Broken Hero

I am open prey to the unsynchronized beats of my heart as I drive up "Dodge Hill Road" to where you now call your home. It's an open space, beautiful country, with buffolo grass waving on the canyon cliffs from which the road suspends. I know that you love it here, with it's ample game. You've hunted since you where a child, eyes wide with anticipation as you crouched in the brush with your father, your 22 held tightly, as if your greatest treasure.

"Freckles get em'!" You holler, as your Springer Spanial; your best friend goes to flush out the geese, lingering at the bottom of the canyon

I can almost see you here, but am jerked back reality by a sharp turn in the road. It's treacherous here, where the old highway was, which makes it perfect for your home. You don't much like people anyway, do you? Slowly, the wild grasses turn into tame feilds and homes. Well manicured yards are guarded by the white pickets of their fences, closing the families that they harbor away from the horrors of the world, and tuck them into the safety of family, friends, and a home. You once had these things, remeber? You thought that you had lost them, but here I am, braving the suspended bridge above the canyon, for no other reason but to visit you.

I need to talk to you. I havn't talked to you in almost five years. Your mother prevented that, now didn't she. Remember, she seperated herself from her husbands side of the family, which had included me, when our Great Grandmother died. I didn't understand at the time, and I was bitter, but now, I realize I should have talked to you sooner.

I round the last turn, and the picket fences end once more, and I flick on my left blinker. Rain pelts the hood of my car, and I concentrate on the steady rythm. tap tap taptaptap tap tap taptaptap... As I turn, your neighbors greet me, they flash me messages...

Henry Covely: Loving Father and dedicated Husband Born December 1,1943 Died July 15, 2001...Merisa Oftengood Beautiful daughter, Loving Wife Born April 23, 1984 Died November 26, 2005...

I drive to the last set of plots to your home. Along the sidewalk by your plot sits a large book statue, filled with the giant engraved lines of the Lord's Prayer. I say it under my breath before I begin walking again. By this time I have memorized where you are, as I have visited you once before with everyone else who had come to see you one more time. However, we didn't have time to talk then, I tried to stay, but they wouldn't let me. My mother had grabbed my arm as she glared into the distance to your family.

"Come on, Nikki, the Phsycho Bitch's company is pissing me off!"

So now here I am, walking five plots to the East and ten plots to the South, and there I kneel, to knock on the seeled door of death.

"Micheal..." I speak softly, as if any noise at all would shatter the world around us, leaving all the ones I love just like you. "I'm sorry that I havn't gotten here sooner...I-I just didn't quite know what to say to you." I suck in a breath, and my lungs are scorched by the cold bite of the November air through my chest. "I'm sorry really wouldn't cover it...And neither would 'I apologize'...Though I am sorry and I do apologize..."

I try to keep my body from shivering against the icy rain that coats every inch of my being. I draw my thin jacket closer, though it's just as soaked through as my body, and so does me no good.

"I just wanted to say a few things, ya' know?...I mean...It's been hard without you these past years...You where like my best friend, ya' know...Before ya' left and all...And I was angry." My fists ball up on the grass. I really can't feel my fingers as my nails bite into the soft side of my palms. "But...I'm not angry, anymore, havn't been for a while now...So...I guess...If you'll forgive me then...Then I'll forgive you. Do we have a deal?"

I hold out my hand as if expecting your warm and calloused fingers to reach out and wrap themselves around it. As if I'm expecting to hear your deep, bellowing laughter.

"Yeah Nik, of course I forgive ya'. How could I ever stay mad at ya'?"

The laughter is that of a man now, instead of the boy that was my best friend...and my closest family. But, as I knew would happen, you don't just appear and take my outstretched hand, I mean, you can't, you're in the ground now. Beacause of the 22 you loved so much, a bottle of alchohal, and a suicidal thought that flowed throughout your being, you'll never shake my hand again. You'll never laugh. You'll never hug me, and you'll never wrestle with me or talk with me ever again.

This frozen rain is a blessing to me, as it soaks my being. It hides my tears, and numbs my body. The pain on the inside is hard enough to bear without having to know that my body is still functioning, still going through the motions of breathing. I start to sob as my hand drops to my lap, the rain cannot hide this. Many things but not this wracking of my body against the torment of my mind. Not the anguished look that lies upon my face, or the hand moving over my lips, my eyes, my nose, just to make sure I'm still here, at your grave.

Yes, it's not a home, but a grave, only a place for your body to rest throughout the rest of your eternal slumber.

I pick myself up quietly, trying to stifle my sobs. Everyone at home is expecting me for dinner. I can't let them down like you did, and they can't see me like this. I'm the pillar of strenth. I have to remember that I don't cry, and I DO NOT greive. I'm not human, and I'm not alowed to bleed. So I straighten my spine and walk to my car, a look of determination plastered calmly upon my face. I used to be the hero...But on that day...October 2, 2006...The hero...Broke

Authors Babble: This is based upon a true story. My cousin Micheal mensioned here killed himself on October 2, 2006. I only got up the courage to go see him a month after, and only got the courage to post this just now.