This is going to be late for some and early for others, but I post at my leisure so I don't really care.
First of all Happy Birthday to my Mom and my Grandmother.
Happy Birthday to Bill. Real family.
Happy Birthday to my partners in crime Adrian and Dustin. Gold Medal for life. Lets do this.
Happy Birthday to James and Soap, and even though neither of you will ever read this, you are the closest thing I've ever had to older brothers. Thank you for everything both of you have done for me.
Happy Birthday to Eli. There's a lot that I could say about you, but this is not the time and certainly not the place. One day you'll find whatever it is you are looking for. Trust me.
Aside from that, I'll have something new up soon. And no, if you feel left out I didn't forget you, you just don't have a birthday anywhere near this month.
-
William Wallace
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Hindsight 20/20
This is for 8 people and 8 people only. If you are wondering if you are one of those 8, then you are not one of the 8. You know who are.
I was just laying there. Completely motionless. Thinking back, I don’t remember if I felt dead. I wish I could remember what dying feels like. I only remember being numb. There was a certain strange urgency to it though. It was like my body was in a hurry to leave itself. I remember not feeling very good about that. Not good at all.
Looking down on your dead body isn’t exactly a common experience anyway. I must have took a pretty good hit to the head at some point, because I also don’t remember how long I was laying there before I was helped. Maybe “helped” isn’t the right word. Maybe I should say that when they put me on that stretcher and ripped me away from my world, that the last thing that they were doing was helping. But who am I to say who helped and who didn’t? They had the medical equipment and the ambulance. At that point I was just dead weight. A tombstone and an inconvenience.
The room was so white. It was bright. My eyes took some time to adjust to the striking whiteness of everything. There was nothing in this room except for a white rose in a white vase. The only discolorations of the room was the green stem of the flower and the dirt that it sat in. In some very foreign way, I could feel some sort of pull from the flower. Not a physical pull. It was a mental pull. I just stood there looking at it. I remember feeling really troubled about this situation. Just as I started to feel comfortable something fell from the ceiling and hit one of the roses petals. It surprised me just as much as it surprised the flower and we flinched in unison. I was terrified to look up and avoided it for as long as I could. Eventually I did look up and nothing was there.
Was I confused? I was way beyond being confused. I crept up to the flower very slowly and saw what had hit the unfortunate petal. A small drop of blood stood as the only blemish on this otherwise beautiful plant. I had so many questions but there was no one there to answer them and that upset me. It upset me because for so long I’d been the one with the answers. I didn’t know what to do. There was no exit to the room. There were no windows. At this point I was surprisingly optimistic. Then the flower wilted and died. I can’t really explain that. There was nothing on the ceiling.
The headlights seemed a lot more distant than they actually were. I guess now it goes without saying. It’s funny how things work themselves out.
Right before it all happened I remember being extremely tired. I didn’t fall asleep though because I wasn’t physically tired, just emotionally exhausted. I was ready to get out. I was so tired of people trying to make me feel like I was leaving when all I ever did was try to love them. I was only trying to help. I wasn’t the one that left. I still haven’t left. Maybe I just didn’t try hard enough. Or maybe they weren’t trying either. Maybe it doesn’t matter anymore. Well, it still matters to me. I still want them to know. But you know what they say, when it rains it pours.
It was so bright. I was terribly uncomfortable in this room. There was no plant there that I could depend on anymore. Just me. I don’t know if I was still alive when I was in this room. I felt alive, but then again I felt nothing so I can’t really say if I was alive or not. The whole incident is still a blur. Exhausted as I was at the time, I was still pretty happy. Actually, I felt great. It was really bad timing to feel great. I’m not even sure if I remember feeling great. A lot of really strange things were happening in my life that could have easily affected my own judgment of how I felt about me. Just when I was thinking about myself for the first time in a long time, a man entered the room from a door that I hadn’t seen and asked me to follow him.
