The worst part about losing someone is when you see them in everything you do. Well, not necessarily what you do, but when you start to remember them randomly.

Once Damian was gone, I realized how little I paid attention to him. For instance, I’d hear someone talking about their favourite genre of films and I’d think, “I wonder what Dam’s favourite film is,” but I’ve missed any chance I’ve had to ask him. I’ll never know the little things about him, or the big things; if he tied his shoelaces or if he believed in God. It was a wasted effort to try and get to know him now that he was gone. I enjoyed him when he was around, and I didn’t need his death to tell me that.

Sometimes, when someone dies, people start paying attention to them out of pity – sort of like when I talked to Damian and he told me that he was in a few of my classes, but was lying to see how truthful I was. When a relatively-famous musician dies, the world goes insane: they start writing stories about how they’ve listened to that musician enough to find encouragement and deep meaning, how they’ve always supported that person, and even how they’re thankful for that single musician to bring so much improvement to their lives. When an actor dies, people suddenly go out to watch all of their films again and again. The same goes for everyday people – once you’re acquainted with them and they pass, it’s like you need to share how they’ve influenced you. Some people have real experiences they need to put out, and others are just jumping onto the bandwagon, toasting a toast for an occasion they’re unaware of.

Damian was my friend, I know that now. He took care of me without it being a responsibility trusted upon him by someone else. He didn’t cause trouble, he wasn’t selfish, he didn’t draw attention to the fact that nobody paid any attention to him at all. I think he was humble, but humility is a difficult virtue to place – it’s the sincerest of all. He didn’t need to worry anyone else with his own problems; perhaps he knew what I had learned too late – that everyone is fighting their own battles.

If I knew he would be robbed of me so harshly – like a cruel punishment to discourage the repetition of bad actions in the future – I would have made more of an effort to talk to him. I mean, yeah, that’s a given – anyone would try to make the best of something they knew wouldn’t last long. I thought I’d have time to get to know him, though. A few months weren’t enough for me to feel better about the fact I had only stepped a toe into his life. His friends, though, they were the luckiest. They knew him longer than I did – but I was disappointed they didn’t treat him well. This isn’t just an observation I’m making now that Damian’s at ease, their interaction with him always made me ill-at-ease. Compassion could only draw me so close to attempting to feel how they did (guilty, no less). I just hoped they were guilty because they honestly felt that way – not just because it was deemed as “right” now that he was gone.

Hanging out with Connor, Jeff and Matt wasn’t the same. They were sombre for a week, but accepted his death easier than I did. They were stronger than I was and that made me jealous and selfish. I didn’t want to be the sad one in the group, and I didn’t want them to mock me for being sad, so I stopped hanging out with them for a little while. I went back to studying, since it took my mind off of everything. I spend hours staring blindly at television or computer screens, playing games or surfing the net; and although I was rather good at whatever I was doing whenever I did it, I was too absent. Now, I wasn’t so sure I was depressed over Damian leaving, but just sad in general. Whenever the guys asked me if I wanted to hang at a party, I told them I was grounded. Somewhat true, but my parents didn’t mind if I went out – they hadn’t restricted me to the house, I restricted myself. When something bad happens and puts you into a shock, you never want to do it again. If you nearly drowned in the ocean, you’d probably be no sooner to become an Olympic diver than to sail the seven seas. Damian and I started talking at a party, he would take care of me after parties and he died at a party. I most certainly did not want to return to a party. Our paths also aligned under the clauses of mutual friendship with Connor Aiden Parker, so naturally that meant I was suddenly more wary of the boy.

He was gorgeous, clever, funny and suave – but after the misfortunes, describing him felt like I was describing a stick of nicotine. He took stress away, made me feel better, had multiple options from a single, clean package, but on the downside, destruction seemed to follow him shortly wherever he went. After I met Connor, drugs became an occasional thing, rather than a forbidden fruit; I betrayed my closest friends, lost a new friend to death and caused my parents to second-guess my wellbeing. I could slowly bring myself to right these wrongs, but eventually, the problems would accumulate like cracks in a windshield and come crashing down on me – these tiny little issues could become more than I could bear, in just a few weeks, months or years.

Another thing about nicotine is that aside from causing cancer, yellow teeth and respiratory issues, it’s extremely addictive and you can’t exactly “drop it like it’s hot”. The same goes for gorgeous, blue-eyed, raven-haired skaters.

Late at night, before bed, your mind speaks itself the most, like the quiet kid in the class who suddenly has the strongest voice in a controversial debate. At night, all of these reasonable thoughts and decisions would come to me – Connor was bad, stay away from Connor – but then, as soon as I’d see him, receive a text from him, or feel him hug me, I through that all down the drain. He had me “whipped”, which was the slang dictionary’s urban jargon for “when a person is completely controlled by a person they fancy”, and a term left as a fraction of anonymous hate that I received once. I was infatuated with him, but he was probably better as a concept than as an actual person.

“From now on, you are going to say no to everything involving him until it becomes a habit,” Meredith told me, completely and totally for my sudden, ambitious goal. “So, for at least twenty-one days – that’s how long until a habit is broken.”

I was at her house, after an unsuccessful day of school attempting to ward off all the evils he possessed over me.

“Wow, thanks, Miss Obvious!” I hissed, my sarcasm fuelled by my own stress, like a cornered serpent who means no harm. “It’s a lot harder than that. If cutting off addictions were that easy, there wouldn’t be the need for an Alcoholics Anonymous.”

She thought for a second and then shook her head. “Actually, it is that simple.”

I looked at her in anticipation, but she wasn’t prompted by my silence to go on. “Elaborate, please.”

“Hm? Oh, well,” she began, catching back onto her train of thought like a late commuter. “You’re basically inclined to say yes to whatever he asks of you, but the problem with saying no and letting go of him is the fact that you don’t want to. You keep telling yourself you’re better off without him, but you find him so incredibly gorgeous and all that you almost want to show off the fact that you have him.” She paused and went on. “You already got into the habit of declining his informal party invitations, you don’t do drugs, and you haven’t had a bottle of beer in ages, so I’m pretty sure getting rid of an addiction isn’t going to be as difficult for you as it would be for an old smoker with lung cancer.”

I was almost defiant enough to deny her, but she was right. I needed to stop being his doormat and just pull myself from under him. So I did that. Or, well, I tried to. I didn’t go out of my way to see him, and tried to see the flaws in him whenever he ran into me. He had tired bags beneath his eyes, I didn’t like the colour of his sweater, his hair was really lame, and his skateboarding wasn’t that great. And the less I took notice of him, and the more I ignored the allure of his eyes as if they were Medusa’s very own, his significance in my life shrank like the brilliance of a star as the sun came up – and I really hoped that the sun would come up.

Labels: nanowrimo