thatcher

It didn't feel like going out with a bang. Maybe it was the gunshot he was missing, the one that would reverberate through everyone's ears and eat away at them until their brain was mush. But Jason knew that wasn't it. Everett swallowed a pharmacy and when the announcement was made that patient number zero of Belvedere committed suicide, it rang through his ears and it ate and ate and ate. Jason had lost his appetite because of it.

He wrote something. And it sounded too somber to be him, but the evidence would later say that Jason grappled the razor and from top to bottom, peeled open skin and the veins that were almost teal against pale flesh and cut the straightest line into someone that he ever had.

Jason thought about his mother. He thought about how many times he had heard her say, drunkenly slurring or soberly spewing, "You sound just like your father!" No, he'd say, because his dad didn't draw. But the last six months in Belvedere were the most revealing. He would follow in his father's footsteps. Maybe it was how his father felt, like he did now: sinking. He got better, sure, a little, but sinking down against the wall to the floor made the vertigo feel necessary. What a metaphor.

There was panic before he drew the blade. There was a few seconds of doubt that Wes would have encouraged, the doubt that reminded him how he worked hard to come this far and that he had people to live for now. But the looming grey and thought of his family pressed the blade down and weighted him down to the linoleum. He reminded himself that this moment is why he burned his sketchbook.

He remembered how people used to say that in the last four seconds of a man's life, his existence flashes before his eyes, like some slow, cruel form of torture. And it did. Some people put scientific fact behind it. It played like a movie, reels turning and showing him Kerry, Lukas, Jasmine, Allison, Everett, Dolly, Layla, Eva and Malachai, London, Derrick, Wes -- everyone that he could remember flashed in front of him, circled and looking down at him to make sure he was still breathing long enough to see the light above him go out.

He thought about the time he spent with London yesterday, how he got her to hand back the blade. He thought about the way he remembered the curves in her lips, the way his hands felt through her hair and on her hips. He thought about how so much more important she seemed than anything else in the world. And he wondered if that was what his mother was to his father.

Jason thought about a lot in those eight seconds it takes for the human body to drain. He remembered more than he thought he would and silently made wishes about how he could have done a few more things before he died. But eight seconds passed by quickly. But in the seventh second, he was comfortable. His position on the floor was anything but and the light reared its ugly head like a bright reminder that he wouldn't be going to Heaven, but he was comfortable.

Jason died on the twentieth of November, 2012 at 5:06 PM of blood loss, officially ruled as a suicide.

***

I'm about to take a lot of responsibility and say a lot of sorries I may or may not mean. Okay. Here goes.

Mom, Shit. I sucked at being a son. I mean, you weren't the best mom, but I was a worse son than dad was a dad. I'm sorry that you got suck with the shitty family. I'd probably be a raging alcoholic. You should try to paint more.

Scott, You weren't that bad and I don't hate you. Piece of advice, though? Grow up, man. You could be somebody. Be good to London, all right? I'm trusting you with that.

Tommy Boy, Thanks for the Legos. Sorry for the mess you're gonna have to clean up.

Allison, I don't know where you went and fuck you for leaving. But I'm over it. I want you to know that all that shit I said to you, I didn't mean it. You're good at what you do and don't let anyone tell you different. Thank you for everything you did. Drink all you want. Pour one out for me, too.

Derrick, You were a good friend. I'm really glad I had you there, man. Get your stupid British ass out of here and do something good with your life. You can. I love you or whatever, okay.

Wes, I don't know what to say. It's like I can feel you being disappointed in me while I write this. I lied to you so much and you never even knew, man. But I told you more truth than anyone else, even more than London and more than Lukas. I can't tell you how much it means to me that you believed in me. I can't voice that. No one else really did. I made them shut up about it. But you just kept being the most persistent asshole. I want you to know that I was getting better. Maybe I wasn't really feeling sorry or anything, but I could have seen a life with London somewhere out in the real world like real people do. You did that. And I know you're gonna say it was me that did it, but I wouldn't have done shit if you weren't there. Don't ever quit your job, man. Thank you.

Everett, See you soon.

Lukas, I'm gonna miss you, if there's an afterlife and shit. I hate to say I told you so -- well, no I don't. I told you so. I didn't expect you to figure it out, though. But, I guess, here's why I wasn't getting better. I love you, man. We did weird shit and we grew farther apart as time went by, but I didn't love you any less. I hope you get out and you live a life like you want. I hope you get real good at video games, too, because that seems like something you'd be good at. With all that archery hand-eye coordination, I could see it. I'm sorry about Everett. I loved her, man, and I'm not sorry about that, but even she wasn't worth what I did to you. Keep in touch with London for me, will you? Once you guys both get out and shit, I mean. Talk about me every now and then when you guys are okay to. Don't let this ruin your life.

London, Keep this note, it belongs to you. Anything of mine you want belongs to you, too. Give the rest to Lukas. I don't have much shit, but there you go. ...I'm so sorry. I love you. I love you more than any girl I've ever loved. I know that isn't gonna make this better, but I believed we could have gotten out and we could have had a really good life. I'm sorry I ruined that for us. But don't let this ruin you, okay? I don't know if you loved me the most. Fuck, I hope you did, but I don't care if you didn't. And I know this is gonna fuck you up. But don't you dare slip. Get better and get out of Belv. Visit for as long as you want, because the place starts to feel like home, but you get out. I love you, London. Remember that. Be good. Don't lose yourself. I love you, okay? I really do. I really do.

That's it, everyone. Now stop fucking crying and go live your life. That's the point.

[He twists his hand, turning over to a palm, its in place of a shrug; his shoulders shrugging to emphasize his point]

Your sketchbook, why? Why’d you do that?

Nah. exactly and you don’t know how I will. [he shrugs dismissively] You know, same old, same old…seem to be at a bit of a standstill with progress at the minute but I couldn’t give less of a shit about that right now. 

How’re things with you? 

Yeah, but why the fuck not? Man, if there's anything you're supposed to give a shit about, that's it.

I’m about ninety seven in my mind, I’ll settle with a crossword. [he initially ignores it, well appears to do so, but then he turns to look at Jason and sighs] Don’t start the entire ‘you’re getting better and I’m not’ act Jason, I speak to you rarely as it is, lets not fucking ruin it. 

Fucking grandpa. No, actually, you're worse.

We’re too old, we should settle for slippers and gardening and be done with it. 

Hey, we may be legends, but we got years ahead of us. Or at least you do. [And it's a slight hit on how Lukas seems to be getting better at a faster rate, but it's also a hit on how he doesn't think he'll end up any different than his father. But it'll go unnoticed by Lukas, so he says it.]