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previous ~ ~ ~ next As promised... long, long ago, now. How could I possibly explain Joseph or the night he died? There's too much wrapped up in it all, too much for words which are so imprecise and can't really capture how it was. The funny thing is, when I first met him, I didn't even like him. Not at all. I thought he was annoying. And, while I wasn't exactly unkind to him, I wasn't exactly kind, either. We rode the same bus. Now, you have to understand that, when kids live as much as 20 miles outside the nearest town, riding the same bus often means that you're sitting with them for two hours (one in the morning and one in the evening) on bumpy roads. There's not a whole lot to do (aside from determined bookworms like myself who cope with the book joggling frequently, loud noises, and often flying objects) except for talk... or, since most of us in the back were teenagers or pre-teens, bicker and occasionally have an actual fight. Joseph was excellent at provoking both. It was his sense of humor that got him in so much trouble, really. Somewhere along the line, I began to admire him. Really, I think all of us root for the underdogs to some extent, unless we're cold-hearted megalomaniacs. It was more than that, though... He had about him this willingness to forgive, an invitation to everyone to forgive him as well and I began to see that, under the smart-ass remarks, he was really a sweet kid. He had, at the time, this floppy blonde hair that always got in his eyes. I was in 8th grade; he must have been in 4th. Just a year older than my kid brother. I remember talking with him, off and on, over the next three years or so. I think I defended him once or twice from bullies on the bus. I've always been a pretty big girl and he was one of those boys who look like they'll break in a stiff wind. He was strong though, much stronger than I gave him credit for. I remember picking up bits and pieces of his story, finding out his homelife wasn't exactly a shining example of domesticity. I remember feeling sorry for him... remember him getting mad at me for it, one of the few times I'd seen him genuinely angry. He didn't want pity. I didn't really get to know Joseph until I was a senior in high school; it was his freshman year. I'd gone through the hazing myself, my freshman year, but it wasn't anything too terrible...not for me. But I'd seen what happened to the kids who didn't keep their mouths shut, who made smart remarks and ended up, head first (I'm saying this quite literally) in a garbage can. It's funny, how fast that fades. By sophomore year, it felt like this far distant memory. By junior year, I never even thought about it. And then senior year rolled around. And somehow, I found myself in charge of my own little group of misfits. (We called ourselves that, defiantly. I know, I know. All kids do that, want the importance of being different. If you're not part of the popular crowd, then you're a misfit. And even if you are part of the popular crowd you, "really don't fit in with them". It's a teenage thing. I know.) The kids who would've been thrown into the pool in the middle of the day, with nothing to change into, the kids who would have found something foul in their lunch or locker, a couple who would've probably been beaten up. I don't know why, really, but I defended them. I was Momma Tessa. I think, at that point... it wasn't any great, noble thing, to stand up to peer pressure, to defend them instead of haze them. No... it was a desire to protect someone... something... because I couldn't protect myself. I couldn't stop what was going on in my own household. But I could, and did, do something about this. That's all it was at first. I didn't want their friendship. I didn't want the cracks in the armor, the holes in my facade. I didn't want to be beholden to them. And somehow, they crept in, anyway. James, Tasha, Jessica, Curtis, Joseph... Somehow, they became my friends. Somehow, in a few short weeks, I found myself giving them advice, spilling my own story to them, and learning that all of them, all of them, had their own stories. Both of James' parents were alcoholics. Tasha's dad had died a year earlier. Jessica's parents expected her to be perfect. Curtis' dad hit him... Such short sentences to describe what happened. So brutally cold and clinical... As if the terror and rage and heartbreak of it all could be summed up in those few words. And Joseph... Joseph's story, once I heard it all, broke my heart. His dad had been married 4 times. The current step-mom, #3, used to beat Joseph with various things, especially wooden spoons. He had 3 younger siblings. Half-siblings. You know why he didn't run away? Didn't ever lash out? Because if he didn't fight it, she didn't hurt them. And the thing was, Step-mom #3 wasn't really any different than Stepmom #2 or Stepmom #1, or even Mom. Dad professed to be a Christian but either didn't know or didn't do anything about it. At least he took them to church. Because Joseph found his saving grace there, and he wouldn't have been Joseph without it. These kids were more family than I ever