He Was Happy

In which I run a marathon to outpace my nightmares.

Hi. I finished a marathon (26.2 miles or 42.2 km). Mostly for mental health. Sometimes I think we put ourselves through a certain kind of pain as a deal with a higher power. “I can handle this pain. I can handle this. So please, don’t make me live through the other pain. Not again.” That was the prayer at every mile.

And I’ll run another marathon. And another. Whatever I have to do. To not feel this anymore.

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Photo by Nahid Hatami on Unsplash

He Was Happy

Content warning: self harm

It’s morning when I get the call from mom.

“Your baby brother...”

The corporate team watches me startle and gasp into the phone. I have to go. I have to go.

I hold the past and present in my arms from Wall Street to LaGuardia to O’Hare to Wisconsin. Holding tight to a world where the future hasn’t yet arrived. Where all I have to do is hop on that plane, and fix it. I can fix it.

[“If you truly love those people as much as you claim to.”]*

I stare down the horizon while something that has splintered ricochets around my chest and tears at the rest of me. I nurse the ripping, pinching pain knowing that his heart is broken, too. His blood pressure keeps falling, they say. And falling. And falling. I sip air into creaky lungs. There are people on this plane. I can’t cry. I can’t cry. But I think. If I hadn’t gotten him a phone, would he have seen those comments.

[“Adopted identities.”]

If I hadn’t gotten him a computer for school, would he have read those words.

[“Those people.”]

His heart. This was the kid. Who picked a beetle up from the rain. And stood against the wind to give it shelter.

[“Those people.”]

This was the teen. Who would not listen. When I pleaded with him to put up walls. Because he loved his neighbor too much to block them out.

[“Those people.”]

But what does a soul who rescues trapped porch moths know about putting up walls? What does a soul who shines brightly at strangers know about pushing people away? It was never in his nature.

I can fix this. Finally, I stand at the hospital room door, my feet planted at the threshold, holding the future behind me. A grim reaper trying to enter. Don’t come in. We stay here. We make a trade. A future for a future. Listen. No, listen. I don’t want mine. I don’t want mine.

[“No.”]

Please, I’m right here. Don’t come in. See, my heart doesn’t work either.

[“No trans kids.”]

And he was happy.

He was happy.

[“No.”]

He was happy.

[“There are no trans kids.”]

Please.

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*Bracketed excerpts are from fiction writers in our community and J.K. Rowling.