Starry Night and Raspberries

Jason shot himself in the head. He always said he was going to do it, but he finally went and did it. He used the gun that he bought at Tim’s Guns and Liquor down on Seventh Street. The six shot revolver was almost entirely brushed chrome.

I never believed that he would actually follow through. He had called me in the sixth grade after he jumped out of a second story window and busted his knee. I interrupted his attempted hanging freshman year, and even pulled his arms out of the warm red water a month afterwards. His stomach was pumped two years later when he swallowed 60 doses of aspirin. Only Jason knew how many other times he had attempted, but failed, to extinguish his own life. In our senior year of high school Jason told me that he supposed God wasn’t ready for him yet. The time wasn’t right, the situation wasn’t perfect.

I am sure that when he did it on the morning of Monday, November 1st, as the sun was just starting to reveal the autumn leaves, it seemed like the perfect time for him. He used to talk about how the leaves of a beautiful maple were never truly appreciated until, due to changes in the length of daylight and temperature, they stopped their food-making process. Chlorophyll was broken down and the green color was slowly suffocated by the yellow and orange due to the presence of carotene and xanthophyll. That splendid starvation would, of course, lead to new life.

Jason said that a new life would follow his even if he killed himself. He believed that there was some sort of eternal balance that could make everything right. I didn’t. Jason was a selfish asshole that was only concerned with his own pain. He didn’t give a damn how much it would hurt those of us who cared for him. How were we supposed to deal with him being gone?

There was one thing that we all knew: he was dedicated to taking himself out of this world. Most suicides are only willing to shoot themselves a single time through the tender tissue at the top of their mouths. They would then collapse from the massive nerve damage which results from a solid sliver of metal, smaller than my fingertip, ripping through a mishmash of brain matter. Jason, however, was different.

His dark skin, bald head, early morning stubble and bloodshot eyes could not betray the awkward smile that would have formed around the gun. The joy and expectation would line his chiseled cheeks with tears as he said his final prayer. Prepared for anything different than this life, he pulled the trigger a first time. With his fate sealed, he would have felt the searing sting rapidly ripping through his body before he pulled the trigger again. As the police explained it, the horrific kickback of the pistol caused the second shot to soar through the air to ultimately land twenty feet away from him. Some time after the second shot, an eerie silence would have been slowly canceled by the curiosity of the forest around him.

The collection of Jason’s family and friends mimicked the silence on the day of his funeral. There were familiar faces that I hadn’t seen for months circled uncomfortably around the grave. The stress and joy of my first year at college kept me away from all of them, until now. Warren, Jason’s brother, had received permission to leave the base for his brother’s funeral. He was even more intimidating than when I had last seen him. David was the only other person who could compete with Warren’s figure. David’s six foot, four inch mass was notably missing from the ceremony. The extremely composed girlfriend of the deceased was standing directly next to Jason’s mom. Wren stood out in any crowd.

She had beautiful pink lips that were never adorned with lipstick and hickory hair that swung loosely, ending in the middle of her back. Wren’s hair always softly caressed her freckled face that was accentuated by her soul-stealing grey eyes and gnome-like upturned nose. Her powder white complexion would have served as a canvas to any other woman. Wren was smart enough to realize that her face was not something to be painted on, but rather, the painting itself.

Her skin seemed paler than normal at the funeral. It may have been the attire required of a mourning girlfriend, but almost everyone else truly believed that it was because she blamed herself. She was supposed to be the glue that kept Jason bound to this earth, and she failed.

The priest canceled the silence by reassuring the people who were present.

“God is forgiving. Jason chose his own exit from this world. He was a tormented soul but Jesus died for Jason’s sin as well as any other. He participated in many church activities, and was ardent in seeking forgiveness. We have only one thing that we can do for him. Pray for his soul to reach paradise. Our love and dedication can guarantee his presence when we pass through the pearly gates ourselves.”