thought I'd have, more family than I ever thought I'd want to claim. We went through so much together. That year was probably the happiest for me, the happiest since I was nine and everything fell apart. The bad things kept happening at home, for all of us. They didn't go away, and they didn't get any better... but it was so much more bearable because we could go to school and have each other. Even if we didn't often talk about it, we all knew, more or less, what was going on. We all supported each other. And the thing about Joseph was... he knew how to make us all laugh. He would tell the corniest, cheesiest jokes in the world because, even while we were groaning at them, we couldn't help but laugh at his eagerness. Or he'd do these funky acrobatics. He'd look like a loon, and he didn't care. If he got you to crack a grin, well, that was good enough. It was strange, because we all knew he'd seen just as many, if not more, horrible things as we had, but there was this... innocence about him. A sense of mischief and child-like fun that all those bad things somehow didn't tarnish. I remember so many things about that year, and the next. The day Joseph, James, and Curtis cut class, wandered around the small little town our high school was in, and eventually camped out on someone's lawn. Much to their surprise, it turned out to be our principal's lawn and they were summarily escorted back to school and detention. I remember when we crammed 7 people into my little car that really should only have held 4. I remember Jessica, sprawling across three laps because there was no room and I couldn't see out the rear view mirror if she sat up. Her head was in Joseph's lap. He had a crush on her and I thought he was going to keel over, he was so happy. I remember driving down a country road on a Friday night, still too many people crammed into my little car, belting out Shania Twain's "Man, I Feel Like a Woman" with the radio, and laughing hysterically when Joseph sang all the parts. I remember us feeling so exuberant that we put our heads out the windows and just shouted to the world because it was good to be alive. I remember Homecoming and all of us going as a group only to skip out early and end up at Village Inn, laughing and talking until the dance finished and we all had to go home and pretend we'd been there. I remember Joseph insisting that James couldn't pull any mean pranks on the waitress. I think he wanted to turn a glass of water upside down so that she'd have to spill it to pick it back up. I remember all of us sprawling in Tasha's room in the basement, tangled up on her bed playing some stupid card game, laughing so hard our sides hurt. I remember when we had a slumber party at Tasha's and, after her mom had gone to sleep, we snuck the boys in to play Truth or Dare and had to keep shushing each other so we didn't wake her up. I remember talking to Joseph about dating James and how he helped to set us up, even though he didn't think it was a good idea. I remember finding out from Tasha that James was cheating on me and crying in the back seat of my car. I remember Joseph crawling over the seat and sitting next to me, holding me while I cried, not saying anything, not needing to, just being there. I remember graduation, and how proud he was of me for graduating second in the class. He came up to congratulate me, and I started to fuss that I hadn't graduated valedictorian. He just looked at me and said, "Oh, shut up! You did damn good and we're proud of you." Somehow, that was worth more to me than all the handshakes and congratulations of the principal and my parents. I remember coming home after my first couple weeks of college, seeing everyone again, feeling so different... and knowing it didn't matter. They still loved me, would continue to love me, and it would all be ok. I remember never having enough time, always having too much to do, to run back to Greeley. I remember doing it anyway. I remember deciding to date James again, telling him he was the only one I'd ever given a second chance to. And that I was taking a huge risk in dating him again after he cheated on me. I remember, less than a week later, having everyone come up to spend the night in my dorm room, just before my second semester started, and how my new roommate ended up coming early and was very, very shocked to find 7 people waiting in the room. But it ended up being fine. She fit right in, and she just laughed when I apologized for the craziness of it all, sleeping bags covering the entire floor of the (very tiny) room, far too many people crammed in, and snacks scattered everywhere. That night, for no apparent reason, Joseph started crawling like an inch-worm in his sleeping bag, scooting across the floor toward the bed. We all giggled, and thought he was doing it on purpose. To this day, I'm not sure, but he certainly convinced us that night that he was asleep. He ended up bumping into the metal frame several times before we could get a hand between his forehead and the bed. I remember finding out later that night that James was cheating on me...again. I remember sitting in my dorm room, trying not to cry, tossing it