Broken People

by Scott Hildreth

  “Later, in the coffee shop, after reading an email, I realized a girl that I had been communicating with was in the process of committing suicide. I needed to contact someone immediately, and to do so, needed my cell phone that was also locked in my car. In the haste, I couldn’t find the keys in the trash, so I threw the trash can through my passenger side window, and retrieved my cell phone. I then called someone to attempt to save her. She was found hanging, and is now in the hospital. My car went to the shop, along with the driver’s license, which is still in the glove box. The shop loaned me this car, and I drove off from the dealership, never realizing that my ID was in the car that was being repaired. I bet you’re glad you asked, huh?” Focusing on the top button of his shirt, I waited for a response.

  “You couldn’t have made that story up,” he said as he pulled his glasses from his shirt pocket.

  Placing the glasses back on his face, he continued, “Have a nice evening, and quit fucking around with your cell phone when you’re driving.”

  I watched in the side view mirror as he walked to his car, and got inside. I sat and waited for what was next, certain this was not over. It couldn’t be over, he had not written me a ticket yet. As his car pulled away, he turned to me and nodded as he passed by. Speeding away from my stationary position, his car got smaller and smaller until it just disappeared. As I started my car back up, I wondered why all police officers were not a little more understanding, a little more compassionate, a little more human. As much as I hated to admit it, this was a pretty reasonable lesson that all people should not be placed in a mold or in a category. I reached into my left pocket, confirming my post-it note was still there. As I did, I thought; this guy was actually a cop and a human being.

  Pulling away, I sped up to 80 miles per hour and set the cruise control. Thinking of the police officer actually being human was both comforting and disturbing. The thought of liking a cop was unsettling to me. I hated cops. But, this officer was different. I guess it was time for me to practice what I preached, so to speak. We are all a little prejudiced, but realizing just how much was sometimes enlightening. As I made a mental note to not categorize people or have preconceived notions about them, my phone rang. Looking at the screen, I saw that it was my brother. I let it ring ten times before I answered.

  “Hello,” I said, acting as if I did not know who was on the other end.

  “Hey brother, we’re getting together this weekend. I’m going to barbeque and everyone is going to be here. We were hoping you would make it this time,” he said in his typical cheery tone.

  “Yeah, I will be there,” I said flatly.

  “Dude, you didn’t even ask when it was going to be. Are you coming or are you going to say you’re coming again, and not make it?” he asked, whining.

  Little brothers, regardless of age, are always little brothers. They look up to their older siblings. As children, my brother and I grew up as friends. As we got older, we became best friends. For several years, as young adults, we were inseparable. In time, we have grown apart. Truth be known, I have grown apart from my entire family, and from people in general. My brother never quite understood what happened to me, or what changed. No one really did. I just separated myself from friends, family, and loved ones. It happened, over time, after I got out of prison. As much advice as I could give others, I could not make myself fully understand or correct the thoughts or feelings I harbored.

  “When is it?” I asked.

  “It’s Saturday at noon, the day after tomorrow. Are you going to make it?” he asked in a wishful tone.

  “Yes, I will be there. Listen, I have to get…I am right in the middle of something,” I said, trying to get off of the phone as quickly as possible.

  “Alright, brother, see you Saturday,” he said, as he hung up.

  The entire time I was in prison, I couldn’t wait to get out and see my family and friends. I counted the days until I could see everyone, and dreamt of the things that we would do. After I was released, it quickly became apparent that my mind wouldn’t allow me to get close to the people that I once loved. Subconsciously, I believe that I had developed a deep fear of separation. The fear was so deep seated, and so profound, that I would not allow myself to be attached to or to care for anyone. This fear also prevented me from allowing anyone to become attached to me. Since prison, I had not been in a meaningful relationship. I had tried several times, but as soon as I felt truly attached to someone, or if they expressed a desire to see me, I ended the relationship. I also became so distant from my family that I really would prefer to never see any of them again. I literally had to force myself to see them.

  When I did finally force myself to see members of my family, I always enjoyed it. This enjoyment would turn into a desire for more, or a want to return back to normal. This would soon resort back to the separation, which eliminated all potential for future pain. Becoming fat and repulsive soon followed my recognition of these problems. Exiting the freeway, I began thinking of my brother and I, as kids, and I began to smile.

  As I parked the car in the parking garage, I began to feel sick. This wasn’t going to be easy, but I felt that it was necessary. I reached into the console of the car and retrieved a piece of gum. After I chewed it a few times, I got out of the car, closed the door, and looked at my reflection in the window glass. Change isn’t always easy, I told myself as I walked away.

  Walking to the elevator, I looked down at my shoes. Canvas sneakers. I couldn’t recall when I bought them, but they were repulsive. The soles, barely attached, flopped when I walked. I lifted my right foot, and looked at the underside of the sole. It was worn through. I continued walking, wondering about the probability of me actually buying a new pair of shoes. When I got to the elevator, the door began to close. Just before completely closing, a hand grabbed the door and stopped it. It then reversed, and opened, revealing an almost empty elevator.

