Amber Seguin
Commonwealth Essay
January 17th, 2007

I’m not really the type to keep a journal; I especially wasn’t the type a few years ago. I thought, though, that the one even that changed my life the most should go on a more permanent surface than my brain, which hasn’t been known to be too reliable. Luckily, not only have I written it down, but it’s also burned right into my heart.
My name is David, and I’m descended from Jamaican grandparents. My past is not something I like to brag about; I pushed the very person I loved most out of my life, and so take this story as a warning to never make the stupid mistakes I made.
In high school, I was involved in drugs, and other equally bad habits, such as drinking until I puked every weekend. I used to think my actions didn’t matter, because they didn’t affect me directly; what should I have cared if I hurt other people? Everybody has problems, right? Believe me, though, even if I didn’t so good in my classes, I learned a lesson no one can learn without experience; even so, I hope to warn you with this story; my story. “David, give me your money.” Said the husky voice through the darkness next to me.
“Alright, alright,” I answered, “just give me the bag.” We shut out the lights, and we both went our separate ways.
The next day, I dragged myself out of bed and out to school without even bothering to shower or brush my teeth. The cold and snowfall that had fallen in Ontario yesterday had moved on to our area in Saskatchewan, which caused our bus to arrive late. I walked into math class without my math book, wearing a dumb smile on my face. I laughed as I watched my teacher stare at me in disgust. My hair was dirty and unkempt, as well as my clothes, and I probably smelled bad.
“Oh, shut up, David.” My girlfriend, Anya, said from the other side of the classroom. She did not look very happy with me.
“Hey, what are you mad at me for?!” I questioned angrily.
“Enough, enough,” Mr. Wendell, our teacher, snapped. “I’m sorry to interrupt your personal discussion, David, but seeing as we couldn’t start class until you got here, we better get moving.” A few of my classmates giggled at his smart remark.
“Hey listen,” I snapped back, leaning forward in my chair, “My bus was late so stop with the smart-alec comments.” I waited for a few moments, leaned back in my chair, and added a “Sir.” Not surprisingly I spent yet another morning at the principal’s office.
After a few hours of being stared at by the principal, the lunch bell rang and I was about to head outside to smoke the joint I had made the night before, when Anya grabbed me by the arm.
“Well hey, baby.” I said and moved to kiss her, but she pushed me back.
“What are you doing?!” she asked angrily.
“What’s wrong? I’m just going out for a minute.” I said, starting to walk again.
“You’re high.” She said simply. She sounded angrier than I had seen her in a long time. I looked down at her and into her gorgeous green eyes and stroked her chestnut hair. “Baby,” I said gently, “Don’t worry about me. I love you.” I kissed her and walked away, knowing she was very, very angry.
Later, when I was going to my history class, I saw Anya in the hallway and grabbed her hand. I was so high, though, I decided to grab her behind instead. She pulled away and slapped my dirty, sweaty face. Suddenly her pretty face became the subject of my extreme ferocity.
“What?!” I lashed out. “What did you just do to me?!” I pushed her against a locker by her shoulders. I couldn’t stop; I didn’t even know what I was doing, nor did I care.
“Don’t touch me!” She screamed at me and tried to wiggle away.
“I won’t let you go, you dirty girl!” I was so out of it, I started laughing right in her face. She got away from me, tears streaming down her face, rubbing her arm where I had pushed her. “Hey, what the heck are you looking at, punks?” I yelled at some kids who were staring at me. I decided I didn’t want to go to class, so I stormed out of school, not bothering to bring any school books with me.
I was walking down the street towards my neighborhood, when I came to a traffic light. My vision was blurred and mixed up, and I didn’t even notice the car coming towards me. The woman waiting on the sidewalk yelled at me to stop, but I gave her no heed and kept on walking. My legs flew out from under me, I heard a crack, and I was lying on the pavement all of a sudden. I didn’t feel so good; although I didn’t feel anything in particular that was the matter. I heard a car door open and close, and a familiar voice rang out: “David,” Anya whispered softly beside me, “I can’t say I’m surprised.” Then everything faded out, and I was floating in a black abyss.
I woke up a couple of hours later, to find Anya by my hospital bed, reading. The drugs were out of my system, and I started to remember what I had done to her. I looked down and saw that my leg was in a cast. Suddenly I was aware of the pain in my leg.
“Anya,” I started to speak hoarsely.
“David!” She jumped a little and put her book down on my bed.
“Baby I’m so sorry,” I started to speak again, but Anya cut me off.
“Listen,” she said softly, “I want to get this out right now, or else it will just get harder. You say you’re sorry every time you hurt me, and just because you broke your leg, it doesn’t mean this time is any different. David, I can’t be with you anymore. You hurt me time and time again, and nothing ever changes. I don’t want you to be a part of my life anymore.”
I didn’t know what to say. I was shocked, devastated, and horrified. I tried to speak but the words wouldn’t come out of my mouth. For once in my life I realized what Anya really meant to me; what everything meant. I trembled in desperation as I thought about what I had done to my life. Anya started to talk again.
“I know you think what you do doesn’t matter; that whenever someone gets upset or hurt, it’s their problem. What you don’t understand is that life is not one single path for one person. Everyone in a place, whether it’s a school, an office, and in fact the world in its entirety, has to cooperate in order for everyone to function. When someone else gets hurt, not only is that person hurt but others get affected, including yourself. It’s like, a spider web. When you tear down one piece, the other pieces can’t hold on and eventually the whole web falls, taking you with it.”
A tear ran down my face. It all made sense now. I knew, deep down, that I would never have the love of my life back in my life, and I cried. I forgot the pain in my leg and felt my heart beat hard in my chest. I vowed to myself never to touch drugs again.
“I can change.” I said in desperation.
“No you can’t. You can change your future, but you can’t change what you did to me. Build a new web, don’t try and repair the old one. It’s no good.” Anya answered. She got up slowly, touched my arm with her delicate hand, and whispered goodbye to me. When I was well enough to leave the hospital, Anya came to see me very briefly just to give me my things back that I had left at school. I could barely look at her, I was ashamed of myself. I brought myself to tell her that I was signing up for rehabilitation, though. She was happy for me, but she still told me goodbye. That day, when I was leaving the hospital, I saw one of the most perfect spider webs I had ever seen, strung in a hospital window. I stared at it, and as I thought, I tear went down my face. I plucked one of the strands holding it to the window, and it gradually tore completely loose, floating down to the cement below. The spider, looking stunned, made its way to the wall, and started slowly climbing up again.