I didn’t use to be like this, I was happy once, I was fun and I would laugh. But that was then. It’s hard to describe, the change, but it’s not hard to figure out why. When there’s a tragedy everyone reacts differently, some people cry nonstop, some people go into denial, and some get angry. I guess I did them all, at first I was in denial, there was just no way that it was real. I just talked to him, he couldn’t have been dead. But then it sunk in and it killed. The pain got to be so much that I could barely handle it. I cried all the time, and when I wasn’t crying I was sleeping. But eventually my tears dried up and I didn’t cry anymore. But it went further than that, I didn’t do anything, all I did was sit in silence and stare off into space. I cut off all of my ties with my friends and would completely ignore my family. I would just sit up in my room. I still do that now, that where I am sitting here in my room. I write poems here, it’s the only thing that really helps, putting my words into poems or paragraphs. I like to do it, I don’t even really know why. I was never into writing before. I was always an athlete. I loved sports; it was he that got me into all the different sports. It was our thing, but when he died it didn’t feel right to play anymore, so I found a new way to express myself. Through my writing and music. I can tell that people think that I am crazy, but that’s because they don’t know. Nobody does, not even my best friends. I couldn’t tell people that he died because they didn’t know him, and I didn’t want the fake sympathy. Not to mention the fact that it hurts to talk about him. I can think about him, but talking makes it so real. After I saw how fake my family’s reactions were, I just couldn’t bare to tell anyone else. He was special to me, he was my best friend. He didn’t live in Carle Place though, I only knew him because we went to Villa Roma together when we were really little. We were five to be exact and he was my first friend, well the first friend that I met on my own anyway. His name was Mike and he was the nicest person that I have ever met, but if someone starting talking crap, especially about a friend of his he would call them on it and give them hell. I never talked about him in Carle Place, ever. He was kind of like a secret, like a long lost brother then lover or something, and he brought out a whole different side of me. My wild side, as he referred to it. I wasn’t out of control or anything, but I would just be carefree and have a good time. No one else has ever made me feel like that. I don’t think anyone ever will. Mike was someone I will never forget, and I know that it wasn’t his time to go yet, which just makes it that much harder to handle. He should have lived, it should have been me that died, but he just kept on fighting but letting loose at the same time. I remember that day like it was yesterday, even though it has been 4 years. I know it’s been a long time, but I can’t shake it, I haven’t made any progress. I just shrunk back into myself and hid out in my room. People wonder what happened, people still try to talk to me about it, but I just tell them that I want to be alone, every time. I want to keep his memory the same, I don’t want it to ever fade. I kind of want to be selfish with it, is that okay? Of course because the only other people who know me were his family and his friends but they all scattered. I know that it hurts them, but I can’t get past what happened. Now the memories playing, just like always, and I cant breathe. It should have been me to die. He still had his life all planned for him. Not me, I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with my life but he did. I don’t think I will ever get passed this. I’m not even sure that I want to. I feel like moving on isn’t fair to Mike, he doesn’t have the chance to move on. I have to go to school. I hate it there. The teachers noticed my change and are still trying to bring me out of it. It’s horrible to get fake sympathy and help. his smile that brightened so many days will be in my mind forever. He was my best friend, his name with was Micheal Joseph Figario and at the time he was fourteen or fifteen. See I don’t want this to happen that I can’t even remember the age that he died at. I don’t want to not remember him. I want to keep his memory alive with me forever until I die. But it feels like life doesn’t have the same plan as I do. I met him when I was five upstate in the place called Villa Roma. We were best friends ever since. I never told anyone though, I don’t really know why. I guess it was more special that way. Having a friend that no one knew. I could totally be myself with him; he just awakened this whole other side of me. Rain is an interesting thing. Each individual drop falls free from the sky only to blend into one big puddle. Rain is like people in that way, everyone tends to blend into the crowd. I used to blend, at Carle Place at least, but with Mike I would stand out. We would be the center of attention everywhere we went. I haven’t felt this good, alive, or, free in a long time. No one has been able to open up that part of me, but then you came along and all of a sudden it's like my life is coming together again, and that feels amazing. I have always hated the cold, but right now that isn’t really important. It’s times like now that I really miss Mike. He was the person that I could always talk to, someone who wouldn’t judge me, and would always make me feel better no matter what. He would also tell the truth even if I didn’t want to hear it. Sitting here I wish that he was here to tell me that everything was going to be okay, and that even though I totally messed up every relationship in my life right now, somehow, it would all work out. But for the first time I realized that he isn’t coming back, I mean I always knew, I just never really let myself believe it. I remember him loving the cold, actually any weather and the outdoors. He used to drag me outside on clear nights, and we would lie down and look at the stars. I never really appreciated those moments, and had no idea how much I would miss them. As I lay back and look into the sky, I let a small smile form on my lips. I close my eyes and let myself get lost in what used to be. Everyone that I care about hates me. He was a good person, and not the fake kind of good either, but the genuine kind. The person who puts other people first, and the person who would never hurt anyone on purpose.
Why did you die Mike? Huh” I look up into the sky and can't help but yell into the night. “You should have fought harder to stay alive. You should have taken the chemo or radiation. Did you ever think about how everyone else would feel? Or were you just selfish? For the first time as I talk to him, no tears fall, but every word is filled with pain, and hate. “You did this to me. You left me alone. You were the one who kept me sane, and good. But you just had to die didn’t you. I needed you here but you had to die! Why couldn’t you have done something more, why didn’t you try harder to stay alive. This is your entire fault. Everything, the pain that I feel and caused you should still be here. I needed you and you left me, you always promised to never leave me alone. Every time I was hurt or sad, you would say that you would always be there no matter what. So where the hell are you now! I need you to be here. You lied to me, you left me!” By now I am full out screaming at the sky, and gesturing wildly with my hands. “You left me alone, and I hate you for it. Did you hear that I said that I hate you! I am glad that you are dead! You lied! I hate you!” I didn’t cry. I didn’t feel sorry, I felt alive, and it felt good. It felt extremely liberating and good but not anymore I just feel sick to my stomach. The meadow is so beautiful when it rains.
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