There were hundreds of newspaper articles written about what happened to me, but I’ve only ever read one. It was the first one I saw the day after it happened. The date caught my attention. September 28th, 2009. The headline on the front page read: “YOUNG MAN DIES IN AUTO ACCIDENT.” I laughed at first. There was something about “Young Man” that made me laugh. I don’t know why. I started reading the article and it went something like this: “At approximately 1:30 A.M this morning, Andrew James *******, 20, was killed in an automobile accident. His vehicle was struck by a sixteen year old boy, who was not identified at press time, that ran the red light at the intersection of Hercules Road and Newport Gap Pike in Wilmington, Delaware. Alcohol has been mentioned as a possible factor in the accident. Andrew was pronounced dead at the scene, and it is highly possible that he was killed before the paramedics arrived. The other boy is being treated for minor injuries at the Christiana Hospital and is listed in stable condition. Andrew’s family was not available for comment at the time, however the police have hinted that charges may be pressed.”
There was more than that, but that’s all I can remember. I wish I could tell you what it was like, but my memory has faded since that night and now the only memory I have is supplied by that newspaper article. I remember hearing that the coroner said I died of massive head trauma. I guess that’s true. The young boy was drunk when he ran that red light. For a long time I was very angry. I was angry that some stupid kid made a mistake and took my life and he was fine, but I’m not any more. I’m no longer angry. I’ve forgiven him because he meant no harm. He’s currently spending time in the state penitentiary and I wish him the best when he finishes serving his sentence.
I’ve heard about the general reaction from other people. Most of the people that read the articles just turned the page. Some other people used it as an example for their kids. The “Moms Against Drunk Driving” organizations ate it up. They tried to vilify that poor kid and make me some sort of martyr. I’m not a hero, I just had bad timing. A few people that read it talked about it for a couple of weeks. A couple people cried and even less people smiled. The funny thing is out of all of the reactions there were to my death, not one of them satisfied me. I wish the people that turned the page read the article twice. I wish the people that used me as an example turned the page. I wish the people that talked about it for a couple of weeks cried. I wish the people that cried smiled and I wish the people that smiled knew that I was smiling too.
Like I said, I was ripped away from my world. I didn’t think I was ready to let go, but there was an interim period of ten seconds after the accident where I was just kind of staring at my body. Not at all alive, but not quite dead. I was just hovering above myself. I remember feeling weird watching myself lay there. Ultimately, I made the decision not to return to myself. I let go. It was my decision as much as was anyone else’s.
It’s been 10 days since the accident, although I wouldn’t really call it an accident. An accident implies that it wasn’t supposed to happen; that it was a mistake. I’m done believing that it was an accident. There was a reason for what happened to me, I just don’t know what it is yet. When I was alive I was never a highly religious or spiritual person. I was never too concerned on whether there was a God or not, or if we got sent to Heaven or Hell based on our deeds as humans. I’ve read before that “every man is guilty of all the good he did not do.” I always sort of figured that if there was a Heaven or Hell that I would be sent to Hell. That’s not to say I was a bad kid, because I wasn’t. I had always cheated myself out of so much that I assumed I would be denied access to Heaven. Looking back, I disregarded a lot of signs because I refused to ever believe in anything other than myself. I’d let things slip away from me because of my unwillingness to believe in something more. Even now I still only believe in myself.
The man took me from that room to a very large open area that stretched on for miles and miles. There was a long line of people of all shapes, sizes, colors, and backgrounds. People from all walks of life. I couldn’t even see the beginning of the line from where I was standing. I was handed a packet of papers that was to be filled out by the time I reached the front of the line. At the top of the paper was a date: October 21st, 2009. I could only assume that that would be my judgment day. I started looking through the packet of papers to see what kind of information was requested. Instead of filling out the required fields I started writing this very story on the hallowed sheets. Now I’m next in line and I don’t know what to think. My whole life has been all or nothing.
For so long people have gathered and prayed and cried and fought and lived and died over an idea. Over speculation. Over a story. I can’t say that I believe in this anymore than I did when I was alive. I’m not going to use death as a reason to believe. All that I can hope for is that the world remembers me. I hope one day one of you finds these hallowed sheets that were written by a hallowed pen held by a hallowed hand maneuvered by my hallowed mind guided by my hallowed heart. I hope after I’m gone the only memory you have of me are these words. I hope they provide balance and stability. I hope they provide strength. I hope one day you realize that I never made an excuse. I never betrayed a friend. I never turned my back. I never gave in to temptations. I never sat on idle hands. I hope one day you realize I never turned my back.
