Categories > Original > Drama > To Be Left Behind
[/There is no happy medium anymore. Heck, there’s no happy. Days vary little; most of the time I’m just gliding through the hours, not responding, not thinking, and not feeling anything. Other days the loss and pain is just so overwhelming. I never knew grief was physical. From day to day I go from wanting to curl up and sob, to wanting to punch every stupid person with their stupid fake sympathy in their stupid faces. Time is supposed to heal things. It doesn’t. Each morning a new day jabs a knife into my chest. Sometimes I can’t eat, other times all I can do it eat. Most times it hurts to even breathe; because then I know that I get the privilege of inhaling air while Calle already gave up her last. Sometimes I can get up and run, lose thoughts in movement, in purpose, but other times it takes all I have to just lay there. My life is like a giant yo-yo, and I’m always being whipped around and at the extreme of something. I just can never catch a breath. I’ve been on suicide watch forever now, but even that seems fruitless, pointless. Everything’s pointless. Everyone tells me time will help me get over her, but I don’t want to get over her. I want to hang onto her so tightly I can pull her back from fate, back from death, back by my side… Her death knocked the wind out of my life, and ever since I’ve been struggling to take a breath./]
Demetri sat on the couch of the den, the T.V. on mute, with meaningless actors flashing across it. His face was towards the screen, but he wasn’t watching it. He was watching the unmoving wallpaper duck right above the screen, his mind thinking everything over yet nothing at all. The room was filled with the click-click-click-click click-click of typing on a laptop; Demetri’s father sat in the corner recliner, typing a presentation for his work, his head down. Sitting on the couch, Demetri had relatively relaxed posture, his face relaxed and emotionless rather than twisted in his usual pained smile-grimace. He liked when it was his dad’s turn on suicide watch-shift. His dad didn’t question him, or give him any fake support, or look at him weird, or press him to say something, or tell him he needed this and that. No, all his father gave him was mints; those cute little pill-shaped mints that came in different flavors. As far as his dad was concerned, a plastic case of mints fixed everything. Bad day; have a mint, break a bone; have a mint, break up with a girlfriend; there’s a mint for that too. Even though these little mints couldn’t piece his life together, Demetri pretended they could. Because mints can’t pry into your personal business, mints couldn’t not understand, mints couldn’t die. He wanted to believe in the magical insta-feel-good powers of the little plastic package of mints, he wanted something as cheap and simple to be able to take away the pain of the days.
After about an hour and a half, Demetri’s father looked up at his son. His face was well-guarded, but his eyes giving all his secrets away. Studying Demetri, he bit his lip, tears that would never dare to fall gathering in his eyes. His son, the wailing baby that would never fall asleep. The smiling toddler running around the kitchen that he could never catch up to. The enthusiastic little child who skipped through his early childhood with the biggest grin, and the most contagious laugh. The teenager who had a way of driving his father crazy, but making him love him all the more. Memories of learning to ride a bike, of sunny picnics and camping trips and bedtime stories flickered through his head. Demetri was the best son he could ever have asked for… As far as he could remember there’d always been a smiling, blonde little girl chasing after his son, them running around, playing tag, laughing at children’s jokes, oblivious to the world. Even though Demetri and Calle had stopped hanging out together as often, Demetri’s father knew their bond was stronger than ever. It killed him to see his son moping about, in so much pain, so depressed.
“You know, you should go outside… Get some fresh air.” He said, Demetri looking up from his blank stare. “The physiatrist said it would help. I think you should.” Demetri sighed, knowing ‘I think you should’ wasn’t a statement; it was a command. It was an I’m-telling-you-what-I-think-you-should-do-but-really-I’m-going-to-make-you-do-it-so-you-better-smile-and-pretend-to-enjoy-it kind of command. He studied his father.
“No.” was all he said. His father frowned, shaking his head.
“Then what will get you out of this depression? It’s been too long, Demetri, you need to start thinking about getting back into life again, for yourself and everyone around you who loves you. You’re sixteen for God sake, go out and be social. ”
Demetri sighed and closed his eyes “not today.” His father sighed, exasperated, “one of these days I’m not going to take that excuse anymore. One of these days I’m just going to make you go somewhere with Aiden or go to a party or something.”
“Not today,” Demetri repeated himself, and went back to staring at the wall.
Demetri sat on the couch of the den, the T.V. on mute, with meaningless actors flashing across it. His face was towards the screen, but he wasn’t watching it. He was watching the unmoving wallpaper duck right above the screen, his mind thinking everything over yet nothing at all. The room was filled with the click-click-click-click click-click of typing on a laptop; Demetri’s father sat in the corner recliner, typing a presentation for his work, his head down. Sitting on the couch, Demetri had relatively relaxed posture, his face relaxed and emotionless rather than twisted in his usual pained smile-grimace. He liked when it was his dad’s turn on suicide watch-shift. His dad didn’t question him, or give him any fake support, or look at him weird, or press him to say something, or tell him he needed this and that. No, all his father gave him was mints; those cute little pill-shaped mints that came in different flavors. As far as his dad was concerned, a plastic case of mints fixed everything. Bad day; have a mint, break a bone; have a mint, break up with a girlfriend; there’s a mint for that too. Even though these little mints couldn’t piece his life together, Demetri pretended they could. Because mints can’t pry into your personal business, mints couldn’t not understand, mints couldn’t die. He wanted to believe in the magical insta-feel-good powers of the little plastic package of mints, he wanted something as cheap and simple to be able to take away the pain of the days.
After about an hour and a half, Demetri’s father looked up at his son. His face was well-guarded, but his eyes giving all his secrets away. Studying Demetri, he bit his lip, tears that would never dare to fall gathering in his eyes. His son, the wailing baby that would never fall asleep. The smiling toddler running around the kitchen that he could never catch up to. The enthusiastic little child who skipped through his early childhood with the biggest grin, and the most contagious laugh. The teenager who had a way of driving his father crazy, but making him love him all the more. Memories of learning to ride a bike, of sunny picnics and camping trips and bedtime stories flickered through his head. Demetri was the best son he could ever have asked for… As far as he could remember there’d always been a smiling, blonde little girl chasing after his son, them running around, playing tag, laughing at children’s jokes, oblivious to the world. Even though Demetri and Calle had stopped hanging out together as often, Demetri’s father knew their bond was stronger than ever. It killed him to see his son moping about, in so much pain, so depressed.
“You know, you should go outside… Get some fresh air.” He said, Demetri looking up from his blank stare. “The physiatrist said it would help. I think you should.” Demetri sighed, knowing ‘I think you should’ wasn’t a statement; it was a command. It was an I’m-telling-you-what-I-think-you-should-do-but-really-I’m-going-to-make-you-do-it-so-you-better-smile-and-pretend-to-enjoy-it kind of command. He studied his father.
“No.” was all he said. His father frowned, shaking his head.
“Then what will get you out of this depression? It’s been too long, Demetri, you need to start thinking about getting back into life again, for yourself and everyone around you who loves you. You’re sixteen for God sake, go out and be social. ”
Demetri sighed and closed his eyes “not today.” His father sighed, exasperated, “one of these days I’m not going to take that excuse anymore. One of these days I’m just going to make you go somewhere with Aiden or go to a party or something.”
“Not today,” Demetri repeated himself, and went back to staring at the wall.
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