  I got in, and began to push the third floor, seeing that the button was already illuminated. The gentleman in the elevator was about six foot two, two hundred pounds, and balding. Holding a bouquet of flowers, he looked at me through small rimless glasses, and did not speak. I stepped to the corner of the elevator, and stood. During the short two story ride, he looked up and down my frame as if he were sizing me up. He focused on my shoes for a moment, and mumbled something. I considered giving him a piece of my mind, and chose not to. The elevator reached the floor, and the door opened. As it did, he motioned for me to get out first.

  As I walked down the hallway, I could hear his footsteps behind me. I didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me turn around. If I heard his footsteps get much closer, I would turn around and let him know about encroaching into my bubble space. I continued to walk toward 316, looking at the numbers beside the doors, but not fully turning around. When I got to 316, the door was closed, and I could hear people speaking inside. Laughing, talking, and having what appeared to be a good time. I stepped beyond the door, to 317, and took a deep breath. The man with the flowers stopped as well, looking at me. I motioned for him to pass by, and he looked at me and smiled as he stepped into the door marked 316.

  I reached into my pocket and checked for the post-it note. Confirming its existence, I took a deep breath, and stepped inside.

  Change isn’t always easy.

  Chapter 23

  I can fly

  BRITNEY. I felt myself rise above the body that lay beneath me on the floor. I watched as Michelle stood and ran outside the garage. As she returned to the garage, frantic, she talked on the phone. She began to perform CPR on my lifeless body, as she screamed my name. I watched the entire time, but I felt nothing but calm. I tried several unsuccessful times to reach out to Michelle to touch her, call her name, and tell her that I was alright.

  I watched as Michelle cried, and got into the ambulance behind my body. I could feel what Michelle was feeling. Although Michelle and I have never been close friends, we have been friends. She was not only concerned with my
welfare, and my well-being, but she truly felt responsible for what had happened. I could feel Michelle’s pain as the ambulance pulled away. Feeling her pain caused me a grief that I have never felt. I tried to wake myself up, to make myself breathe, sit up, or speak, but I had no control over myself.

  As we entered the hospital, I became strangely comfortable with what I had become, yet I wanted to return to my former life. I tried to float to where I could touch Michelle as she cried and pleaded to be allowed to accompany me in the emergency room. When she claimed to be my sister to gain access to where my body was, I began to cry.

  The fascination of being alive in a spiritual sense soon evaporated when my father arrived. As my body lay in the bed and the heart monitor beeped, my father sat and cried. He didn’t speak, but I could hear what he was thinking. I could feel what he was feeling, his pain, his regret, his wonder, and his shame. As he sat in the chair and wept, waiting for my mother to arrive, he offered to God to trade his life for mine.

  I desperately tried to cause my spiritual self to become one with my physical self. As my father wept, I wept with him, regretting the feelings I had, regretting the hatred, regretting the selfishness I had felt. Feeling my father’s love for me was the greatest gift I could ever have. His love for me filled my heart.

  My mother arrived, and wept uncontrollably. My father comforted her, and although she did not speak the words, she blamed my father over and over for what had happened. She began to think that she knew that I was unhappy. She felt as if she knew this was going to happen, and she blamed my father. I wanted to comfort her, to tell her that it was not his fault.

  Later that night, as they sat and wept over my body, the guilt that they began to feel was tremendous. They began to take responsibility for what happened. The guilt was tearing them apart. Their love for one another was beginning to fall apart as they stood over me. Each time a doctor came into the room, my father began to hope deeply for my recovery. After speaking to the doctor, the hope soon faded, and the guilt returned. I desperately wanted to reverse what I had done, but my spirit and my body remained separate, incapable of making a connection. If I could just touch my body, fill my body with my spirit, I felt that I could be alive again.

  As the days passed, when there was no one in the room with my body, my spirit would wander to my childhood memories, memories of my mother brushing my hair, and my father holding me in his arms. Their fascination with me as a child was incredible, and these feelings of love and pride filled me and gave me warmth.

  After five days, Marc came into the room, alone. He laid his leather coat beside my body and wept. As he wept, I felt his love for me. Not a love that was expressed through thoughts or words, but a love that exuded from his every pore. Like my father, he offered his life to God in exchange for my recovery. He asked God to take his life if I could not recover. Regardless of where my body lay, Marc wished to be with me in spirit. As he stood and wept, I cried uncontrollably.

  Michelle arrived while Marc was there, and introduced herself. The gratitude Marc felt toward Michelle was uplifting. He thanked her verbally, but the gratitude he felt inside could not be expressed. His heart swelled when she spoke, when she wept, and when she told the story. Michelle stood, humble, as Marc mentally placed her on a pedestal. As Marc left, Michelle picked up his coat, and offered it to him. Marc responded that he no longer needed it, and told her to leave it in the room, beside me.

  The next day, Marc, Michelle, and my mother were in the room talking. The guilt felt by each person was unbearable. They felt as if there was something they could have done to prevent my suicide. In spirit, I felt guilty. Guilty for being selfish, for not understanding, for not realizing, as Marc always said, time passes and things change. Pleased to see Marc in the presence of my mother, I yearned to live, to be alive, and to physically be able to proceed in life. If able to live life again, I would do so with appreciation and vigor.

