“What makes it a lie?”
I can’t look at the camera. Instead I concentrate on the hangnail on my thumb. Isn’t this how dogs behave when they’re caught doing something bad, like napping on the bed or digging up the yard? They don’t make eye contact with their masters because if they do, that makes the situation real?
This enormous pressure builds and builds in my chest. I’m afraid if I don’t let some of it out, I’ll puff up like that purple girl in Willy Wonka and Owen will be forced to roll me back home.
Finally, I say, “Mostly, it’s a lie because I’m conflicted. Stephen was my best friend but that’s not the whole story. He also made me furious sometimes. And I’m a horrible person because I was trying to find a way to not room with him next year. I blamed him for dragging me down. I felt like he held me back and I was not about having that follow me to college. I hate myself for feeling this. I’m sad and mad and full-up on self-loathing. I am anything but fine.”
“Sounds like you’re still in the anger stage of grief. Spoiler alert—it’ll pass. But the shit that comes after is no great shakes, either. What was the big problem with you guys?”
“I was tired of being his cheerleader, tired of always trying to smooth things out for him, to talk him off ledges.”
“Tired of being his gatekeeper?”
“In a lot of ways, that’s exactly what I was, but I didn’t realize it. I’ll never stop wishing I’d taken the job more seriously. He’d have done the same for me, if I were depressed. He probably would have been great at it, too, because that kid loved to beat me at everything.” I let out a bitter laugh.
Owen nods, saying nothing.
I continue, “That’s the thing, I’m pretty sure he was suffering from depression, with manic phases thrown in. In retrospect, I see it now, all the signs, clear as a goddamned bell. The fatigue, the hopelessness, the way he withdrew, lost interest in everything? He may as well have painted a sign, you know? And on some level, I knew, I had to know, and I can’t forgive myself for not taking action.”
“What kind of action should you have taken?”
“Maybe I could have just put aside my frustration and really been there for him?”
“How do you know you weren’t? Stop blaming yourself, man. That won’t get you anywhere. Blame prevents healing.”
My eyes fixed to the ragged skin around my thumb, I say, “He used to frustrate me so much because he was all talk—he was the king of not following through on everything he’d fantasize about, from talking to girls to jumping off the high dive. What’s that expression, ‘all hat and no saddle’? I realize now he had suicidal ideation—he’d say stuff like the world would be better off without him and that no one would even miss him if he were gone.”
My chin begins to quiver and my eyes well. Before the Gatekeepers, I’d never let anyone see me cry. Now I don’t care. Good thing, because I’m like a fucking water fountain.
“I never took him seriously. I’m a dick because I never took him seriously. I figured, please, like he’d actually do anything. I dismissed so much because he was incapable of following through. I feel like this was my fault. I wake up with the guilt practically suffocating me every day because I didn’t understand what he was trying to tell me. I was wrapped up in my own world and I’m a shitty friend and because of that, he’s gone.”
“No. You did as much as you could with the tools and knowledge you had. You have to tell yourself that. I repeat these words to myself every day, like a mantra.”
I look long and hard at him. “When did you start to really believe these words?”
He gives me a tired shrug. “I’ll let you know when it happens.”
*
Two hours, and half a box of Kleenex later, we finish our interview. For the first time, I feel a tiny glimmer of hope, like I won’t be sad forever, like I have a future after Stephen.
Yeah, fine, about fifty times I wanted him to stop filming so that I could run away, but I felt like I owed it to Stephen to be brave and soldier on, so that’s what I did. I thought the easiest part would be sharing all the positive stuff about Stephen, all the good times, but it turns out, that was the hardest.
I will miss him every day for the rest of my life. But I also understand that I have to get on with my life, that living well is my obligation. It’s on me to fulfill his promise for both of us now.
(Mental note: Owen says I should continue work on the sex robot in his honor, whenever I get back in that headspace.)
“You did great, Kent. Thanks, bro. I hope this film helps people. I feel like the more we discuss the impact of suicide within the Gatekeepers, the more safeguards we put in place, the better we’ll be going forward,” Owen says.
I wonder what Stephen would think about Owen being the one to memorialize his life.
That he’d probably hate it brings a wry smile to my face.
“I’m glad we’ve reconnected. You grew up to be a really good guy.”
“Hey, man, thanks. You, too.” Owen begins to busy himself disassembling his camera rigging.
“Would it be weird to say that I wish you and Simone would have worked out?” I ask, gathering up the used tissues.
He shrugs. “Not weird. I really vibed with her and I thought she might feel the same, but then, I was a vapor trail. I don’t blame her, I was in a bad place. In terms of choosing between us, let’s see...fucked-up stoner or Mr. Class President? Hell, I’d pick him. Dude’s a catch.”
“You’re selling yourself short,” I say. “Plus, I’m starting to get a weird feeling about Liam.”
“Yeah? How’s that?”
“Eh, can’t put my finger on it. I mean, he’s nice and all, but there’s something off. Like in an old Japanese horror movie where the dialogue doesn’t quite line up with how the actor moves his mouth?” I say.
“You talkin’ Mothra vs. Godzilla?” Owen asks.
“Or Godzilla vs. Mechagodzilla.”
“Which, in my opinion was the best of the Godzillas,” Owen says.
“Right?” I exclaim. “I forgot you were a fan. Jesus, it’s been too long. Have you ever seen Terror of Mechagodzilla?”
“Seen it? I got a download of it right here,” he says, pointing to his laptop. “I am super into Japanese horror movies right now, particularly the directors. Tell me you’ve seen Shimizu’s The Grudge.”
“Yeah, only about ten times.”
We smack our palms together in a high five. After the gut-wrenching dialogue over the past two hours, it’s a little surreal to suddenly shift into being two regular bros hanging out, talking about old monster flicks.
While it’s not yet getting better, per se, Owen’s right, I can see the very beginning of it getting different.
For now, that’ll do.
35
SIMONE
“He said what?”
“It’s madness, right?” I say, after recounting the whole Jasper conversation with Liam.