off for the moment, waiting for everyone to go to sleep, and then going outside, to the stairs, to smoke. It was freezing outside and I hadn't brought a jacket. Somehow, it felt better that way... as if the cold would freeze the hurt and the tears. Joseph came out. He didn't say anything at first, just brought me a coat. And another lighter. I was the first to break the silence. Which is funny, because, normally, I was the one who stayed quiet, reserved, so I could watch out for everyone, and Joseph was the one who would talk a lot, breaking up tension and hurt with goofy antics. "Why'd he do it, Joseph? What's wrong with him!?" Softer, looking down, not wanting to see the answer in his eyes. "What's wrong with me?" "Tess, there's nothing wrong with you." When I looked up to say something suitably bitter to that, he shook his head and said, more forcefully, "Nothing! I mean it. James is... James. He's messed up in the head. You know his dad pulls the same crap. When he's not busy being pissed at his dad, he's busy imitating him. He loves you, in his own way. He just doesn't know what to do about it." "Shit." Softly, quietly, without any real rancor. It wasn't an exclamation or disbelief. It was agreement and hurt and anger and protectiveness (of him) all rolled up into one. Because I couldn't really be mad at him, because I knew Joseph was right. But it still hurt. "So, now what? I go in there, break up with him? Again. For the same thing. I try not to say all the hurtful things I'm thinking. And he goes back to life as normal, while I sit here, feeling like a moron?" "We'll figure it out, Tess. We always have before." "I suppose so. It's not like we haven't survived worse." I gave him a half-hearted grin. He smiles back, but it fades pretty quickly. He starts to speak, and then shuts his mouth. And he does it again. "Well, spit it out. I'm too tired, too worn out to bite right now." I grin a little. "Why did you date him again? Why did you give him a second chance?" "I don't know..." I look at him. "That's not the question you planned to ask, is it?" He shakes his head. "No... why didn't you give me just one chance?" "Honest?" He nods. "Because I love you too much. Because, if we dated, and it turned out like this," I waved toward the dorm window, "I'd lose you. I know! I know, you would never in a million years cheat on me. But there are so many things that could go wrong. And... everything I touch, turns to shit. I won't do that to you. James can handle it. James has dished it out himself. I don't... feel guilty that it's falling apart. Because, no matter what you say, there is something wrong with me. I can't let people in, that close. I start driving them away. I can't lose you. And... you deserve better than me. You deserve someone who will let you in, someone who will really treasure you. And I don't know how to be that girl." I looked at him, saw him crying. "I wish I did." We sat out there, on the back step, for almost an hour. Just... talking. About our dreams and plans for the future, about things we didn't know about each other, about favorite colors and foods and absurd childhood memories... I think that night is pretty much the last time I saw Joseph before he died. There were a couple of quick hello's, a brief stint in a bowling alley where there were so many people... there were phone calls, of course, and we'd talk for such a long time. That night made us so much closer. I was always thankful that he didn't take what I'd said as a clich�d brush off. It wasn't. I really meant it, every word. He was... the only one of us who was still innocent, still sweet. I felt like, somehow, I would contaminate him if I let him get that close. The funny thing is... we got so much closer as friends than I ever would have let him be as a boyfriend. And sometimes I regret it... sometimes I wish we had started dating. But most of the time, I'm just thankful. I was far, far too broken at that point, and he would have tried to put together the pieces. He probably would have succeeded, too... but it would have scarred him. I don't know if any of that makes sense. I remember the night Joseph died, in crystal clarity. I remember the original plans that night. I was going to go out with Alicia, Mandy, James, and Joseph. (Curtis was, by now, signed on with the Marines. Jessica had moved away. Tasha was just grounded.) But I was trying so hard to work on forgiving people, on giving second chances. Not like I'd given James, not being stupid and waiting for someone to walk on me, but just normal, human forgiveness. It made Joseph happy. So I bailed on them that night. A guy I'd dated before who had (what is it with me???) cheated on me and openly, casually admitted it, had contacted my best friend, asked her to arrange for a meeting with me. So he could apologize and ask for my forgiveness. So I bailed on them, sat there in the restaurant, waiting for Nate to be off swing shift. We talked there, in Denny's on 8th Ave... until something like 3 am. Maybe it was 4, I don't know. He asked me to come back to his place, so we could continue talking. I didn't really plan on doing that, but I didn't want to