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Chapter 10
When I pull up to my house after work and see Denise sitting on the steps of hers, I can tell from the look on her face that she's waiting for me. There is something beyond sadness there, more like devastation. Confusion swirls in me because I just saw her at work, before she left around lunchtime and never came back. She was fine then, smiling with Regina and Mikaela, talking about what dish she would cook for Ben's birthday dinner. But here she is now, the total opposite of what she was and looked like earlier. What happened?
I hesitate for a moment before getting out of the car, preparing for what she will have to say, because although I have no idea what is it, I know it will have everything to do with Ben. When I stay in the car for too long, Denise looks my way, and I finally open the door.
When I climb up the steps of their porch and sit beside her, she doesn't say a word, just hands me a folded up piece of paper. I don't have to ask what it is. I know. My hands begin shaking as soon as she lets the paper fall into them. It's a page from his journal, the journal that sits upstairs in my closet. The journal where Ben wrote all his thoughts when they became too much to keep inside. He'd had one since we were in high school, had written through about eight of them. Sometimes, I thought they were his only true escape. That no matter how bad he got, he always seemed just a little better after he wrote and closed the book and left those feelings inside. Even if it was only for a little while.
I unfold the paper, knowing whatever is written on the page will break my heart, and now understanding that no matter what it says, Denise reading it would have shattered the reality she thought she knew about Ben. Because while I'm unsure of what this particular page says, I am sure that Ben's words are full of pain, of rage, of darkness. And Denise didn't know that side of him. None of them did. Only me.
And I'm right. I read over the page three times. It's short but hurts nonetheless. To take in his words of feeling utterly alone, that he just wanted the pain to stop. Him wondering why he had to wake up each day and face this world all over again, never knowing the point of it all. When he talks about how his family doesn't understand, that they could never know the pain he feels in their presence, I know this part must have crushed Denise the most. It ends with him saying how badly he wants it all his end, the hurt, the anger, his life.
His journal is full of other pages like this. It's why I offered to pack up Ben's dorm room. So I could take it with me and spare them from having to see it. How this page slipped through and ended up in his bedroom, I don't know.
"How long?" Denise croaks. I look over at her, and she swallows before speaking again. "How long had he wanted to kill himself?"
"A few years," I answer
"Why didn't he ever tell me?"
"I can't answer that for him Denise. I'm sorry."
"But you knew, didn't you?"
I wince from the way her question sounds slightly like an accusation.
"I did."
"Why did he tell you then?"
"I can't answer that either. I just know I was there when he needed to talk. I didn't judge. I only listened and gave what advise I could, what comfort I could."
"And Ben didn't think I would have done the same?" she asks, her voice getting a little higher.
"I didn't say that."
She deflates, shaking her head. "I don't understand. He...he was never the boy who wrote that when he was around me. Never, not once. Why would he hide it from me, from our family?"
I stay silent because my answer would only be the same. I can't answer that … because I really don't know. Every time I tried to get him to talk to his family about what was going on, to seek help from them, his only response was only that they would never understand. I would leave it at that, too afraid to risk him feeling like he couldn't turn to me either. And then where would he be?
In hindsight, maybe I should have pushed harder. Maybe he'd still be here if I did.
"We have to tell my mom."
That makes me switch from my building guilt to shock quickly.
"No," I state. "That's not my place. That's a conversation you all should have as a family. Show them the note. That'll be enough to make them see."
"She probably wouldn't believe Ben wrote that note. She won't listen to it coming from me."
"And she will from me?" I ask incredulously. "I'll just come off as another person lying about her son. Did you see how things went the last time I was over for dinner? She already blames me for his death without even acknowledging what truly happened. What do you think she'll say when she finds out what really happened on that roof? No." I stand from the step. "I'm not doing it."
"I can't believe you're such a coward," she spits and storms up the steps, and through the door.
I stand there for a moment, her words repeating in my mind again and again. Maybe I am a coward. Because the thought of having that conversation with Regina, with Mikaela, well I don't see it going too much better than the one I just had with Denise. Being asked questions I have no answers for because I'm not Ben and couldn't even begin to tell them why he did and didn't do things, did and didn't say things. Why he hid things from them and not me. So really, what could I tell them besides what that note already would? That he was in pain and wanted it to end.
Maybe I am a coward because I don't want to see the looks on their faces when they finally realize the truth. I don't want to struggle to explain what was going on in someone else's mind to them. I don't want any of it.
When I walk into the house, I can tell I'm in for another battle by the look on my grandma's face. The curtains blow from the living room window being open, and I know that she heard every word of what Denise and I talked about. I've eavesdropped on enough of her conversations as a kid to know you can hear everything from that window.