Wren, who loved Jason even with his apathy to life, couldn’t stand it and yelled, “Bullshit,” as she ran away from the ceremony.

I quickly ran after her while the crowd was mumbling about how she must be tormented with grief.

“Wait!”

She stopped and turned around. When I finally caught up, she said, “Aaron, you know I can’t stand that sort of self gratification. Everyone is simply justifying their loss. This funeral should be about him, not them.”

“Jason is dead. Funerals comfort the living, not the dead. You’re just mad ‘cause you weren’t being comforted.”

“You can shove it!”

“What the hell? I’m trying to help.”

“I know. But.”

“But what?”

“You know, last week I told Jason that I still loved you. I said that a little part of me wished that I didn’t end it.”

Wren and I broke up sophomore year of high school. Jason violated the unspoken, yet very important, rule: you cannot date your best friend’s ex. I knew that prohibiting Jason from dating Wren wouldn’t get her back to me, so I chose his friendship over my pride. But my feelings still hadn’t died.

“Look, I still love you too. But we…”

“Don’t be a jerk. We were in a fight, and I was mad at him. I said it to hurt him, and it worked. He slept on the couch that night. He shut down the next morning and left without talking to me. I called him like 100 times. He didn’t answer. The next day he killed himself. But really, I killed him. I killed him and now I won’t be able to see him ever again.

“The funeral is going on right now. Right now. You can be around him. Hell, I’ll even open the casket so you can see his face again. Though, I am pretty sure it’s not what you want to see.”

“I don’t need to see him. I just need to know that it isn’t my fault.”

“It isn’t.”

“Why? Huh? Why isn’t it my fault?”

“He may have used your fight as an excuse, but he wanted to be out of this life before he ever knew you.”

“I still feel responsible.”

I told her, “I know, I miss him too,” before I placed my hand on her shoulder. She hid her discomfort by burying her tear ridden face into my chest.

She pulled away from me and her face became serious. She wiped the tears from her eyes before saying, “But, you don’t know why I miss him, do you?”

I answered, “It is just tough to lose someone. You love him, Wren.”

“There’s something else. Let’s go get some coffee, this could take a while.”

She was always long winded in her explanations, and she was addicted to coffee in nearly every form. I didn’t think much of it at the time, so I drove her to The Coffee em-Pour-ium. The small joint had attempted to draw a crowd five years ago when it opened up. The bright reds, blues, and yellows painted on the wall had faded to a disappointing lackluster. Morning rush had obviously ended and we had no problem finding an empty booth with no one within earshot.

With a large smile our waiter inquired, “So what can I get you folks?”

“I’ll take a large hot chocolate and a bagel with cream cheese.”

Wren was straightforward, “I want coffee, and we could use a lot of privacy. Thanks,” she took the time to read his nametag, “Ryan.”

“Yes, right away.”

As he walked away Wren laid it on the line, “I’m pregnant.”

I hadn’t expected that.

Filling the silence, she continued, “Can’t you see? Jason left me with a kid. He made his child a bastard.”

“How?”

“Aaron.”

“Fine, I know how. But I don’t know how to take this Wren.”

Ryan, our inexperienced waiter arrived just in time, “Here you go.”

Wren looked at him with fire in her eyes, placed a $20 in his hand and said, “I will get change from you later. Now, please, just leave us alone.”

She waited until he couldn’t hear us and whispered to me, “You don’t need to take it as anything. You can just walk away as content as before. You don’t even have to think about it. Even I won’t have to think about it after I put it up for adoption.”

“Why would you go through the trouble of carrying the kid if you’re just going to give it away?”

“I am not having an abortion Aaron. I can’t believe you would even suggest it. There is way too much karma that goes along with killing an unborn child. I won’t have it. And I know you don’t believe in karma, but I don’t care.”

“Karma is bullshit.”

“Drop it, okay. I don’t feel like hearing one of your goddamned explanations of the absurdity of spirituality.”

