CH 1: The Downward Slope and the Mountain back to Civilization

They said it was a beautiful funeral. They said that it was a send off fit for the strongest warrior of our tribe. I wouldn't know. I spent it curled up in the fetal position on my bathroom floor. I spent two days on the bathroom floor before I even thought about going home. I know it was like I was abandoning my family in their lowest of moments, something I said I would never do, abandon those I loved, but I couldn't face the loss. I couldn't swallow the bitter pill that your God was feeding to me. I stress, your God because no merciful God of Christian Faith would ever do such a thing to me, at least that's what the new Testament tells me. The Old Testament is a little more spiteful and bitter. I was crippled. I kept telling myself, "Gerald get up, you need to eat." "Gerald you knew this was coming someday, we were all born to expire." I just thought that I'd be first, call me selfish, but I really wanted it to be me.

I called out of work for the next two weeks. That wasn't even long enough but life can't just stop because someone you loved more then anything else on this earth decided to die. Right? I didn't know what I needed. I didn't know if I needed time to heal or for work to keep me occupied. I just knew that I needed to go home sometime to appease my family. To show that I'm coping and that I'm not dead. My phone's been ringing for days now. I don't answer but everyone leaves the same message. "I miss you Gerald, I hope you're doing alright. Call me back and let us know that you're OK. If you need anything you know we're here."

I packed the necessities into my backpack and set up shop in the car and headed home. The closer I get to home, the farther away I feel. The entire drive is a fight to keep myself from taking my beat down Toyota into oncoming traffic. I might just push it off a bridge. Maybe head through a guardrail and pick a fight with a tree doing eighty. If the impact doesn't kill me, I'd just hope that the gas tank explodes and sets the car ablaze and I'd just sit there and earn life or death, depending upon what religion you practice or how you look at the situation. I settle myself and hold the straight line, stay in my lane.

I arrived right when the sun was at its highest and I felt as though everything around me was clouded by dark. Every step I took toward my parents house was one more step to my own demise. Like cutting yourself just to know what it is to feel, except I didn't want to feel. I wasn't inflicting this punishment upon myself for some self righteous reason. I had to. I had to suffer like this. This was my purpose. This is what God put me here for. At least that's how I felt. My family met me at my door. No words could really express how I felt and I couldn't wrap my tongue around what my mind wanted to convey to them. How I wish I could have done something. How I hoped that they'd forgive me. I wanted them to understand that this wasn't his fault, it was mine. I'm the reason he was gone, but they'd just tell me to settle myself and send me to therapy. The last thing I need is someone telling me how I'm supposed to feel.

After a tear jerking hug fest, I brought my things up to my room. I looked down at my bag and realized that I had over packed. I always tend to do this. Even when I know I'm only going to be somewhere for two days, I pack one pair of pants, 7 pairs of socks and underwear and ten shirts. It was inevitable, I was worried that something might come up, so I packed whatever I thought was relevant. After slowly unfolding my things I stepped out my door. His room was right across from mine. Right across that dim lit hallway that seemed to stretch farther now then it ever had before. I reached out for the handle but stopped. I wasn't ready. I wasn't ready to accept it. I ran through his death in my head. How he would slowly inject himself and allow the disease to fill him. How his breathing started to slow while hanging his head, overcome by his euphoric curse. The halo that seemed to surround the top of his head seemed to diminish as the life in his body began to fade. By the time my parents realized anything was wrong they were too late. No one really knew he had a problem but me. They still thought he was edge. Still though that he held true but the truth is, I don't think he wanted to live in my shadow anymore. That's how it usually is at least. That's how all the stories tell it. A deep rooted depression stemming from lack of recognition. He was his own legacy though, he just never realized it. Now his legacy is burned out, dust to the wind. I just wish I could have had the strength to get him help. It was guilt though, he made it seem like I was hurting him somehow. How he couldn't be helped. How it would never leave him now and that we all just needed to accept it. I hope that hell enjoys my company for being such a terrible brother. I did this to you. I did. No one else.

I decided, that after laying on my family room couch for an hour that I was ready to go to his grave. My family wanted to know if I wanted company, I just said that I wanted to be alone but not to wait up. I might not be back until late, so don't worry and don't wait up. I stuffed a Black Flag record into my book bag along with some other items and got into my car and headed down Stratford Road. We used to play wiffle ball as boys with the Johnston brothers and their neighbors on this road. We were invincible, what happened? It seemed like every place I went I was reminded of him. The old first aid building where we would throw rocks through the windows. The park where we would go hang out with our high school girlfriends together every Saturday night and make out until our curfew's. Even the skate park where I jumped the fence and broke my ankle running from cops brought back memories. How he let me lean on him the entire way home. We cut through back yards for what seemed like an eternity just to shake them. By the time I got to the traffic light by Route 72, I was in tears. Nothing had ever made me feel this low. Nothing.

I made the next right onto Route 9 and finally came up to the grave yard. My grandmother and father were buried there as well as some other friends of the family. I parked on a side road and walked up. It took me a while to find his grave but I found it. It was toward the back under a pine tree. There were still flowers all around it. His tombstone read, "Theodore Allen Roose. Beloved Child and Brother. January 17th, 1985 - May 8th 2007." We called him Teddy for short. He was taller then I was. Somehow he got the height in our tiny family. I was five foot four and he was closer to 6 foot. He was strong and at sometimes a head case. Probably one of the toughest guys I've ever met. His shaved head and deep brown eyes won over any female within a mile. He was just the kind of guy who would sacrifice everything to make you happy. I miss his smile. I miss his laugh. I miss him. Everything.

I didn't have anything left when I got there. I couldn't cry. I couldn't smile. I couldn't feel. I was just indifferent. I opened my bag and put some things on his grave. His favorite record, My autographed Don Mattingly Baseball that he always wanted, and some of our favorite baseball cards. It wasn't much but I knew they all meant the world to him, so I left them. I didn't really say much because I didn't' really have anything to say. Just that I love him and that I was sorry for everything. I sat there for hours and then night came and I sat some more. I finally got so tired that I laid down with my jacket under my head and went to sleep. When the Police woke me up and asked me what I was doing, I told them that I didn't want my brother to be alone. Truth was, I didn't' want to be without my brother. They ran my ID and sent me on my way. Home I went, still groggy, still fucked up, still lost, still desperate for answers.