I hope one day you realize I never turned my back.
I hope one day you realize I never turned my back.
I hope one day you realize I never turned my back.
I hope you realize I never turned my back.
I never turned my back.
And I will be back for you.
And this is where the story ends.
And this is where you fall apart.
And this is where the story ends.
William Wallace
Forever GMK.
I was just laying there. Completely motionless. Thinking back, I don’t remember if I felt dead. I wish I could remember what dying feels like. I only remember being numb. There was a certain strange urgency to it though. It was like my body was in a hurry to leave itself. I remember not feeling very good about that. Not good at all.
Looking down on your dead body isn’t exactly a common experience anyway. I must have took a pretty good hit to the head at some point, because I also don’t remember how long I was laying there before I was helped. Maybe “helped” isn’t the right word. Maybe I should say that when they put me on that stretcher and ripped me away from my world, that the last thing that they were doing was helping. But who am I to say who helped and who didn’t? They had the medical equipment and the ambulance. At that point I was just dead weight. A tombstone and an inconvenience.
The room was so white. It was bright. My eyes took some time to adjust to the striking whiteness of everything. There was nothing in this room except for a white rose in a white vase. The only discolorations of the room was the green stem of the flower and the dirt that it sat in. In some very foreign way, I could feel some sort of pull from the flower. Not a physical pull. It was a mental pull. I just stood there looking at it. I remember feeling really troubled about this situation. Just as I started to feel comfortable something fell from the ceiling and hit one of the roses petals. It surprised me just as much as it surprised the flower and we flinched in unison. I was terrified to look up and avoided it for as long as I could. Eventually I did look up and nothing was there.
Was I confused? I was way beyond being confused. I crept up to the flower very slowly and saw what had hit the unfortunate petal. A small drop of blood stood as the only blemish on this otherwise beautiful plant. I had so many questions but there was no one there to answer them and that upset me. It upset me because for so long I’d been the one with the answers. I didn’t know what to do. There was no exit to the room. There were no windows. At this point I was surprisingly optimistic. Then the flower wilted and died. I can’t really explain that. There was nothing on the ceiling.
The headlights seemed a lot more distant than they actually were. I guess now it goes without saying. It’s funny how things work themselves out.
Right before it all happened I remember being extremely tired. I didn’t fall asleep though because I wasn’t physically tired, just emotionally exhausted. I was ready to get out. I was so tired of people trying to make me feel like I was leaving when all I ever did was try to love them. I was only trying to help. I wasn’t the one that left. I still haven’t left. Maybe I just didn’t try hard enough. Or maybe they weren’t trying either. Maybe it doesn’t matter anymore. Well, it still matters to me. I still want them to know. But you know what they say, when it rains it pours.
It was so bright. I was terribly uncomfortable in this room. There was no plant there that I could depend on anymore. Just me. I don’t know if I was still alive when I was in this room. I felt alive, but then again I felt nothing so I can’t really say if I was alive or not. The whole incident is still a blur. Exhausted as I was at the time, I was still pretty happy. Actually, I felt great. It was really bad timing to feel great. I’m not even sure if I remember feeling great. A lot of really strange things were happening in my life that could have easily affected my own judgment of how I felt about me. Just when I was thinking about myself for the first time in a long time, a man entered the room from a door that I hadn’t seen and asked me to follow him.
There were hundreds of newspaper articles written about what happened to me, but I’ve only ever read one. It was the first one I saw the day after it happened. The date caught my attention. September 28th, 2009. The headline on the front page read: “YOUNG MAN DIES IN AUTO ACCIDENT.” I laughed at first. There was something about “Young Man” that made me laugh. I don’t know why. I started reading the article and it went something like this: “At approximately 1:30 A.M this morning, Andrew James *******, 20, was killed in an automobile accident. His vehicle was struck by a sixteen year old boy, who was not identified at press time, that ran the red light at the intersection of Hercules Road and Newport Gap Pike in Wilmington, Delaware. Alcohol has been mentioned as a possible factor in the accident. Andrew was pronounced dead at the scene, and it is highly possible that he was killed before the paramedics arrived. The other boy is being treated for minor injuries at the Christiana Hospital and is listed in stable condition. Andrew’s family was not available for comment at the time, however the police have hinted that charges may be pressed.”
