DEATH BEFORE DYING

It had to be around 4 a.m. Tanya and I were still driving around, drinking a few Miller lights, and listening to the stereo. We had gone to a bar earlier that evening, and then to a party afterwards. Tanya and her boyfriend, Joe, the one who put the step into her step, had broken things off with each other some time that afternoon. She wouldn't go into the details, but I could tell from the get that she was in no hurry to go home tonight. In no hurry to go home, and to be depressed and all alone was more like it.

"Tanya", I nudged.

"Sssh, she said, while turning up the volume. I love this song". She lit up another cigarette, then took a deep, long drag, "I'm like a bird, I want to fly away, I don't know where my soul is, I don't know where my home is", she sang, looking mesmerized by the sadness and uncertainty the song seemed to provoke in her. I felt something stirring up inside of me too. I brought the bottle up to my mouth, closed my eyes, then polished off the rest of it.

Out of all the people I normally hung out with Tanya and I had the most in common, both fresh out of high school with no foreseeable plans for the future. She didn't get along with her father, and I got along with mine even less. Even our own siblings had given up on us. Tanya and I weren't slackers, or bad people or anything, we were just misunderstood-over looked. Teachers, our parents, and most of our own kind-- other kids from the neighborhood we grew up with, I mean, always knew Tanya and I were a bit more troubled than the rest of them. They just could never figure out why, like how your dog knows when a storm is coming on soon. It doesn't watch the forecast on the evening news to wait for the weather-man's predictions based on all their fancy, expensive equipment only to still be wrong fifty percent of the time, the dog just knows. It doesn't know where it's coming from, or what's behind it, but it can still sense it. We both only drank when we needed to feel alive, or to drown out the pain of living, or to celebrate a good moment, Mondays, Tuesdays, and. Only this time even I was ready to call it a night.

"You want to drive around some more", she asked, with those deep, sad brown eyes, looking straight through me.

I sat there for awhile staring at the dash board. I wasn't quite sure what to say. "Well, actually it's pretty late. I suppose I should just go home and get some sleep." Tanya didn't say a word. I couldn't look at her, the blood that was rushing to my head was turning my face beet red, and I was afraid she would see how selfish I was being for leaving her alone.

"Are you going to be ok?" Tanya remained silent, then popped in a c.d., Linkin Park--I think. "What are you going to do, go home or what?" I searched her face hoping for a response, yet my teeth were clamped down onto my lower lip afraid of what she might say.

"I am not sure."

Just then, she turned down onto my street. I closed the passenger door, and said good night through the half opened window, then flicked my cigarette butt out into the street before heading up the drive way, "Are you going to be alright?"

Tanya was gazing to the East. Far off into the distance the sun was starting to peek its head over the horizon. She turned to look at me. "Yep", she said, then drove away.
.
"What the hell, who is calling me now? Oh, sure, I can help you tomorrow." "OK, ok, ok", I mumbled. My arm kept swatting my bed side table trying to grasp the phone. I finally landed the receiver. "Hello."

"Raechel, I heard someone say on the other end. Tanya is dead."

I realized it was Lisa, a close friend of mine since childhood. I sprung off my bed grabbing a cigarette on the way. "What happened. How?"

I heard her starting to sob softly into the phone. "She was hit by a truck".

"Where was she? Where was she going?"

Lisa's breathing was quick and short. I could tell she was fighting back the tears before she spoke. "She was near Joe's house. Her mom said, she must have been going over there to try and patch things up with him."

I didn't know what to say. It had only been two hours since she dropped me off. As far as I knew, I was the last person to see her alive. The guilt I felt from leaving her alone began to swallow me whole-- like quicksand. I wanted to cry, but I wouldn't allow myself that release. I didn't deserve it. I decided not to let anyone know that I was with Tanya that night, I guess I felt too ashamed. If only I would have stayed with her that night she might still be alive. I could have had her come to my house, or stayed over by her house with her like I used to. I should have talked her into going home and made sure she did--something--anything. Instead I left a friend in need. I knew she had been depressed lately, and that things weren't good between her mom and dad again. Whenever her parents fought, Tanya took it real hard. Nobody could convince her that it wasn't her fault that they argued. I mean, nine out of ten flare ups were over nothing in particular, but I can tell you this, ten for ten were alcohol related. Plus the fact that she and Joe were having problems, that part came as a surprise to me. I can only imagine how she must have felt about it. Last I had heard they were suppose to be getting married next year. From what I heard about it later on that day, Joe was starting to panic, something about maybe being to young to be tided down to one person, after all they were only all of twenty-two years old. The smoke hadn't even cleared from the birthday candles that were on the cake yet.


