21: Something to Cry About, and Something to Die About

I stood at the beach angrily as Ida left. My depression was taken over by a short burst of anger, and that was at least enough for me to function. The only reason I had called her was because of what Cheyenne had said, and also I had figured that Cliff would have surely broke her heart. If Cliff didn’t call her soon, then that would prove he was a liar. I had figured Ida would have figured that out by the time I called her, but maybe she was too blinded. Maybe Cliff actually would call her. 

I really had no idea what would happen. Maybe Ida was right. Maybe I just needed to let things happen. Though Ida’s idea of “letting things happen” and my idea of “letting things happen” were on two totally different levels. In my mind, it was what I had been doing my whole life. I was sure Ida’s was a different level.

When I “let things happen” nothing ever did happen. I just sat around, and the same cycle began to appear everyday. I was mild-mannered, and I tried not to oppose others ideas, and so rarely had my say. I was sick of it. Waiting around wasn’t for me. 

Now, I realized I was changing, and quickly. I had outbursts now. I fought back. I went out and did things I never would have done before, and I was fine with it. Maybe it wasn’t what Ida meant, but this was my interpretation of “making things happen,” which was bad in her mind. In my mind, it was just fine. In fact, it was better than fine. I was in control of my life, and I was fine with that. Of course, Ida’s interpretation was self-tailored to fit her exact situation. 

Because I was going out and trying to make things go my way, Ida didn’t like it. She didn’t like it because it pertained to her situation, and it affected it greatly. Just because she was being affected by it, it didn’t matter what I wanted. It was very self-centered. Ida only cared about her own self, and if she was happy, that was all that mattered. She followed the slogan that  she thought meant, “go out and make others happy,” yet that was her slogan towards others, and the one others were supposed to make happy was her. Her slogan actually read, “as long as I’m happy, then that’s all that matters.” She couldn’t see for anyone else’s well-being besides her own.

I gritted my teeth and let the anger take over me. Anger was good. Anger was strong. Most importantly, anger was not depression. It was a flame, and you couldn’t see your shadows if you were in a flame. You could barely see anything. 

I stormed back up toward the street. I looked up quickly at the DHS sign and walked down the main street. Shop after shop slowly passed my blindly. The air was beginning to grow thicker and thicker, and an imminent storm was obvious. As if on cue, rain started. Not softly, but a downpour. 

Perfect. Just perfect. 

I felt the rain and lifted my hands up to it. It hit hard against my skin, and pounded on my shoulders and now nearly bare skull. It was freezing cold, and most of the people passing by fled to shelter. A few kids played out until lightening began to strike nearby, and they too headed to shelter. 

I kept on walking, and let the rain drench my clothes, and soak to my bone. The anger in me worked warmly like a fire just as it blinded me like one. I didn’t let the rain or the lightening stop me. One foot fell, then another, and then another. 

I stumbled into the park that was in another section of the woods as the cliff and the rocks were at. This is where Cliff’s friend Bryan lived. Well, he sort of lived. He had a house on the other side of town, but he spent most of his time out in a little shack out on an old trail. He didn’t own it, and none of us really knew who did, so it was fairly safe to use. Whoever owned it, they were never there, and didn’t seem to care much about it.

I knocked rapidly on the door, and found it was opened a crack. I pushed it open, and stumbled inside. The rain pounded on the tin roof, and dripped in where there was a large crack in the ceiling. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, and I realized that it was empty. Bryan must have been at home.

Everywhere was coated with dust. Spider webs gathered in all the corners. The place was mostly filled with shelves. Most of the shelves held bottles. Most of the bottles held some kind of alcohol. A refrigerator stood dormant in one corner, and it’s original red color had been completely overrun with rust. It looked like it was from the 50's. One of the legs was missing, so it stood sideways at an odd angle. In the center of the room was a small table. This too was slightly broken; a large chunk from the corner was missing. Everything looked eaten away at, and probably was. All of the wood had little holes in it. The entire shack smelled of old basement. It smelt like someone had left water sitting for a good couple decades. Obviously, someone had. Mold grew from almost everywhere. The floor was mostly rocks, but moss grew in certain areas. The musty smell began to clog my nostrils, so I grabbed a couple of bottles, and made my way back out.

Next to the door was a stack of metal boxes. I knew in one of them was Bryan’s gun. He kept it locked inside just in case he needed it against an animal, or perhaps a person. In truth, I wasn’t sure what the gun was for, because there were no animals big enough in the woods to logically use a gun on, and no one ever came out here dangerous enough to shoot. What Bryan did with his gun was his business, so I never asked him.

I made my way around to the back of the shed. There was a small trail that would eventually lead to the main trail that Cliff and I followed so many times. I followed it as the rain poured and poured. I popped the top off of one of the bottles and took a big swig. I thought of Cliff. 

How could he have been my friend so little ago, and how could I be so mad at him now? I let it build up and up as he brought girl after girl home, and he used every single one of them. How could I have liked him so much? Cliff was my best friend, but he had some problems. He needed to get over his fiancé leaving him. I was sure that was why he slept with so many others, and it wasn’t right. He needed to get over her. She left him. Now he slept with girl after girl. He took girls from me. He used them and abused them. I just sat there and pretended not to notice, because sitting back and doing nothing was what I was good at. Cliff took it to it’s limit with Samantha and Ida.