stop talking to him either. I don't know why, but I told him I wanted to check my messages on the dorm phone. I checked them. There was one, from my roommate, saying she had to leave for class and the room was a disaster and she was really, really sorry. She'd pick it up when she got back. I laughed. I was still smiling at her when the next message started playing. The smile didn't last long. "Tess? Tess? Dammit!" Alicia's voice. Crying. I started thinking of all the things that could have happened. Her dad had punched her again, she lost her temper and hit him back... no, no, she wouldn't be crying, she'd be feeling triumphant. James' dad drinking again? "Look, it's Joseph. Just... just call me when you get this, ok?" Call came in at midnight. Next message. "Tess? Fuck! Where are you? Get down here as soon as you can." One am. Last message. "Son of a bitch! Where in hell are you? I didn't want to tell you on a damn machine! Look, there was... there was an accident." I remember, quite literally, feeling the blood drain from my face. "Joseph... Joseph's hurt really bad. He's unconscious. The doctors won't tell us anything. His dad's here. They think it's our fault. It's not. It was an accident. We're at the Greeley hospital. Just get the hell down here, ok? Call me." Two am. I remember swaying, thinking, distantly, that I was going to pass out. I slid to the floor. I could see the black receiver dangling in front of me. Beeping. Disconnected line. I don't know how long I sat there. Nate came over, started to make a joke about me being a popular girl. Saw my face. Asked what happened. I tried... couldn't tell him. "I... Joseph... he's... the hospital." I fumbled for my keys. My purse was still at the table. I tried to leave. Didn't pay. Nate grabbed my arm. Made me promise not to drive, said he'd drive me. I said something about how I couldn't leave my car here. He said he'd drive me in my car then. Took the keys from me. Told me to sit down while he took care of the tab and getting all our stuff. I remember sitting down and being utterly, utterly terrified. I wasn't there. I should have been there. I was supposed to be there. But I wasn't there. Wasn't there. Should have been. Wasn't. We got there, I'm pretty sure in record time, but it wasn't fast enough. I charged into the hospital, Nate managed to find out where Joseph was and steered me in the right direction. I just remember frantically punching the elevator button, over and over. I saw everyone in the waiting room. I don't think I even introduced Nate or thanked him. He just, very gracefully, slipped to the background. I saw everyone, all the people I was supposed to protect, and all I could think about was Joseph who I hadn't even been there to keep safe. I remember asking what happened. Getting garbled bits of information. He was in Alicia's truck. Well, no, he started in James' truck. He was in the back of Alicia's truck and he fell out the back. He hit his head. James: "Tess, I just saw my best friend bounce in front me. I almost rolled the truck swerving to miss him. And all I could think was, don't let me hit him. Don't let me hit him." He's got a concussion. We think. Probably clots in his brain. He's unconscious. He's in a coma. He's not going to wake up. He looks almost fine, like he's just sleeping. But we couldn't wake him up. Days dripped by. We just... sat in the waiting room. Trying to avoid Joseph's family. All 3 of the step-mother's came by at different points, so did his mom. His dad was there almost constantly. His brothers and sisters, aunts, cousins all stopped by. And all we wanted to do was scream at them to go away because he was ours, not theirs. Had never been theirs, would never be theirs. Except maybe for his siblings. After 4 days, the doctors came in to the waiting room, told us they had good news. Joseph had woken up very briefly, and wanted to see his friends. The doctors said only one, and his dad chose James. We sat there, waiting, daring to hope for the first time in what felt like forever. And then James came back, ashen-faced, to say that they'd made a mistake and Joseph wasn't actually awake, hadn't been awake, and was, in fact, getting worse. It was someone else who was getting better. I remember, we each had to go away at different points. The world didn't stop just because our lives were on hold. Liz, Alicia, and Mandy had to go to work. I skipped classes, called and cancelled all my shifts. I didn't care. I didn't care about any of that at all, because I could feel, bit by bit, Joseph slipping away from us all, and there was nothing I could do about it. But I was going to be the bridesmaid in my (chosen) cousin's wedding. I went back to the dorms, because that's where she was supposed to pick me up. I sat on the front steps of the hall and cried and raged. This guy came up to me, someone I knew to be a Christian from previous conversations, and he asked me if I was ok. I remember looking at him and thinking, What the hell is wrong with you? Do I look like I'm ok? and realizing that he didn't know how else to ask me what was wrong. "No, I'm not. My best friend is in the hospital because of a