Him
by Giovani Gilbert
Central Catholic High School
Giovani Gilbert is a sophomore at Central Catholic High School. He started writing as an outlet for the anger and pain, at a bad time in his life. He wants to continue to write and hopes to bring more people peace with his work.
A right turn down San Marcos Drive. Thinking about stopping at apartment 703, but knowing the ramifications of walking through that door alone. When just hours ago two best friends who had never been separated, exited through that screen door. Passing that apartment where every birthday party was spent, every sleepover was held and every scary movie night was had. A wave of depression possessed me, my eyes opening like a floodgate, tears I didn't even know I owned. Sadness, crying, tears; such a foreign concept to me. My whole life we were taught to be strong and conceal that hurt and pain. Now I'm driving down a street to a house I know no longer protects him. Him. All I can say is “him”. I can't fathom speaking his name. How could this have happened? Why did this happen?
A left down another street, then a right, a stop sign we used to run around. A sign with dents in it due to rock-throwing fights we had. One last turn leads me to a house that I knew I would end up at. The path to get here forged into my brain. To the point that even in my mindless state, I knew the way here. My home away from home. A bedroom that will never have its owner sleep in again.
Looking at it, it's funny how as kids we always draw houses almost as faces. A door as a mouth, two windows as eyes. Innocent, unfazed, not knowing that the greatest man to walk this earth is gone. The man I idolized was taken, ripped out of my hand. Facing the house I see the sad, empty eyes of his last few moments. Face to face. Seeing the end of a beautiful life. Sirens speed by and all of a sudden I'm back there.
Sirens blaring, lights flashing, all seems so far yet it's close enough to reach. A woman stepped out of her car crying, screaming, ‘Oh God”. I’m transfixed by the image in front of me. This can't be real. We were just laughing and joking. How did that fade into blood and distortion? I run to his side fearing the worst. Screams ring out, I can't tell if they're from me or from horrified onlookers.
I’m brought back to the present by the screaming of the neighbor's baby. The echo of the screams ringing through my head is enough to make me go inside. As I step through the door, I feel a rush of pain hit me. I knew he was gone, but walking into a place I've never been without him emphasizes it. I don't make it past the living room, I crumble on the couch. A black leather couch stained with food and drinks. I yell, I scream, knowing I'm not heard. Reaching for anything, all I can reach is the old gaming controller. A whole summer of working, a whole summer of sweat and labor. We spent the whole summer together to make that money. I feel my anger slightly fade. The ghost of a smile replacing it. I walk through the house in my somber state. The kitchen where numerous cooking experiments were conducted and failed. Such a small apartment, but it felt huge whenever he was here. He’s gone and it's so small. so small, in fact, there's only one room left to visit. His bedroom.
I walk down the hall leading to his room. Remencesing about all the times we had. All the good and the bad. The laughs and the tears. When I reach his door, I hesitate. This trip has brought closure and reconciliation. But what if entering this room, wipes that away. In the end I figure that his image will always be locked in my mind. I know who he was and I know what he lived for. But I want to say a proper goodbye. The knob to his door, a simple bronze knob. Distinct from all the others in the fact this one was broken in a late-night sleepover when we were younger. He was always the sentimental type, never changing it because of the memories associated with it.
Opening the door to a simple room, a bed, a TV, a window, and a closet. That's all it appears to be to others. But to me, to him, it's a bed where we had pillow fights and wrestling matches. A TV where we had video game marathons. A closet which was our favorite hide and seek spot. I know it's childish to remember this place as it was when we were kids, but when all you had was this room what else should you remember? No parents to claim us, no family to guard us. We were on our own and it was evident along the walls. Pictures lining all four walls, no family members, no other friends, just me and him.
Loyalty like no other, a man with the morals of an angel. An athlete with the skills of a professional. A mentor with advice you only see in movies. My best friend is gone. It fully hits me, he is gone, he will not come back. Yet why don’t I feel grief or sorrow? Why, just a minute ago, was I crying and hurting, yet now all I can do is feel pride and smile? Yes, my best friend has left this earth, but he has not left me.
I know about the late-night workouts to get stronger. Or the endless nights of studying. The hour-long phone calls trying to help others. He was a light in the darkest tunnel, but that light will never burn out, it continues to affect me and guide me. He was a gift from God, with one job: protect me. Now that he's done his job he must go protect another. It hurts to live without him but now I must live for him. Before exiting the room I contemplate cleaning up, but why tarnish the best memories we had together. I grab one picture of the wall. The picture of us when I graduated college. Years of hard work and sleep deprivation, yet he was always there. Walking back through the house everything feels brighter, bigger. Almost as it did when he was by my side. Exiting the house and driving home was a completely different experience. Now I know that I was given a gift and even though he's not here anymore, it was still my gift. I will always cherish that. Until the day we meet again.
Interview with the Author
1. What inspired you to write this piece? What was your thought process throughout?
I want readers to know that holding anger and pain inside isn’t the only path in life. I want them to know that the feelings are normal and there is a way through those feelings. I never had that growing up, so I want others to have it. The emotions I felt were very conflicting. Writing brings me joy and happiness. But I often write about painful things. This was a piece that hit me hard because I had just lost someone I took for granted. And it hurt that I didn’t appreciate him just because he wasn’t the main person in my
life.
2. What do you hope readers will take away from your piece? What effects do you want the piece to have on the person, community, or society?
My creative process is probably the most freeing thing about my writing. It’s everything I feel translated into words on paper. That’s all there is. I never try to set a mindset because that then restricts my mindset, so instead I just write and let everything flow.
3. If you plan on continuing to write, what are some goals/plans you may have for your future?
The hardest part of writing this was the close-to-home topic. This was something that I learned very recently, and death is a sensitive topic for me. I struggle to portray that. Because I bottled it up for so long. So I guess writing it and reliving all the times in my life I could’ve applied this to my life.