  My father entered the room, holding flowers. As he did, he turned and hugged Marc. As they touched, my father felt affection for Marc. He felt love. Feelings of what could be, between Marc and I began to fill me. I wept as they hugged. As my spirit floated above my body, I filled with regret.

  If I could just touch my body, fill my body with my spirit, I felt that I could be alive again.

  Chapter 24

  Tall people

  FAT KID. In my mind, almost everyone on this earth is the same height. As a mass of people, they exist, shoulder to shoulder. What they know is what they see. And they all see the same thing, only what’s directly in front of them, because they are all at the same height, the same eye level. Living each day and seeing what’s directly in front of them and the exact same as the person beside them, they stumble through each day blind to the rest of what exists. From time to time, a tall person is born. They grow up, and having a different perspective, a different field of vision, they see all that there is to see. With their heads held above the crowd of the masses, they are aware of all that there is to know. All seeing and all knowing, they watch the ignorant and happy people below them blindly exist. The knowing, the truth, the seeing scares them, hurts them and binds them. The tall people live, bound each day, to decide whether or not to expose the masses to what they are incapable of seeing. Above the crowd, their eyes see everything that emerges beyond the heads of the masses. Inevitably, in their life’s travels, another tall person becomes visible in the distance. And. They both blink and stare, in disbelief.

  “Oh my GOD!” Michelle screamed, her hands cupping her face, when I walked through the door.

  Assuming the man carrying the flowers earlier was Britney’s father, I extended my hand toward him, offering a handshake.

  “I’m Kid, I spoke to your daughter through an Internet blog. I stopped in to see her,” I said, offering my hand.

  “The pleasure is mine,” the man said as he shook my hand. “Michelle has told us a lot about you, and what you have done. We appreciate you calling Michelle. That phone call saved my daughter’s life,” the man said, gesturing to Britney.

  As his wife approached, I extended both of my hands toward her, lightly cupping her hand between both of my hands. She smiled and nodded as our hands touched. I nodded in return.

  “You must be Marc,” I said as I turned to the younger, tall man in the room. Clearing his hair from his eyes, he offered his hand.

  “Thank you for everything you’ve done, sir,” he said, shaking my hand firmly.

  I smiled, and released my grip, turning to Michelle. She looked embarrassed, mad, and angry, all at the same time. I had texted her earlier, and reminded her that I had a surprise for her. Earlier in the week, we had spoken, and I had expressed the same thing to her. When we spoke, she also had indicated she had a surprise for me. I had never, however, told her what the surprise was. I am certain that she imagined our first actual meeting being a little different, and not so much of a shock.

  “We need to talk, out in the hallway, Kid,” she said, in a very matter of fact tone. In her combat boots, jeans, and a light colorful top, she turned and went through the door, holding it for me. In person, her eyes and her attitude were much larger than I ever imagined.

  “You fucking asshole, you just show up. Just walk in here unannounced?” she half screamed.

  “Listen, Michelle, as you know, I have been driving. I was coming here all along. And, no, I did not tell you. It was to be a surprise, not the surprise, but one of them,” I said quietly, trying to calm her down a little.

  “Well, I don’t like it. And, as you say, you can write that down,” she said, as she pointed at my face with her index finger. Wow, this girl had guts; and an attitude as big as mine.

  “I apologize, Michelle, if I have offended, embarrassed, or placed you in an awkward situation. It wasn’t my intent,” I said quietly, opening my arms, offering to hug her. As if we had been old friends for a decade, she hugged me. As she did, she cried for a brief few seconds, and then stopped. Breaking our hug, she tu
rned and wiped her eyes.

  “Let’s walk and talk,” I said, beginning to walk down the corridor. “Do you know where the cafeteria is?” I asked.

  “Duh, I’ve only been in there a hundred times. Follow me,” she said, quickly walking half a stride ahead of me.

  “So, what’s the surprise, asshole?” she asked as she walked briskly, her head turned slightly my direction.

  “Well, I have several,” I said as we got on the elevator. “Let’s discuss them in the cafeteria. Nice boots, by the way.”

  “Fuck you Kid,” she said, as she pushed the button to the first floor.

  “Seriously, I like them. They remind me of some I had, back in the day,” I said, as I admired the boots.

  We stepped off the elevator, and walked down the hallway together like old friends. I had no awkward feeling being with her. We walked, side by side, as if we had known each other for years. Michelle was wise beyond even her own comprehension and certainly wise beyond her 18 years on earth. We had been friends for almost a year now, and even though we had spoken on the phone for countless hours, and had shared photos of ourselves, I still expected this to be awkward. It wasn’t even close.

  We entered the cafeteria, and each got a coffee. Not remotely close to my Americano at the coffee shop, but sufficient for this occasion. We walked to a vacant table and sat down across from each other. We studied each other for a moment and Michelle broke the silence.

  “So, how was your drive, and what is the surprise? You go first, and then I will let you know mine,” she said.