What He Left Behind

      “May we now all have a moment of silence for the deceased,” the priest announced, bowing his head for show.  I didn’t like him – the priest that is, not that I was on the best terms with ‘the deceased’ either – but out of respect for the idea, I bowed my head with everyone else.

         

        I tried to clear my mind, but the fact that my best friend was in a coffin barely eight feet in front of me did nothing for that attempt.  I peeked open one green eye to see my short blond hair blocking my vision.  Quickly brushing it away I spotted Mr. and Mrs. Storel, the parents of my deceased best friend Chris.  They had tears running down their faces, earning a brief glare from me before I snapped my eyes shut again.  They were part of the reason he died, I thought vehemently.

         

        As Chris was just 20 when he passed, it was clear he hadn’t died from natural causes.  I’ll never forget the night I discovered what soon caused his health to plummet.  It changed him, quickly becoming the most important thing to him in life.



      I had been walking home after work.  It was dark and chilly, so I pulled my jacket tightly around me.  I had called Chris asking if he wanted to hang out after my shift, but he had declined saying he had plans.  I shrugged, deciding I probably could use some down time.  I barely took note that I had passed a dark alley until I heard a familiar voice call “Stop hogging it dude!”  I whipped around to see Chris sitting with a group of boys, all blatantly high.

         

        I was so shocked, I found myself rooted in place watching them.  It didn’t take long for Chris to notice I was standing there slack-jawed.  He realized he was caught, and quickly broke away from the group coming over to me.  “Hey Damon, fancy seeing you here,” he chuckled, but I just stood there.  My stare morphed into a fierce glare.



“What do you think you’re doing?” I demanded, causing him to jump back in fright.



“Just, er, hanging out with some new friends,” he explained while having the decency to look ashamed at his actions.



“You shouldn’t hang out with these people,” I sighed, slightly hoping he’d have the good sense to listen to me.

His face no longer held shame, but turned to a venomous glare.  “Tell me what you know,” he demanded in a harsh voice.  “Tell me, what are you going to do now?” he hissed, giving me no time to answer his previous question.  “Not be my friend anymore?” he mocked, breaking off into a dark chuckle.  “You don’t understand that this is helping me, I just... gotta get my fix,” his voice softened slightly at the end, and I found myself wondering if the mood swings were a side effect, or if he was simply just hysterical. 



“You mean you just gotta get high,” I stated, taking my own turn to glare.  “What did you do?” I asked with false pleasantry in my voice, raising an eyebrow in question.

           

        He looked at me defiantly, which honestly angered me more than if he’d explained it to me.  I grabbed his arm and examined it while mumbling “Where did you get a hit?”  He smirked at me, and I forcefully threw his arm down in distaste.  “Is this what you really want?” my voice rose in volume and my arms flailed out gesturing to the dark alley.  He didn’t move, just continued to sit there smirking at me.  I hit the wall standing just behind me, desperately needing an outlet for my anger.  I turned away from his smug face and piercing blue eyes and walked back towards the entrance of the alley.  I stopped short, the entrance sitting just a few feet away, and looked to the ground before saying “Maybe I don’t want a druggie for a friend,” spitting the word as if it burned my mouth, and with that I left.  I didn’t stomp, as they do in the movies, it seemed to be a purely unnecessary waste of energy, I glided quietly away from him in hopes it would help to clear my mind.

         

        The priest called an end to the moment of silence, and called for the parents of the deceased to take the stand.  His mother and father stood side by side as she started a loving, heartbreaking speech.  Well I had assumed that it was, based on the tears welling up in everybody’s eyes accompanied by the sympathy that rolled off the crowd.  As for me, I tuned them out as soon as the priest had called them up.

         

      Mrs. Storel glanced over at me, meeting my harsh glare with agonized eyes.  I could see she was replaying our conversation that took place a mere couple of weeks ago.  I couldn’t bring myself to care that her son had died; she might as well have killed him herself in my opinion.

         

      I had caught Chris on the street corner of Bathurst in downtown Toronto selling off his mothers rings.  Anger flared in my eyes as I walked up behind him.  I reached around, snatching her jewellery box from his hands.  His head snapped around, and I levelled him with a glare.  “Whether you show yourself respect or not is up to you, but your own mother deserves more respect than this,” I snarled at him.

