in my travels as a driving instructor to teenagers I came across many things I just had to accept and deal with.
one day I went to pick up a kid who I had a history with ever since he took my classroom instruction. the kid was a real ass, but I could handle him because I was also a real ass. the dude brought a CD on our first lesson of nothing but the Knight Rider theme song so it would loop for the entire 2 hour session. another time, back in the classroom, he explained to us all how he managed to shit his pants while standing in the bathroom.
I showed up to his house for our second lesson and there were people standing outside. I walked up to them and asked if Nat was there because he had a lesson scheduled. with those somber faces they went inside and out came Nat. Now Nat was usually a pretty hyper kid, but today something was different. As we got into the car and sat out there for a while he explained to me that the day before, his mom had found a note written by his brother on the outside of the garage door (the one that leads from the house into the garage). She was too scared to go inside the garage so she called to Nat and made him go inside.
When he went into the garage he told me that he found his brother hanging from a piece of gym equipment. he was dead, and had been for some time. he began to cry.
(one of the unknown parts of that job was that I became a psychologist of sorts to those kids, I listened to their problems and stories for 2 hours at a time, away from their parents and friends those kids told me everything.)
I immediately told him that we didn't have to do this lesson right now if he didn't want to. He almost interrupted me and told me that he wanted to do the lesson, that he didn't want to think about it. he said that he didn't want to do anything different than normal or just sit around at home being sad. he wanted to go about life and not be treated like a cancer patient.
So we ran from that house and drove around town listening to music (which we weren't supposed to do) and talked about everything else, or nothing.
As we drove we came to drive through long beach. I always liked driving in long beach, partly for me and partly to show the kids how to drive in the city. We drove passed a certain area and that made Nat tell me a story. He said that his brother had been doing drugs for a while before, but that he had met a girl and cleaned himself up and even moved out. he said that his brother used to live around there in long beach... then there was a long pause. He was driving over the big hill right next to the cemetery and I still remember it like it just happened. He looked far into the distance at something that didn't exist anymore and let out a whimper draped over some words that were chained to some tears...
"my brother...," he said, and nothing more.
I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what to do.
I don't remember how the rest of the lesson went.
Ever since my cousin died I haven't been able to deal with death. It's like something broke inside of me. I just shut off.
When that kid told me that he had to walk into the garage and not only find his brother dangling there from his neck, but that he also had to get him down and go back outside and tell his mother what he had found I had no idea what to say or do. And you know what... sometimes that's just the thing that is needed. sometimes just being there and listening is the key.
My cousin was the first Marine from Orange County to die in the war, so it became a big deal to everyone on the base that I was stationed at. People lined up outside my door to try and talk to me, however, my superiors made sure that no one bothered me unless I wanted to see them. they sat by my side and tried to make me feel better, but nothing worked. and nothing was going to work. I have nothing but thanks and gratitude for anyone who tried to offer solutions to me that night, but I didn't need it.
All I wanted was to be normal again. I wanted to go out and hang out with my friends, and not have everyone look at me like they were sorry for something that they had no control over. because the truth was, and still stands today, whenever I do want to talk about it, everyone just gets uncomfortable anyway and I feel like more shit than I did in the first place.
(I just want to throw this out there, if anyone ever wants to talk to me about anything at all, I will listen, if that's all you need, or I can try and make you feel better, if that's what you need, or we can talk about spaceships)
My memories are the blank pages, and you, you're the lines that make them worth saving.
Get Better...
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