FATE

44. I die

JONAH

A month after my mom's death, my father packed most of her things into the attic, the rest he donated to a private foundation in Boston called the barr foundation. The things he put in the attic were things he considered non-reusable, like aprons with stains that won't go off on them and old gardening boots. The attic was like a graveyard for mom's things. They were stocked in boxes and placed on top of each other. He never went up there like I did. They say, "out of sight, out of mind" right? and he was quick to move on. I was happy he didn't give those things away though, they represented the most intimate moments I ever spent with her and climbing up the attic for four years helped.

Until I was fifteen of course.

When I was fifteen, I went up to the attic like I did on most days to go through her stuff, relive memories and imagine that she was there with me, watching and running her fingers through my hair. On my way out of the attic, as I climbed down the ladder, I slipped and fell.

I have a theory that when you get to a certain level of fucked up like me, your ability to feel physical pain reduces because merely opening your eyes to see the world already hurts. I remember closing my eyes that day and focusing on breathing because as much as I wish for death, I want to decide how I go.

The doctor said I broke a knee and ankle with numerous bruises and fractured ribs. My Dad found out what I had been doing in that attic and he told my worried Aunt Wendy that he would lock it up. My chances of reconnecting with my mother were gone and it was in that hospital that I stole and took drugs for the first time.

"He'll have to take the Tylenol and Advil for pain now", the doctor said.

"Okay", the nurse said watching as he walked out without another word.

The door closed and she smiled sheepishly at me as she grabbed a bottle of pills from the tray.

"You're feeling better today, right Jonah?", she asked as she handed me a bottle of water and dropped tablets on my palm.

I nodded, swallowing enough water to keep the pills afloat when I tossed them into my mouth so I didn't have to taste them.

As I closed the bottle, I stared at the tray. "Are those all painkillers?"

"Yes, they are"

"So what's the difference between those ones and the ones I just took?"

"Well, some painkillers are stronger than others", she pointed to a bunch of oxycontin, "this one for example is for much more harsher pain than the one you're feeling now"

I shook my head. She didn't know that for sure, "nothing could be worse than the pain I feel now"

"Something could always be worse"

Oxycontin is a prescription medicine, strong enough to manage severe, round the clock pain. What I love about it is that it changes how your body responds to pain, physical pain if taken in the right amount, other types of pain if taken in the amount I did.

Before I got discharged, I was able to move around the hospital on some days in a wheelchair and nobody ever suspects that a fifteen year old would be trying to steal painkillers. I took the pills home and showed them to Hailee. That night was the first night we felt truly happy, without any thoughts distracting us. We were happy that we forgot how to breathe. Our minds were finally working, we were expressing the right emotions; happiness, joy and a sense of well being.

We died that night.

Or at least that's what it felt like.

Withdrawal from Oxycontin usually causes anxiety, nausea and cold flashes amongst other things. It was no different for Hailee and I but by then, we had already met Louis at school.