There was more than that, but that’s all I can remember. I wish I could tell you what it was like, but my memory has faded since that night and now the only memory I have is supplied by that newspaper article. I remember hearing that the coroner said I died of massive head trauma. I guess that’s true. The young boy was drunk when he ran that red light. For a long time I was very angry. I was angry that some stupid kid made a mistake and took my life and he was fine, but I’m not any more. I’m no longer angry. I’ve forgiven him because he meant no harm. He’s currently spending time in the state penitentiary and I wish him the best when he finishes serving his sentence.
I’ve heard about the general reaction from other people. Most of the people that read the articles just turned the page. Some other people used it as an example for their kids. The “Moms Against Drunk Driving” organizations ate it up. They tried to vilify that poor kid and make me some sort of martyr. I’m not a hero, I just had bad timing. A few people that read it talked about it for a couple of weeks. A couple people cried and even less people smiled. The funny thing is out of all of the reactions there were to my death, not one of them satisfied me. I wish the people that turned the page read the article twice. I wish the people that used me as an example turned the page. I wish the people that talked about it for a couple of weeks cried. I wish the people that cried smiled and I wish the people that smiled knew that I was smiling too.
Like I said, I was ripped away from my world. I didn’t think I was ready to let go, but there was an interim period of ten seconds after the accident where I was just kind of staring at my body. Not at all alive, but not quite dead. I was just hovering above myself. I remember feeling weird watching myself lay there. Ultimately, I made the decision not to return to myself. I let go. It was my decision as much as was anyone else’s.
It’s been 10 days since the accident, although I wouldn’t really call it an accident. An accident implies that it wasn’t supposed to happen; that it was a mistake. I’m done believing that it was an accident. There was a reason for what happened to me, I just don’t know what it is yet. When I was alive I was never a highly religious or spiritual person. I was never too concerned on whether there was a God or not, or if we got sent to Heaven or Hell based on our deeds as humans. I’ve read before that “every man is guilty of all the good he did not do.” I always sort of figured that if there was a Heaven or Hell that I would be sent to Hell. That’s not to say I was a bad kid, because I wasn’t. I had always cheated myself out of so much that I assumed I would be denied access to Heaven. Looking back, I disregarded a lot of signs because I refused to ever believe in anything other than myself. I’d let things slip away from me because of my unwillingness to believe in something more. Even now I still only believe in myself.
The man took me from that room to a very large open area that stretched on for miles and miles. There was a long line of people of all shapes, sizes, colors, and backgrounds. People from all walks of life. I couldn’t even see the beginning of the line from where I was standing. I was handed a packet of papers that was to be filled out by the time I reached the front of the line. At the top of the paper was a date: October 21st, 2009. I could only assume that that would be my judgment day. I started looking through the packet of papers to see what kind of information was requested. Instead of filling out the required fields I started writing this very story on the hallowed sheets. Now I’m next in line and I don’t know what to think. My whole life has been all or nothing.
For so long people have gathered and prayed and cried and fought and lived and died over an idea. Over speculation. Over a story. I can’t say that I believe in this anymore than I did when I was alive. I’m not going to use death as a reason to believe. All that I can hope for is that the world remembers me. I hope one day one of you finds these hallowed sheets that were written by a hallowed pen held by a hallowed hand maneuvered by my hallowed mind guided by my hallowed heart. I hope after I’m gone the only memory you have of me are these words. I hope they provide balance and stability. I hope they provide strength. I hope one day you realize that I never made an excuse. I never betrayed a friend. I never turned my back. I never gave in to temptations. I never sat on idle hands. I hope one day you realize I never turned my back.
I hope one day you realize I never turned my back.
I hope one day you realize I never turned my back.
I hope one day you realize I never turned my back.
I hope you realize I never turned my back.
I never turned my back.
And I will be back for you.
And this is where the story ends.
And this is where you fall apart.
And this is where the story ends.
William Wallace
Forever GMK.
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