stupid accident that I should have been there to stop and he's dying. No, I'm not ok." He stood there, looking down at me sitting on the step with this terrible expression of pity on his face. And I started to get angry because I didn't want, and Joseph didn't need some stranger's pity. And then he asked if he could pray for me. I thought, What the hell? It can't hurt anything at this point. I just nodded. So he started praying. And I thought, with all my heart, with everything that was in me, just one word, PLEASE. Everything was rolled into that. If you're there, if there is a God, save him. Make him better, bring him back to me. Don't make me face this without him. And a bargain. An offer to do whatever it took, anything, anything at all, if he could just be ok. I remember feeling better after that, being able to cope with the rehearsal dinner and 50 people I barely knew. I remember flying back to the hospital, hoping that it had made some difference, that he was doing better. But he wasn't. The next day was the wedding, and it was beautiful. I actually even laughed a couple times. A couple days later, one of the few times we were all there together, the doctors came in to talk to Joseph's dad. They took him out in the hallway. We tried, desperately, to eavesdrop. He came back in, white faced and shaking. He told us that Joseph was brain-dead. That there was no activity at all and no way for it to come back. He tried to be gentle with us. I think. I remember us all falling in a circle, holding onto each other and just... sobbing. James didn't cry. Neither did Alicia. They just stood there, with no idea of how to let go, feeling horribly, horribly responsible for it all. I held... I don't know, several people. I remember rocking, and rocking, and rocking, letting everyone else cry, being able to cry while I held them. And then they let us go to see him one last time before they pulled the plug, before they donated all the useable parts to someone who needed them. Joseph would have liked that, would have been happy he was helping others, right to the very end. But it just made us bitter. Because someone else would have Joseph close to them and we wouldn't. (I know that sounds terribly macabre. It's just... we hurt, so much, that it made an awful kind of sense.) And we got to say goodbye. He looked so damn peaceful there, in spite of all the tubes and lines running from him. Eyes closed, breathing steadily (even if it was because of a machine), he just looked like he was asleep. I remember going over, standing at the foot of his bed and willing him to just wake up, to prove the doctors wrong. I remember touching his hand, holding it, and for the very first time ever, not feeling him squeeze my hand back. Somehow, that made it real. I whispered to him, all the things I was sorry for, the things I hadn't done or did do that I regretted, the things he'd done that made my world better, how much I loved him and would miss him... and as much as it hurt, it felt so good to be able to say all that, even knowing he couldn't hear me, wouldn't know what I was saying. Sometimes, I think Joseph is what held our group together. I may have been the matriarch, so to speak but... I wasn't the glue. We fell apart after his death. We were all so angry, and so hurt. Things got said that shouldn't have been. We've all drifted so far apart. There are a lot of things I would do differently if I had it to do over again. You know, I remember thinking, for a few days after he died, after the funeral, that it didn't feel real. I didn't see him often enough for it to feel different at first. Oh, you know, he's just busy with farm chores and school and his girlfriend. And then it would hit, like a fist in the stomach and I couldn't breathe, that he was gone, gone, gone, not coming back, not ever. And I started drinking. A lot. A whole lot. And I ran away that summer to California. And then my whole world turned upside down, all over again. Because God found me and I fell in love with Anthony... How many days until finals? What was one good thing that happened today? Miscellaney: Tell me what you think. Ilsa :: Ilsa's Site �::Ilsa's Comment(s)�:: That may have been the best piece of your writing I've ever seen. [2004-06-18 19:33:54] Rick :: Rick's Site �::Rick's Comment(s)�:: Thank you for sharing that Tessa. [2004-06-19 09:20:22] Caitlin :: Caitlin's Site �::Caitlin's Comment(s)�:: That was the most...amazing thing I think I've ever read on diaryland. Words cannot expressed how I felt reading it, thank you for writing it. [2004-06-19 17:24:04] solemne :: solemne's Site �::solemne's Comment(s)�:: I know that the pain shall never go away, but your courage to voice those thoughts can help the healing beyond anything that anyone could ever do for you, or say. From my heart, I am truly sorry. [2004-06-20 22:17:14] Funny thing about memory ~ ~ ~ Reason 4,532 Most recent: The REAL surprise party - Monday, Jul. 11, 2005 Still not here - Wednesday, Jul. 06, 2005 Moved - Thursday, Jun. 30, 2005 I survived - Thursday, Jun. 23, 2005 Go see her. Now. - Thursday, Jun. 02, 2005 |
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