The Beatles could be heard playing in the back ground, as they were one of Tanya's favorites. I guess her parents used to be big on them, or something. Tanya was like that, though, she loved and could appreciate all kinds of music--new and the old greats alike. As I looked over to where her parents were sitting, I noticed Tanya's father, Mr. Haupt, starting to weep. An otherwise stoic, controlling, and over-bearing husband and father, now expressing emotions I didn't think he was capable of having let alone display in public. I've never seen him have any other kind of emotion that didn't involve his veins popping out of his bald head, or nasty comments spewing from his sneering lips. I guess, loss and grief waits for no one. I felt so sad for Bee, Mrs. Haupt. I could feel the pain in her eyes, as the tears that fell from them punctured my young, tender, yet already tortured soul.


This is the forth funeral I've had the tragedy of attending in the past thirty-six months. The last one, a year a go, was a good friend from high school. She drove her car off a cliff into Lake Michigan the night before the first day of my senior year. Her death really hit me where I lived and breathed. Like Tanya and I, there was that unspoken connection between us, a bond that linked us together. It could not be seen or touched, or talked about-- only felt by those who carried a similar burden. An inner pain that gnawed away at you when ever you let your guard down, or stayed sober for too long. It went to bed with you, and was the first one up in the morning reminding you it was still there, and that you better get up now or you never will. Each day I would see her locker next to mine, what used to be hers that is, the lump in my throat became permanent until after graduation.


Four months before her suicide, my brother-in-law drowned while spending a memorial weekend afternoon fishing with my sister, Mary, and their son--my nephew, who was only seven at the time. My sister, Mary, and them, were going to stop by for a bite to eat after they were done. I remember I was almost happy that day, as I waited for them to come over. The stereo was rocking, I even sang along. It was a gorgeous sunny day, not a cloud in the sky for miles upon beautiful blue miles. I was finishing things up outside when I heard the phone ring. I almost didn't because I had the music cranked up so loud. It was my other sister, Marie, calling to let me know what happened. She said, "He wasn't wearing a life jacket." I didn't know it at the time but my brother-in-law, David, didn't know how to swim. I found out later that, although, my nephew and sister were wearing a life jacket he threw the only life cushion that was on board to my nephew to assure his safety. He went down in 8ft. deep water. He was 6ft.4.


Now I look over at the concealed casket only to be reminded of the previous two deaths greater still. When is it going to stop I wonder. Feelings of mental and emotional anguish, and self pity fight to take over my identity, and with the passing of each moment I am weakening. I'm surrounded by many of my old friends that I had grown up with, but still I feel estranged more than ever before. I could hear the song, "The Long and Winding Road", playing softly in the back ground of the dimly lit funeral parlor. Candles were flickering a gentle glow, making shadows dance silently on the wall, as the song sweetly continued. "Many times I've been alone, and many times I've cried". The lyrics leaving their impenetrable scars in my memory.

Nervously, I walked over to Mrs. Haupt to say hello. I wrapped my arms around her looking straight into her reddened, tearful eyes, "I'm really going to miss her."

"Me to sweetie pie, me to," she whispered into my ear as she hugged me tighter. My cheek now wet with my own tears, I could taste their saltiness, as they made their way to the tip of my tongue, leaving only bitterness. "Thank you for being here today, she said, as she held my face in her warm hands. Following the service at the cemetery we will be holding a party in honor of our baby over at our house. I hope you can come."

Trying to wipe the tears from my eyes, I patiently heard myself manage to whimper, "I wouldn't miss it." All of us from the neighborhood gang promised one another to spend more time together like we used to, but I knew things would go back to the way they were before the night of the accident.


After the funeral, I wasn't looking forward to going home to see my dad. When I got there he was engaged in his evening newspaper like always. I had never felt so alone as I did at that moment. It was like when my mother died when I was younger. I died along with her. My soul had left long ago, my body was just to numb to know the difference.

"Raechel, my father said, peering over his paper, trying to make eye contact with me. You don't have to make dinner for me tonight."

I didn't answer at first. I stood there with my hands resting on the counter top behind me. "Are you sure? I mean,
it really doesn't matter to me."

He bent his newspaper towards him, once again, squinting his eyes over the top of his wire rimmed glasses. "Go on, do something you enjoy, before I change my mind." And I think for the first time in my life, I saw my father for who he is instead of what I thought he should be. It was then I realized, if I wanted people to accept me for who I am that I would need to begin to do the same.