Ida. How could she be so blind? Cliff was using her, and she couldn’t even barely recognize it. 

Or maybe he wasn’t. Maybe Cliff was really going to call her. That was a farfetched thought, however. Why would Cliff call this one girl? Why would he call her? He had not called any of the others. At least, I didn’t think he did. Though, I knew Cliff lied about things, and now nothing was trusting with him. 

Me. How could I be so blind? Did I really think that Cliff always told the truth all this time? No, I probably didn’t. It was just something that I told myself. It was something that Cliff told himself. It made the two of us closer, even if it was a lie. I told myself it everyday, and whenever Cliff came home with a girl, I knew he wouldn’t call. Yet I ignored it, and pretended that the lying didn’t happen. Cliff was my best friend, and a best friend who never lied was an idea that sounded so amazing that I didn’t want to let it go. So I held onto the idea even when it’s truth was manifest. It was an illusion that I so desperately wanted to believe. It took Ida to help me see it in reality. 

Now, Cliff was a person. Now, I had seen his shadows, and he was just a person. I wondered why I even ditched my family to live with him anyway. It was such a stupid idea. Why couldn’t they have said no to me going to Maine? Why couldn’t they have been more protecting? Why couldn’t they have been more strict? Then this never would have happened.

I hated that Ida was so happy after all this. Weren’t we supposed to be in this together? Wasn’t DHS supposed to help us both? It helped her. It helped her a lot. It ruined me. The defect of going to pretend therapist’s, of going to strangers, was evident now. 

I made my way over to the cliff, and I looked down. The fall was so far. My leg sort of jerked as I thought of jumping. Though I thought of surviving the jump, and that would be dreadful. I stepped away from the cliff and the flat, painful rock slabs that would await my falling body. I stepped down the trail, and made my way down the side of the cliff, and made my way toward the rocks that would lead me to the secret beach and the caves. 

F**k this.

I thought back on my conversation with Ida. My fight. During the second half of it I had calmed down, or at least stopped yelling. I didn’t want Ida to know I was so upset, so I pretended to calm down. Now I wished that I had kept yelling. I wished I had torn her head of with my bare hands. I wanted Ida, but I couldn’t stand her. Maybe I was looking for a relationship, just not with her, or maybe I was looking for her, but just not under the circumstances that were presented. I didn’t want just a few key things about her, and they shattered it momentarily in my anger. I wanted to show her just how angry I was. I wanted to show her what she did to me in the few days since we had met over the phone. I wanted her back in my bed. I wanted her body against mine, and I couldn’t have that. So I became angry at her, and I became angry at Cliff.

F**k it all.

I stumbled across the rocks, and threw one of my bottles down. The liquid sprayed everywhere, but wasn’t even noticed in the heavy rain. A large chunk of glass made it’s way through a crevice in a stream of rainwater that headed down toward the ocean. It got stuck in between two rocks, so I picked it up, and held it high in front of my face. I let the other bottle hurtle to the ground. 

F**k Ida.

I let my hand fall down onto my wrist, with the glass pressed up against my mid-forearm. 

F**k Cliff.

I dug it in deep, so that a sliver of glass penetrated my skin by at least 1/6 of an inch. 

F**k myself.

Blood began to appear in a dot on my arm, and my arm throbbed. It felt like a shot. I let the glass come out a bit, so it barely penetrated the skin. 

F**k my ways. F**k the way I’ve been living. It used to be so boring. Now it was so cruel.

The rain washed away the blood, leaving a small stream of pink running down my arm.

F**k my life.

I gritted my teeth, and the glass came down swiftly across my arm. The pain was numbing.

F**k it all.

The pain was almost relaxing. Slowly, my anger dissolved just as my steady flow of blood dissolved in the rain. It was relaxing. It almost made me feel happy.

F**k the old me. There was still a new me. I had tried to bring it out, and succeeded to a certain extent. Yet there was so much more that I wanted to be. For one: not a depressed m**********r.

The cut itched, and I slowly made my way toward the caves. Step by step. Foot in front of foot. I made my way over the rocks. They were slippery from the rain, and I nearly fell backwards onto them. Again. Again. I kept slipping, and I realized just how dangerous it was out here. The tide rose heavily, and threatened to completely submerge my feet. The rain poured and poured, and clung to my nose and chin, where it then fell down to meet the rest of the drops. The salty water splashed in my face, and blinded me. Lightening flashed on the top of the cliff, and I hurried along. 

A loud cracking noise appeared from above. I tried to look up, but was blinded by the rain. The tree trunk sounded behind me as it crashed into the rocks. Maybe I shouldn’t have been out here, but what did it matter? I thought of suicide often enough that if it happened, then it happened. I would not kill myself, but if I were to die, I was sure that I would be just fine with it.