“If you aren’t going to have an abortion, and plan on giving the kid away anyway, what do you want me to do?”

Wren said, “Fine, I don’t need this,” and left me with my untouched bagel and rapidly cooling beverage.

Before she could get two steps away I yelled, “If you change your mind about having the baby, just give me a call and I’ll give you a punch to your stomach!”

That was a mistake; A really big mistake. I didn’t really mean it. She flipped me off before leaving the coffee shop without her change.

I ate in silence while gossiping eyes penetrated my personal space. I wanted to go over to Wren’s house and apologize. I wanted to tell her that I was sorry for being an asshole. But I knew that she wouldn’t even listen to me for a couple of days. I had messed up in a very big way. So instead, I went to my hotel. By then it started raining and was difficult to see. The drive there wasn’t too horrible, but it was kind of like one of those gloomy scenes in a movie. I pulled into the parking lot and walked towards my room. I expected someone to jump out of the darkness and attack me, like Warren had once done to an unfortunate person.

Warren had a temper. One day when Warren picked up Jason and me from school, some random jerk cut him off in traffic. Jason’s brother didn’t care that we were in the car and proceeded to follow him home. Once we stopped at the kid’s house, Warren pulled off his own shirt, revealing two tattoos he got when he was 16. He yelled at us: “Stay in the car while I deal with this.” He ran after the guy, yelling and screaming incoherently. The scrawny kid, who had his hat on crooked, crossed his arms in front of his face right before Warren took his first swing. The guy dropped limply to the floor, not expecting the ensuing kicks to his ribs. I counted how many times his foot made contact. One, two, three, four, five; five kicks to the ribs before Warren ran back to the car and sped home. Besides the violence, all I could think about for the weeks following the incident was Warren’s pride in breaking the guy’s ribs. He boasted that every time that the guy coughed, or if it was cold outside, he would feel a sharp pain where the bone broke.

My ribs, as well as every other part of my body remained unscathed as I unlocked my hotel room and entered. I undressed and took a warm shower before I slipped into a good book.

Joyful Wisdom was a book with lots of valuable information besides God being dead. Understanding the limits of consciousness and influence of physiological evolution could very well explain suicide. Our brains were probably naturally tended towards realizing the limited scope of life. However, those who realized this had committed suicide centuries ago, and ultimately our natural tendency to exterminate ourselves was exchanged for an unnatural reliance on the spiritual realm that, in the end, keeps our species alive.

I started to realize how dismal my outlook was becoming. I still felt that Jason was selfish, but he was also hurt. Could I have done anything to stop him from finally killing himself? A solid knock on the door woke me from my thoughts.

I answered my door to a towering Warren, brutally sculpted from years of intense Marine training. His tattoos had multiplied during his time in the armed forces. Warren had joined the marines when Jason was 12 years old. Jason’s older brother had decided to let his anger out on enemies of his country. At least then he would have a legal way he could kill all the people he wanted. I was pretty sure that he would have been in jail if the Marines didn’t take him. But I was also pretty sure that the Marines reveled in his violent tendencies and simple mind. As he stood before me, he looked as if he had just done something horrible, or was scared that something horrible was going to happen.

“Hey, I was just about to go to bed.”

“I need to show you this. Now.”

“I don’t much feel like it. Can we talk tomorrow?”

Warren waved a bundle of letters in front of my face. “No, we need to talk now.”

“Fine, come in, what’s so important?”

“Do you know of a guy that Jason called ‘Underdog’?”

David.

I stalled him with, “Huh? Why?”

“A couple of weeks ago, I started getting letters from Jason saying that he thought Wren was cheating with this,” he made his best attempt at creating mocking quote marks in the air, “Underdog. And that he wanted to kill ‘em both.”

Often, Jason didn’t take his medicine and would write some of the most cryptic poetry and, sometimes, letters. When we were younger Jason would send me letters every couple weeks. They were usually paranoid-delusional, so I ignored them. I assumed that Warren did the same.

