The Prison Key

The Prison Key -

I know it’s been a long time since I came to visit. Did you miss me?

Huh, I sure do miss you.

I’m not sure why, but it’s always overcast by the time I get here.

I mean, it can be so sunny! And then as soon as I come through those gates… It always gets darker. It’s lonely. I mean, for me, it feels, lonely.

Awe man, I hate to think of you here, alone. I seriously hope you’re not here at all. Not really, at least.

I hope there’s a heaven for even us not so perfect people, and I hope that’s where you are right now.

I’m sorry, I know, I’ve been away so long.

I know, I know, years go by so quickly, but man you were my best friend in the world!

My God I remember all the fun we had, all the parties and late nights.

I mean, I think I remember it.

I remember pieces.

What I remember most was that day you broke your leg. We went so fast on those bikes! It was crazy!

And we both know; it was your idea to build that ramp.

Man, when I went running and got your mom she was pissed!

Super pissed! Until she saw you…. Yeah… Then she freaked out 10 times worse!

You told her the ramp was my idea. You remember that?

My parents grounded me for a month.

Then you let me try one of your pain pills.

What a feeling! It was like an escape from all the BS! Parents, school, those other kids! They had nothing on us man! And we were what?

15 at the time?

Then we were buying more, trying more.

We thought we were so cool. But looking back…

Being here, next to you now? Yeah, I think we were just dying more.

You remember that old lady from the little diner on 2nd street, how she would come out after they closed and very carefully put a bag of the leftover food from the day right next to the dumpster?

We knew she did it for us, but we laughed at her anyway. We laughed and said she was too old to lift the trash into the dumpster. “Here comes old and slow.” That’s what we called her. