A Story of Life: Part 1

A new world arises. This one is in the pursuit of its own end.

I’m going to kill myself on Saturday. I chose Saturday for a variety of reasons, the perfect 75 degree high on the forecast, my complete lack of other plans, but mostly because it was 5 years to the day. Five years ago I wasn’t happy either, but are any of us? Five years ago I knew that life was a futile exercise in meaning; yet, irrationally I chose to continue living. 

Monday

It’s 8:47 AM. I’m staring at the Windows 10 Lock Screen on my laptop; I’m pretty sure I saw these ruins when I visited Paraguay years ago. I remember the wind sweeping across the hills moved fast, but the Land Cruiser seemed to be eating the dirt road ahead with little issue.

We entered a town and slowed down as we passed the houses surrounded by small Yerba plantations. As I admired the low terracotta roofs on the houses, the driver turned us down a path that almost looked like it was just washed out from the ground. 

Where we were headed was a home. It belonged to a mutual friend from America, Juan Villardes. Juan made the phone call that put me on the Citation Encore to Ciudad del Este that morning. Juan needed me to meet with the bishop of the Roman Catholic Diocese of Concepción, Zacarías Ortiz Rolón. He never said what for, but that it would be a great honour on all of our parts if I came. 

We drove up to an armed gate that immediately opened and led us into a courtyard. I walked up the steps into the open front doors of the house. I stepped across the glazed tiles on the floor as the warm winds blew into the house. The bishop sat on a large wicker couch as I approached. He pointed for me to sit and began to speak:

“Gracias por viajar tan lejos. Mi inglés no es bien, espero que no te importe.”

“I don’t mind your excellency.”

“These lands belong to the Guarani people for many years. Do you hear of this Ernesto Carvalho?”

“I know of his work.”

“He is terrorising the farmers and ranchers nearby for their land.”

He stood and motioned for me to follow him out of the house. I stood and followed him out of the back of the house. Juan owned a beautiful property that sprawled many acres into the hills beyond the house. Up one of those hills were the steps that I followed the Bishop upon. We travelled onwards with two armed men following us some feet behind. The path was well kept going up the hill through the overgrowth. Eventually the path led only to an overgrown opening in front of us. The Bishop continued through the hole in the growth and I hesitated. I looked behind and the armed men were stopped 60 feet down the path. I followed the Bishop into the small opening. Inside was a stone building with vine growth throughout.

The bishop stood near an open window in the stone and spoke:

“Come my son.”

He motioned me towards him. I walked up to his side and he pointed:

“There is the camp of Carvalho’s men. Some of them truly boys as young as 14. They want to expand their operation and increase security.”

I looked down over the shacks dotting the landscape, with Toyota trucks scurrying about the roads of the property. It looked like preparation for war, the very last thing this region needed. These people were hardworking and generally poor. The only thing they have to pass down to the next generations are land and livestock. The bishop began to speak again:

“They have poisoned many cattle, destroyed crops, and killed to intimidate these people. It has made the youth of the villages give up. They’ve watched everything taken from them, they know only one way to make money.”

“I understand all of this, your excellency, but I must ask; why am I here?”

“Carvalho will be here tomorrow night. He needs to be dealt with.” 

“I don’t know what Juan told you about me but don't you think you have the right guy. I could possibly deal with Carvalho, but he has the entire EPP behind him also. You may be better off asking the Army for more help here.”

“Juan said that you were just the right person. Plus God has placed me in peace with you saving these people.” 

“Will you pray for me your excellency?”

“Come my son.”

I came to my knees and the bishop placed his hands on my head. I’m not the most deeply religious man, but I realised the task ahead could only be described as divine intervention. The bishop lifted my bowed head and exclaimed:

“Do not be afraid, you shall never be alone.”

The bishop walked away from the window in the stone, and the daylight spread across the skin on my face. He walked to the entrance, stopped, and proclaimed:

“Goodbye good son. May the light of the Lord continue to shine upon you.”

That was the last I saw of the bishop. When I stood and walked to the exit there were no armed men standing down the stairs on the hill. By the time I made it back down to the house I walked inside to a lunch laid out by the house staff. I pulled out my iPhone to call Juan, but then laid it screen-down on the table. I was here now, and the only thing I could truly do is go save these people. But how?

I wipe my eyes and realise I’m late for the morning Zoom meeting. I log into the computer as the scent of my morning tea starts to hit my nose. The past matters very little right now. Saturday. That’s what’s on my mind. 

Tuesday:

“I hate having to worry if you’re gonna come home.”

“I have yet to not come home, right?” 

“Well make sure you do this time.”

The sound of my iPhone alarm made my head vibrate as I flashed awake. I had a few breaths before I finally looked around the room. It was silent and dark, and I was alone. My wife was a good woman. She put up with a lot from me, but never complained. She loved me, and I loved her. But love couldn’t save her. Love can’t even save me. I remember the last time I saw her; an abnormally warm mid-fall day, where the leaves floated in a light breeze and landed amongst the flowing green blades of grass. It was paradise for the moment, and I couldn’t think of anyone I’d rather enjoy it with.

The harsh reality was my bed was empty and I’m going to kill myself real soon. But I had work to do first. One of my coworkers convinced me to come volunteer today. She said it might be good for me to get some air and not just think about things all the time. I don’t confide in anyone at work but Sharla. Let me make it clear, I’m not even remotely interested in Sharla, but I still don’t want to get too close. 

But Sharla is irrelevant right now, I have work to do.

I walked into the homeless shelter that morning in a fog but it was nice to not be working at the office or home today. The creeping feeling of stagnation was still right there over my shoulder, or at least 24 hours away depending on how you look at it I guess. I shook myself back into consciousness as Sharla appeared with an apron and hair net. 

We were serving lunch to the homeless soon and had a few minutes to chat, even though I wanted nothing more than to just launch the words “I want to die” at her. 

“I’m glad you made it this morning.”

“I’m glad to be here”

A lie. Not because I didn’t want to be standing in a homeless shelter, but because I didn’t want to be standing anywhere at all.

“Look I’ve noticed you haven’t looked the happiest at the office recently. Most people in the office just avoid you so they don’t feel obligated to look you in the eyes. I’m just worried, even though I know we’re just coworkers, I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Remember the mall shooting 5 years ago?”

“Yeah I-”

As she went to let the sound of the letter R out of her mouth, the volunteer coordinator walked up to us to give instructions on what to do. I still had my mind on 5 years ago, I was in pain, but I didn’t have the mind to say openly how I felt about it all. 

An hour later as I handed off sandwiches, I noticed a face shambling down the line, but it looked different than I’d ever seen. It was my wife’s godson Keyon, he was dishevelled, hair everywhere, a beard that needed a trim months ago, and a disposition that I’d never seen on his face before. But how I really knew it was him was he was still wearing the small gold chain and pendant that my wife gave him for his tenth birthday. It was Keyon for sure as I watched him take small steps away towards a table.

After finishing my duty, I approached the coordinator from the shelter and asked:

“The young man in the orange shirt over there, how long has he been coming here?”

“Oh he’s been a fixture here for about the last 6 months. Do you know him?”

“Yeah, I know him. Can I go speak to him?” 

“Of course, please go talk to him.”

I walked over and sat on the folding chair across the table from him. He didn’t look up from the food in front of him as he slowly took his bites. 

“Keyon.”

He stopped. There was no light in his face. All that was left in his eyes was the dark. But those eyes recognised the darkness in my own. They opened wide and allowed me in.

Wednesday:

I avoid the mall nowadays, for obvious reasons. 

Keyon was in the passenger seat as drove by the large parking lot. The trip was home from Old Navy, Keyon needed a new wardrobe. The drive was quiet and turned into complete silence as we passed by. We both knew why but it had nothing to do with the moment we were in right now, mostly because I was too busy wanting to get to the bottom of where the hell Keyon had been. The last time I had seen him was his mother’s funeral a little over a year ago, where he already seemed like a different person. But I couldn’t quite put my finger on it then. But today, passing the mall, it couldn’t be any clearer.

“You hungry?”

“Yeah, I could eat.”

“You got an idea of what you’d like?”

No response.

“I remember you used to love Chinese. Fortune Cookie is right down the street.”

“I haven't had any in a long time.”

He stared out the window intensely. I turned down the next avenue towards the restaurant. My mind turned to his mother and my wife dining alongside younger versions of the occupants of the car. I recalled the conversation we had, it began with a question from me:

“So how are things?”

“I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?”

My wife chimes in:

“Look, it hasn’t been that long since Danny passed and we’re concerned is all.”

“I’m fine.”

I looked down the table at Keyon who struggled to look up from his food as his mother continued to tamp down our fears for her. We were right all along, but time was necessary to let the whole story unfold.

Snapping back to reality, the older, dishevelled Keyon was making the same face he did at that dinner with his mother. Keyon has been through a lot between his mother and my wife’s untimely passing so I couldn’t blame him for the sour disposition. HIs father died when he was 13 in a terrible highway crash and his mother wasn’t quite equipped to deal with grief on top of being there for him. It was a difficult time for us all, Danny was somebody I had become fast friends with after he married Yvette. Yvette was a complete and total mess after the crash. She had no faith in anything anymore and the pain constantly showed on her face. 

Keyon unfortunately was the one neglected the most in this situation. Time went on that way for far too long, and now I look at an expressionless Keyon in my passenger seat as a result. But for some reason, I felt hopeful sitting in the parking lot of that Chinese restaurant.

Thursday:

We were rolling fast down the washed-out roads leading down into the valley in a trio of black Land Cruiser Prados, my mind devoid of thoughts. I wasn’t in fear of what was coming for me, rather in fear that what I may do could hurt the people of this foreign land but I was ready for anything at this point. I missed my wife and desperately wanted to do whatever would bring me home for her sake. I had no idea what I was doing in this foreign land but now there were people relying on me. For what though? How was I to save all of them? When we pulled up to a ranch gate like many others in the area except for the men ready to die standing there with their AK-47s and tactical vests. I say men, but the bishop was right some of them were teenagers, grisled and forlorn, still very much ready to die.

I wake up again, my iPhone shows 3:50 as the time as I stare into the darkness in my room. The dreams keep haunting me day after day and I’m having a hard time staying in the present. I need to focus on Saturday. Saturday is more important than anything. As the weekend loomed closer I couldn't help but worry about Keyon. He was young and in a dark place himself, how dark I could never really tell. But nevermind that, Saturday, that is the focus. 

Before I could get my thoughts back in line the sun was rising. It reminded me how my wife used to stir as early as she could during the day. The last day I saw her she was up early making breakfast, planning what she was going to do that day. I got up and interrupted her train of thought as I sauntered into the kitchen:  

“I wondered if you were still asleep.”

“Wonder no more, baby”

“Do you want to eat outside? It’s already kinda warm out there.”

“Yeah that sounds good.”

We sat back in our pyjamas on the deck and enjoyed our breakfast. I had no clue this would be the last couple of hours I’d ever have with her but none of us think something so simple could end this way.

“So you’re up early today, what’s your plans?”

“Well I have a bit of early Christmas shopping I think I could knock out. So I’ll probably head down to the mall early before everybody comes out.”

“Sounds like a good plan. Maybe we can have lunch together later?”

My thoughts stopped and I sat there letting the silence settle in. I could hear the air rush through the ducts and blow down into my hair, where I felt every follicle brush and flow next to each other. My silence was broken by muffled sobs from the next room. I made my way into the hallway quietly and stood in the cracked doorway to the bedroom. I listened in as the young man in front of me cried his heart out. 

I walked down the hallway and decided to make breakfast. 

Friday:

Most people had left the office for the day but there I was still sitting at my desk listening to Yeat off a recommendation from Keyon. As Money Twerk played on the Bang&Olufson speakers next to my monitor, I stared at the screen trying to make sense of a report that hit my desk at 3 pm on a Friday. I remembered the fact I planned on taking my own life tomorrow and shut the computer off. I sat back in my chair and giggled to myself briefly while I remembered what brought me here in the first place.

As I walked to the parking garage I couldn’t help but reflect on the day my wife died, and what I’ve felt deep inside me ever since. A despair that brought me so low I didn't know what to do. All I’ve done is miss that woman and her love every second since. I remembered feeling like she was taken away from me because of something I did. Like I didn’t love hard enough, feel enough, been there enough for that woman to still be here. 

When I made it to the car, all I could manage was to lean against the car and sob. I slid my way down the driver's door to the ground and wailed as loud as I could in that garage. I was hoping someone would come help me but I knew no one was coming. I just needed to tell a single soul what I felt, but there was no one. The sound of the garage’s exhaust fan was all I had to drown out my cries. 

I had put off these feelings for so long, but now that I was going it was time to face it all just like I did Ernesto Carvalho. But I couldn’t think about that now. I finally got off the ground and climbed in the car but couldn’t bring myself to drive anywhere. I wanted to make a phone call but I didn’t really know who to reach out to. Suddenly I find myself recollecting one person: Sharla.

I had her number from the day at the homeless shelter, but I didn’t know if she’d answer. The phone trilled over the speakers in the car, to no answer. I slumped down in the seat and thought about throwing away all my plans and just ending the pain right in that parking garage.  

But then the ominous iPhone ringtone began to play over the speakers. It was Sharla calling me back. On the third ring I picked up, and the soft voice on the other end answered:

“I was wondering when I’d get this call.”

I choked out a response:

“I didn’t know who to call.”

“Well I’m glad you did. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t even know where to start.”

A shiver crossed my spine in that moment as the tension released from my body. Years spent not telling my truth let go in seconds. My thoughts cleared as Sharla’s next words travelled through the phone:

“Where are you?”

“In the parking garage at our building.”

“Can you drive right now?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to send you an address, can you come by?”

“Yes.”

“Great. Try to stay calm, I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

Sharla lived in a slightly nicer area of town than me, but in a much smaller ranch style home. I know she has a daughter in college and a cat, but other than that I knew very little of Sharla, except everybody in the office loved her. I straightened myself up and got out of the car. I tried my best to stand upright as I walked to her front door. I didn’t really want to be there but I felt like I had no choice, like autonomy left my body, my feet on rails leading straight to her front door. I stepped back after ringing the doorbell, and Sharla promptly opened the door. 

“I’m surprised you actually came.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. But I’m glad you’re here.”

She directs me in the house, and I walk past her into her cheerily decorated home. She asked if I needed any refreshment and I shook my head no. Sharla points me at her couch to sit. I slump into the couch, hold my brow, and exhale slowly. I look down as Sharla begins:

“I know I’m just your coworker and I don’t know you that well, but you look like you’re at some sort of crossroads. It’s all over your face. You can talk to me. I’ll just listen.”

I went to make words but I couldn’t make sound travel out of my mouth. I wanted to cry, or scream really but nothing came out. As I struggled harder, tears poured from my eyes. Sharla reached over with a tissue, as I straightened up on the couch. I looked Sharla in her eyes as I said:

“I never really talk about this, but my wife was killed a few years back in the shooting at ******* Mall.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I’ve had years to try and move on but I’ve never been able to put enough of myself into something to make the pain go away. Quite frankly, I don’t know what the fuck to do anymore.”

“I hate that you feel like your back is up against a wall. But I have to ask why you feel that way? Why do you feel that lack of a motivating force?”

“That’s a good question.”

Pause.

“I don’t think I can answer that.”

I looked inside myself for a second and I couldn’t really find the answers. Why was I so sad? For five years I knew I was sad about the death of my wife, the fact I couldn’t save her, and the fact she was gone. But how I tortured myself so deep into a corner I wanted to die I’ll never understand. Maybe the world wasn’t so bad without my wife and I was pushing myself into sorrow. Or maybe it was just that painful to live without her. 

Sharla just sat quietly and watched my mind race. It was almost like she could see what I was thinking as I went along. My mind continued to race as she placed her hand on mine and looked me in my eyes to say:

“It’s okay if you can’t answer. We don’t need answers to everything in life.”

“You don’t know the pain I feel.”

“I don’t think I could imagine.”

What she couldn’t imagine was the face of Ernesto Carvahlo when I faced him. He wasn't necessarily a person that would elicit fear from the hearts of those who don’t know the man is. It was dark when the Land Cruiser Prados parked in front of the large but primitive house. He stood in front of the house alone whilst his small army milled about. He is a man less than 6 feet tall, of regular build, with nothing particular that makes him stand out.

He walked away from the house towards us and said:

“Welcome friends, what brings you to me this evening?”

Saturday:

I couldn't believe I slept the whole night. I guess when you’ve sobbed all the tears you have to sob one would be exhausted. It was late,10:44 AM according to the screen on my iPhone. I slept the night away but now I had to focus. The house was silent in a way it hadn’t been for a while. I gave Keyon the keys to my other car, and just to show how upstanding of a young gentleman he was he drove to help at the homeless shelter he was just eating at days ago. 

I was oddly proud of Keyon, I know if Yvette and Danny were still here they would be too. But, I have no plan for today but to die. All of these other fleeting thoughts are distractions from the end goal. And here I am. An abnormally warm fall day, my declining grasp on reality and the Heckler & Koch USP-9 sitting neatly in its case on my kitchen counter. 

I was starving but I stared at the pistol for a while instead of making breakfast. I bought this years ago when I returned from Paraguay. It was the first pistol I had ever purchased for myself off the recommendation of Juan. I never thought I needed a pistol, I had kept a Mossberg 500 in the house for peace of mind, but never a handgun. I wasn't ever sure why exactly I bought it until today. Today it's purpose was so clear. 

Keyon was going to be gone most of the day, so I was in no real hurry to die. I knew I wasn't going to see my wife, our friends, or anybody ever again for that matter and I was coming to terms with it. I had to come to the same place when I faced Carvahlo, that whatever happens next will most likely end with my demise. 

Well not next, because what happens next is breakfast. 

You may wonder why breakfast is so important today of all days but the last thing I ever enjoyed with my wife was bacon, eggs, toast, and a glass of Simply Orange. I went all out for my last meal too; fresh-cut bacon from the butchers paired with brown eggs and bread from the local farmers market. This is a celebration of my pain finally coming to a close. 

As I crunched the last piece of bacon I looked over at the pistol on the table. I couldn't help but remember all the guns on the table as we ate in a remarkably civilised manner with Carvalho. This wasn't feasting amongst pirates or other classic outlaws. That man had class even if the dirty and poor young men that worked for him didn't. As we ate we had polite conversation before our business. I asked curiously:

“Carvalho? That's a Portuguese surname right?”

“Well yes you are correct.”

“So you're not from around here then?”

“No I come from Brasil.”

“No too far I'm guessing.”

“Right again sir, my family is in Curitiba. I'm one of a long line of Carvalhos from there.”

“Question.”

“Sure, my friend.”

“Do you know the art of Jiu-Jitsu?”

I stared through the glass doors to my patio as I crunched through the last piece of bacon. The last place that I'll exist. From there hopefully I go straight to the dirt and live on through something more like life than what I'm living. 

I stepped out to the porch as the autumn wind blew through my hair. I scratched at my temple with the gun then dropped it to my side as a wave hit my mind. It wasn't happiness, remorse, or fear. It was relief. I hadn't even pulled the trigger, yet knowing it was over took all the weight off of me.

I allowed myself a second to make sure my feelings were still valid. I began to lift the gun to my head, and the second my finger touched the trigger Keyon and Sharla came bursting through my front door. I dropped the gun and turned around. I walked back inside the house and stood in front of them on uneasy feet. My head was spinning from the mixture of adrenaline and endorphins. 

“I need to tell you a story.”

“Are you okay?” replied Sharla.

“No.”

I walked out the door to sit in one of the chairs on the patio. I was soon joined by Sharla and Keyon, both wearing terrified faces. I looked both of them in the eyes, and began to tell them the story of how I bested Ernesto Carvalho. I gave every detail from the archbishop to the dinner, but now I’ve reached the end. Sharla asked:

“So, how did you get out of there?”

“I choked him unconscious”

Sharla and Keyon both stared in confusion. I broke the silence:

“I challenged him to a round of Jiu-Jitsu, and he lost.” 

Keyon spoke up:

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m a black belt in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu.”

“That doesn't even make sense, How? When? My parents would’ve said something like that about you.”

“No, they didn’t even know. No one knew but-”

“Ohhhhh.”

“Yeah.”

In that moment I remembered the day I received my black belt, and what my professor told me:

“Life is a collection of journeys. You have reached the peak of this journey, but there is so much more to come.”

My journey had not reached its peak. In fact I didn’t realise it yet but I was just beginning a new one. But first I had to accept what had happened, I had to respect the fact she was gone. She was there for me on so many of my journeys, but her life being cut short didn’t mean I had to do the same.