved into an urn. now, i feel weird watching my mother carry him. silver and cold. listening to the endless amount of people offering their respects for my brother and parents. i felt so, wrong. like, even though he was my brother, i didn't feel like i was supposed to be there. there were so many people, i felt like i was stuck in the middle of the ocean, surrounded by water and the currents; but i didn't know how to swim, and everyone was just watching me drown.

i kept hearing people tell my parents that he was in a better place now; and on the tips of their tongues did they so badly want to say that even though he's dead, at least he didn't suffer. i was growing so irritated of that; a better place? he wasn't in a better place, he was in a fucking jar. what was left of him was cremated into a silver urn. one month ago he was almost five foot ten. now, his ashes don't reach the lid. a better place is subjective. but, i don't think my parents perceived things the way i did. that day, i was so in tune with each emotion, it was like i forgot how to control them; and feel them properly. i had been so focused on indulging my anger, and frustration, that i had started crying. tears were crawling down my face without warning, making every part of me feel like a child. i never liked the idea of crying; especially not then. when you had a million eyes, almost hoping you'd break eventually.

however, i believe that the worst part of the day was the car ride home. the silence between my parents and i was deafening. a part of me thought with all of this quiet, maybe i could just close my eyes for a bit, sleep off this day as if it were some dream. but sleep was a futile effort; i could feel their tension. it was in the way my mom gripped the steering wheel, knuckles practically white. it was in the way my dad was looking away, just as if to hope for some escape for a minute, his fingers tapping softly on the door. then there was me, observing. watching them become tenser, watching them second by second almost become separated from each other. i tried not to think about it, i remember just squeezing my eyes shut because i wanted that day to be over as quickly as i could make it come.