“You sure they’re reliable? You know how Jason was. You can’t really trust the letters when he wasn’t on his meds.”

“You can’t trust those drugs; they just made him a fucking zombie. Something was different about this guy. Jason wouldn’t talk about the same thing more than once. This Underdog was in his letters a lot. He was really pissed at him. Look.”

Warren then pointed out a particularly disturbing passage in one of the letters from a month ago.



Underdog came over again. I could hear Wren laughing at all his jokes as she was making dinner for the three of us. I went out to disrupt their devious coquetry. When I kissed her I could feel her resistance, and taste her deception. They had definitely kissed before I went out there. I kept her close to me as we ate, and quickly escorted Underdog out afterwards. I can’t wait to smash his head in with a baseball bat.



“So, do you know who it is?”

It was then that my sirens went off. Warren was going to do something if he found out who Underdog was. Karma didn’t exist, and even if it did, Warren wanted to be its embodiment. I tried to circumvent his violence, “I’ll deal with him.”

“Don’t fuck with me. I’m going to get my hands on this Underdog fellow.”

“Please, can you just let me handle it? I’m not even sure if I have the right guy. When I find out who it is, I can talk to him.”

“Fine.”

That seemed too easy, but, “Okay.”

“So, why the hell did you and Jason’s girl leave early?”

I skirted the revelation of her pregnancy by saying, “You know how it is. Jason kind of screwed with all of us. She was pretty upset. I wanted to make sure she was okay and Wren didn’t even want to talk to me. She is at her place right now, wallowing in her sorrow. All of the people that were there probably reminded her of how much this sucks. And it does suck, I just want to sleep it all off. Wake up and see him tomorrow.”

Chit chat with Warren in my hotel room didn’t provide me with the greatest amount of comfort, so I quickly ushered him out by explaining that if he stayed any longer it would make it harder to find Underdog.

I didn’t know exactly what to do, but I needed to talk to David. I had to, at very least, figure out why he wasn’t at the funeral. I put on a jacket to shield me from the rapidly cooling weather. I went back out to my car and found a bat leaning on the side of it. Attached to the bat was a note in Warren’s handwriting, “Talk to him for me too.” That wasn’t going to happen, but I had no idea what else to do with it, so I threw it in my car.

Highway hypnosis escorted me through the twenty minute drive to David’s house. I called him half way through my trip and told him to expect me. David, as always, didn’t ask any questions. I was quickly asked into his house after I knocked.

“Come in, you must be stressed out to have come all the way out here. What can I do?”

“I just haven’t seen you in a while. Some people wondered where you were today.”

“I would have been fired from the factory if I took the day off. I gotta keep payin’ for this house, so I gotta keep working.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s alright, you want a beer?”

“Nah, I’m fine. But, I was thinking about it, why did Jason call you Underdog?”

“Don’t you remember when we were little? I was a little nerd with nothing going for me. Then I started working out and got contacts. After that, all the ladies started falling for me.”

His tone was haughty and made me wonder if Jason’s concerns may have been relevant.

“You know, Warren got some letters from Jason that said you were fooling around with Wren.”

“Uh, not really. No offence, but she’s not my type.”

“Really?”

“It’s not like she didn’t throw herself on me though. Like a month ago, I think. Thank God Jason came out and she went back to making dinner. That was uncomfortable as hell.”

I tried to calm myself but said, “Wren is not a whore.”

“No, but she definitely wanted in my pants.”

That was when I decidedly lost control of my emotions and lunged at him. My head made contact with his chest, pushing him deeper into his chair. I swung my left arm at his side and he quickly caught it, so I swung my other at his face and he deflected that too.

“What the hell? Calm down. I really didn’t mean it to come out like that. She didn’t try to make out with me. She just kinda got closer than she should have.”

Through my tears I managed to emphasize, “It’s just not right.”

