His death hit me like a truck. Nobody expected it. It just happened one day, no signs, nothing. How could I know this would happen? Why him of all people? His death still confuses me.
On July 9th, 2014, my best friend Andrew Noir Brown killed himself. I only remember certain parts of that day, the morning is blurry to me, like any other morning. It went normal, no bad feelings whatsoever. I had plans with him that night, and was going to pick him up later that night. It was around 7pm when I headed over to see him. Normally, I parked in front of his house, honked my car horn and he would meet me outside. It was when I was outside waiting for 10 minutes when the sinking feeling in my stomach really sunk in. Something was wrong, and I felt it.
Andrew, after moving into his house 3 years ago, had given me a key to his house. When he didn’t answer the door after five minutes of me knocking, begging for him to let me in, I used it. When I walked into the house, I noticed how dark it was. How dark it felt. It felt as if there had been no life in it for years. I felt so…alone. The atmosphere of the house was dark and lonely. I yelled his name a few times, looking around the first floor of the house. It was very clean, that wasn’t like him. Andrew was a messy person. And he knew that. Everything about the house just felt wrong. Unwelcoming. I looked at the pictures of us he had above his fireplace. We looked so happy, so young, worry free.
I made my way slowly up the stairs, expecting him to pop out any moment. I hoped he would anyways. I yelled his name again as I looked down the hallway. All the doors closed except his bedroom door, which was open by just a crack. I could see a light in there. I walked towards it, slowly, quietly. I hoped for the best but my gut was telling me the worst. It screamed at me to run the other way. Leave the house. I said his name quietly. That was when I realized how terrified I was of silence. Andrew could never stay this quiet, I always heard his deep breathing or his occasional fits of laughter he had while hiding from me. I didn’t hear anything. It was silent.
I pushed the door open and the sight in front of me made me fall to my knees, hands over my mouth in shock. He was just…hanging there. My best friend since second grade. The first person I came out to, the first person I cried with, my best friend. He was so young, he had such a life to live. At 24 years old, you shouldn’t be dead, you should be alive and getting drunk at bars, and looking for jobs and going out on blind dates. And nothing, absolutely nothing, prepared me for his death. I didn’t even realize I was screaming before I felt a hand on my shoulder, and I looked over, seeing his neighbor, whom we had grown close to. She was on the phone, probably calling 911. Idiot. I didn’t even call 911. I just sat there, staring up at his body, just swinging there.
His body was taken out of his house, the noose removed from around his neck and his body placed in a body bag. He had been dead for three hours. I sat outside of his house, on the steps up to it, a blanket around me, sobbing. How else would you expect me to react? His parents walked over to me, they were always nice people, they didn’t deserve this. They sat next to me, his mom taking my hand and telling me it would be okay, but crying at the same time.
The funeral was even worse. It was so quiet, people who barely even knew him coming from everywhere and telling everyone about how much ‘they loved him’. It was long and hard. I don’t even know how to describe it.
That’s how I would describe it.
But now, in December of 2015, I am still pining over his death. I don’t think I’ll ever get over it. His parents did, his ex-girlfriend did. But not me. He meant too much to me.
I loved him,
Not a soppy, romance way,
I loved him.
And without him, I just feel so
Written by bee
december 15, 2017