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Driving

Submitted by weasul at 2017-12-12 22:53:48 EST
Rating: 0.5 on 4 ratings (5 reviews) (Review this item) (V)

Driving. Around this time of year, I'm always driving. I could be 3000 miles away from home, yet I'd find myself driving at some point on this day. It's a tradition. One that I will never break.

It's a short drive from from my current residence to the parking garage, but I must make this drive. I made it the day I found out, I made it the year after, every year since, and I'm making it this year. After this drive, I'll swing by the turnpike and make a few rounds for you, Gary. I won't be driving your RX7, but I'll be wishing I was.

I finish up my first drive, and I park my car on the top level of the parking garage. It's starting to get dark and it is chilly. I sit in my car and play Parabola by Tool - the first song I heard after I found out. After Parabola is finished I play Freedom by Rage Against the Machine - your favorite song. After those two songs are over with, I finally step out of the car. In one hand I'm holding a Corona. The other hand holds a pack of cigarettes. I stand on top of the parking garage, thinking about the good times, and I try to muster up the courage to look over the edge. It's hard to look over the edge, though, as every time I do the image of your blood on the ground pops into my head. I wish the city had the decency to clean up your blood. I never needed to see my best friend's blood splattered over the streets.

As the time ticks by I hold my idle chatter with our brothers. We discuss memories, we share stories, we reminisce and laugh. We curse you and insult you. We remember you for everything your were.

I don't smoke anymore, but I light up a cigarette and pop open the Corona. I only drink this shit when I'm on top of the parking garage. I finish my beer and cigarette and think. I've gone through so many different scenarios and reasoning, but I've come to accept it. I've been through my denial, my anger, my sadness, but now I've finally accepted it. Something in your life wasn't right and you felt it wasn't your place to be here. I still miss you, though.

I stand up there and think some more. I remember the last time I saw you was when I stole your stupid hat and shoved it down my pants. You were fucking pissed. You laughed it off and I think of that goofy laugh. I think of several shots of 151, naked billiards, and being Golem in Nick’s back yard. This year a smile comes to my face. There are no tears, just missed memories. You were quite the fun guy, Gary. I miss hanging out with you.

I scribble a little note to you on the wall in a sharpie: "Gary, I'll always love you man. You will always be remembered and you will always be my brother." They painted over they over the spray painted message I left in years past. Hopefully, this one will remain for awhile. I light my candle and place it in the corner. I'm done here. I get back in the car and head to the turnpike.

I know it's not a Friday or Saturday night, the nights you went down, but I have to do a few laps for you. I never was one for racing, seeing as to how I drove a Toyota Camry at the time, but you were. Cars, going fast, and weed were your life. This is all part of our memorial. The laps go by, and I drive back home. I know you were driving with me. I felt it.

Whatever your reason for killing yourself is, Gary, I no longer desire to know. But know this: you will always be my brother. I love you, man.


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Submitted by blackbear at 2018-01-18 16:33:36 EST (#)
Rating: 0

meh

Submitted by RoadSong at 2017-12-19 00:44:56 EST (#)
Rating: 2

My bestie too
9 years and I still miss her every day
*sigh

Submitted by asmasta808 at 2017-12-16 13:37:43 EST (#)
Rating: -2

Gay. Make Internet straight again

Submitted by Tormentos at 2017-12-13 16:18:15 EST (#)

When I read a story like this, I wonder if the person who chose to die knew as they acted that their pain would not disappear with their death. The pain that convinced them to find their end is not gone at all. It is multiplied and ends up settling into the souls of all those who loved the one who chose to die. It forces its way in there and then just takes up space where joy should be.



Submitted by SilvrWolf at 2017-12-13 07:49:09 EST (#)
Rating: 2

Catharsis... I feel you. My best friend killed himself three years ago this week.

Sayonara, lost friend.


Hey, if you're going to get mad at me every time I do something
stupid, then I guess I'll just have to stop doing stupid things!

-- Homer Simpson
Mr. Plow