I rushed as fast as I could, and my bare foot slipped into a crevice. I fell forward on my face. Numbness filled my cheek, and I tried to lift myself up. I fell right back onto my chest. Why did I care? I should just lay here and die. A death from sickness or bleeding wouldn’t be too bad, though if some stray log fell down again, then there was a possibility that I would survive. A jump from the cliff was debatable, but I didn’t want to live and end up crippled for my whole life.

Living was the only thing I was afraid of; surviving suicide terrified me. I pulled myself up again and made my way to the caves, as carefully as I could. I pulled myself up into the closest one, and water splashed close to the edge. Much of the spray found it’s way into the cave, and so the little pool was filled. I burrowed my way into the corner away from the entrance and the bath of water. 

I was too angry and too drenched for tears, and the cut on my arm filled me with a temporary happiness. Why hadn’t I done this before? The cut felt good in all of the madness that had been going on recently. I could take it all out on myself, and I could even draw my attention to something other than my relationship troubles. 

My phone vibrated in my pocket. I was surprised that it had survived the downpour. I pulled it out and it was soaked.

One new voicemail.

Great. Probably someone from DHS. I stared at the screen, and realized that the company had not set me up with some suicidal kid from Maine, but that I had missed a call. DHS was the last thing I needed right now, because that was what had gotten me into the whole mess in the first place.

The number was familiar, though, and it was in my contacts. The voicemail started, and I pulled it up to my ear with the volume up at full blast. It was still a little difficult to hear between the lightening, rain, and crashing of waves. 

“Hey, Austin. It’s Ida,” came her voice. There was a long pause where I could faintly make out a struggled gasping for air, and sobs. “You were right. He... he won’t talk to me. He won’t answer my calls, and he’s avoiding me. You were so right. I....I guess... I should have listened. I was so stupid! F**k this! F**k it! Just when things were going right.... or no... they weren’t... it was him. He was the one thing in my life that was good, and he was the one thing that made it worth it... but f**k it... just f**k it all. Look... when you get this could you... I don’t know... I guess I want to apologize. I want to kill myself though. Maybe my ways that I was talking about... maybe they were wrong. I don’t know. I wish I was f*****g dead!”

My heart pounded in my ears. 

No. She couldn’t do this to me! Not now! She couldn’t just come back now! No! I was trying to get over her, and she just came back! A sick little game! No! She couldn’t do this to me! She couldn’t!

I pressed the button that would call her back. It rang once before she picked up.

“Austin?”

“Ida!”

“F**k all of this! I hate myself!”

“No! Trust me! You don’t want to kill yourself! Alright? You don’t!”

“Yeah. I know I don’t. I’m too big of a f*****g p***y! How could I be so stupid! I went to your house after I left. Cliff was there; I knew he was! I bet he was with another girl! I’ll bet he was, because his car was in, and I called him. He answered the first time and said he was out, so I couldn’t come over! The f*****g liar! He didn’t know I was outside! F**k! He wouldn’t answer me after that... I might be blinded. You said I was. I’m not blind enough not to see this! He’s f*****g using me! Or he used me! I F*****G HATE MYSELF!”

“Listen, Ida. You don’t want to kill yourself. Even if your too afraid. I know you’re depressed, but just remember all that you were saying before that!”

“I guess.”

“Come on, please!”

“I’m going to go to Juliet’s... I’m sorry. We’re friends, right Austin?”

“Of course!”

“I gotta go.”

“Bye, Ida.”

“Bye.”

I wasn’t sure why, but now all my anger had drained away. Now I was freezing. I shivered under my thin and soaked clothes. 

Ida had brought me into my depressed state, then she had brought me further into an angry state, now she had brought me back to my depressed state. 

What reason did I have to be so f*****g upset? Ida’s life had been a lot worse than mine, and I was acting like I had the worst life on earth. I was a f*****g hypocrite to sit here and tell her to be happy. I was sitting in a cave, and tears were beginning to flow down my soaked face. 

I wondered what would happen if I fell asleep. I wondered if I would wake up back in Alabama. I prayed that I would. Maybe if I fell asleep then my brother would be back, and I never would have known Cliff or Ida. Just maybe. 

I wished that all of it was a dream, but I knew it wasn’t. The cut on my arm signaled that. So did the swelling on my face, and the aches that filled my head. My twisted ankle signaled it. Every thing pointed toward reality, but the events that had happened seemed like things that could only happen in a dream. 

If someone had told me that any of this would happen in a couple years, then I wouldn’t believe them. I’d probably claim that something like that could never happen, because I never thought it could. Yet I was sitting here in a cave crying. I had moved in with my best friend, and away from my parents. My brother had died. My roommate had taken two girls from me. The one girl I want want’s to kill herself. I want to kill myself, but I’m too afraid to. 

I had seen everyone’s shadows. I have walked in the shadows. I have seen the bad and good of people, and I knew what it was to hate. I knew what it was to long for the past. To long for a person. To long for a better life.

So much had happened, and it all seemed like a dream. Yet it was reality. Reality was cruel. It could be heavenly, but it could be horribly cruel. That was the truth of reality: it had it’s many sides, and it was unpredictable. I was in it’s cruel side at the moment. It’s very cruel side. Ida was somewhere far beyond that. If I had something to cry about, she had something to scream and die about. I was just a f*****g p***y.