         

        I used my last bus ticket to travel to their house where I knew his mom would be.  She answered the door seconds after I knocked, her smile dissolving into a look of puzzlement as she noticed her jewellery box was in my possession.  “Damon,” she said slowly.  “Why do you have my jewellery box?” 



“I need to tell you something,” I sighed, dreading the fact that I had to be the bearer of bad news.



“Of course,” she nodded, leading me into their living room.  Images of Chris and I playing with our blocks, not even ten years ago, danced to the forefront of my mind.



I swallowed hard after we had settled into parallel chairs.  “Chris,” I began “He’s, well, he’s picked up some bad habits.”



“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice quivered as her face fell in fright for her only son.



“He’s doing drugs,” I announced bluntly.  Her eyebrows shot up.  “I caught him selling your rings downtown,” I continued to explain, handing over the box.  She was covering her mouth with one hand, shaking her head ‘no’. 



“He’s not!” she insisted.



“Marie,” I pleaded, using her first name to show her the seriousness of the situation.



I watched as she nearly ripped the top off the box and looked in.  “You’re lying.  I didn’t have a lot of jewellery, it’s all here,” she insisted.



I recalled watching Chris sell a woman three rings, surely that was enough for her to notice.  Very briefly the thought that she was trying to convince herself entered my mind before I quickly banished it.  “But-” I tried to make her see sense; however, she cut me off.



“No!  It’s not true!  Stop preaching these lies and get out!” she yelled, and then I watched her stomp out of the room and up the stairs.

         

      The priest then called Chris’ girlfriend up to say her own little speech.  She stood at the stand, trying to muster up the courage to say what she had written, and she had managed to get through the first two sentences before she broke down into sobs.

         

        I felt horrible for the poor woman standing before me, but my mind wandered back to when I heard the extent Chris had gone to in an attempt of getting his ‘fix’, and I wondered if he ever felt remorseful for the woman he nearly hurt.

         

      I walked into my part-time job at the local movie store, going over all the tasks that had been set out for me today.  I had completed the first few jobs, and then came to stocking the new Blue-ray movies on their appropriate shelves.  As I was stacking the movies I heard Chris’ name in a conversation one aisle over. 



“Man, I wonder what’s going on with Chris,” I heard one say.



The second man recounted “He’s going downhill.  You know Jake who works at the shop across the street?  Jake told me he was walking to his parent’s place the other night.  There was Chris holding a woman in this death grip with a knife to her throat, demanding her husband give up his wallet!”  I nearly drop the armful of Blue-rays I had when he said that.  I shook my head in denial.  I knew Chris had a problem, but he would never go to such an extent.  He even had a rule to never strike a woman, let alone hold a knife to ones throat.



Then the first man asked the question I needed, and feared.  “Chris Storel?”



“Yeah man,” the second confirmed and I leaned against the wall – to keep from collapsing – and slowly lowered myself to the ground.  In that moment I learned how quickly you can lose all respect for someone.

         

      I noticed his girlfriend pull herself together as she came to the end of her speech and left the stand.  “Now Damon Groser will come say a few words,” the priest announced and signalled for me to approach the stand.  When Mr. Storel had asked if I could say a few words as Chris’ best friend, I reluctantly agreed.  For the past week I had tried to think of a speech for him, but I couldn’t come up with anything nice or tear jerking.

         

      I reached the stand and looked out at the room full of grieving people, but all I could see was Chris deteriorating before my eyes.  The bags under his eyes when he would go days without sleeping, how his stomach shrank significantly when he gave up eating.  I shook my head in disgust before returning my eyes to the audience.

         

      “Chris Storel was my best friend for as long as I can remember, but he,” I gestured to the body laid out behind me.  “He is not the best friend I tried to help, and I can feel no remorse for this man.  They say we make our decisions, but really our decisions make or break – not only us – but those around us,” I said to the crowd.  I saw his parents looking devastated, but all I could do was glare at them, because they were part of the problem.  They knew and they did nothing to stop their son from destroying himself.  As for everyone else, well I suppose they were looking for a nice remorseful speech from the grieving best friend.  I wanted to, but I couldn’t fake emotion.

         

      With that I left.  I left the mic stand, I left the stage, I left the church.  I’d like to say I left my best friend, but in truth my best friend left me long ago.