On The Edge of Invisible.

Chapter 2 • almost accountable

Matthew

Thick, tangible silence was around me as I looked over what I had done. My body lay eerily on the bed across from me, making it seem as though I was sleeping, but frankly, I wasn't. It wasn't like I had a heart attack, I was only 17, that kind of crap doesn't happen to teenage boys.

I'll tell you what happens to teenage boys.

Flashback 6 years to when I was 11 years old, I can remember being kicked down from the monkey bars, having no friends.

My dad was in the military, was that my fault?

We moved to Washington, and North Carolina, and California, and Georgia and I had nothing in common with anyone, was that my fault?

Flashback to my first day of junior high, I can remember eating by myself because my brother was being teased and I stuck up for him.

Me being a good brother, a good person, was that my fault?

I can remember the looks, the punches and the words shouted from different sides of the hallways referring to how weird I was and how my life would lead as I innocently tried to trade my Chemistry book for my Spanish book my sophomore year.

Me trying to graduate? Was that my fault?

I can remember hearing the dreadful, unexpected new.

I can remember the tears.

Was it my fault my dad's plane went down?

I can remember the betrayal, the feeling of the sharp knife in my gut when my mom moved on.

Was it my fault my mom decided to re-marry some jerk from Connecticut?

No. None of those things were my fault. They were out of my control. Yet the blame somehow still felt heavy on my shoulders.

But I can tell you for sure whose fault it is that my body is laying limp on that bed; it's mine.

Nobody cared about what I was feeling, nobody cared what effect their decisions would have on me, but you can only imagine how many people are going to care a whole hell of a lot tomorrow when they find out they were the reason a junior decided life wasn't an option.

I kept playing in my mind their reactions. If they'd fall to the floor, or shake their head in disappointment. I wondered if they'd find the note before or after they couldn't find my pulse. I wondered if my teachers would call home when I didn't show up for my last 3 periods, if my mom would come home and make dinner without checking on me. I wondered if my step-dad would take an Advil for a headache and realize half of the pills were missing.

Yet beneath all of my prideful handiwork, I felt emptier, and plainer than I had ever been.

Sitting here waiting had to be the worst part. I had saved myself from the pain, but caused others so much of it, and now I couldn't ever take it back, and the pain I was feeling now was worse than it ever was.

My fault. My fault.

With that I heard the front door open, and I froze. I heard the familiar jingle and clash of keys being thrown into the small dish by the coat room, meaning my mom had just gotten home from work. I heard her call out my name into the empty house,

"Maaaatthew!"

I cringed at her innocence. She called me everyday, and I'd usually answer but the last few weeks I had ignored it. I had lost the motivation to fake my smile and the energy to appear happy.