“Look man, just go home. Get some rest. You’re messed up in the head right now. I’m sorry for screwing with you. You need to take some time to mourn.”

“Yeah, I guess I do.”

I didn’t want to make things worse so I left his house. After all, he was right: I needed to get some rest. The drive into town was filled with apologies I needed to make and things I had to deal with. I can’t believe I tried to fight David and lived. I shouldn’t have gone to the University without Jason. I could have gone to the Community College like he did. I shouldn’t have told Wren to get an abortion. And I shouldn’t have told her I loved her. But I did.

Without realizing it I pulled up to the driveway of the house Wren lived in. She paid an extremely low rent to live above the garage of an old couple’s house. She had her own bathroom and private entrance. The lights were on, so I figured I would just invite myself in.

The door was unlocked and I opened it up without knocking. I could hear noise coming from the bathroom before I entered. I straightened the dirty rug in her entryway before going into her bedroom. There was dirt all over the floor; she must not have vacuumed for months. I shook my head and turned off the leaky faucet in the kitchen, which was dripping on a week’s worth of dishes. She was always a slob, but it looked like she had really let herself go. I chose not to completely tidy up her place and went into her bedroom to surprise her.

But it was she who caught me off guard as I stepped into the bedroom and saw the outline of her body strewn across her bed. Wren’s head was completely smashed in. Pieces of skull were mashed through her skin and her hair was strewn haphazardly through that bloody puddle. I am not sure why, but I shook her body, as if it would wake her up. I held her lifeless body and realized that I wasn’t alone when the faucet in the bathroom stopped running. With the door to the bathroom closed, I knew her attacker stood in her bathroom cleaning the blood off his hands while I had been inspecting Wren’s corpse. I had blood all over my hands as I jumped up and ran out of the room. I was nearly away from the scene of the crime when I realized what had happened.

The guy came in quickly. He must have knocked on the door, interrupting her progress on the dishes. Wren would have opened it in her nightgown. The door wasn’t forced open; she let whoever it was in. The argument wasn’t too heated, because the owners of the house hadn’t called the cops yet. He probably slammed his meaty hand over her gaping mouth and subsequently forced her to the bed. Knocking over the bed stand and crushing her nightly mug of warm milk, he took his swings at her face. It was quick, but it was dirty. Her murderer didn’t want any doubt that she was dead.

Turning my head around, I looked back and saw her hand draped over her belly, as if she was protecting her never to be born fetus. That is when I discovered Jason’s child wouldn’t even get a chance at life. I yelled and screamed. I cried for Jason, who would now never get his rebirth. I realized that the world sucked even more than I had previously assumed.

Suddenly I knew that I couldn’t just run away from the scene. I turned back to face the bathroom. Her attacker would have heard me yelling and would jump out at any moment. Watching the doorknob turn slowly, I prepared to pounce on the last person Wren would have seen.

I dove at the figure before I realized that it was Warren. He swung his bare hand at my unprotected face and I was quickly on the floor. I seemed to move in slow motion as he raced into the bathroom in fast forward. He procured a bat which he quickly swung at my ribs. They immediately became my first broken bones. Maniacal laughter preempted the sirens that were pulsing a half mile away. Warren took no notice of the intruding sound as his bat made contact with my jaw. I couldn’t yell. That was when I knew I was dead. Not really dead yet, but it was over. There was nothing left for me to do except lie prone and await death. I wanted to believe all of the lies that comforted Wren through her slaughter. Karma seemed so comforting, a loving God dying for my sins was feasible, but it meant nothing in a split second.

I sort of lost all feeling, and the memory of sirens mixed with a kaleidoscope of colors. Musical notes danced with Starry Night and the smell of raspberries. If I had a jaw left I would have smiled, at the scene playing in my smashed head. I could hear Jason’s choir trained voice singing about how all things happened at the appointed time. There was no time to reason why everything looked like it looked because it violently exploded as the taste of bloody bile overpowered everything.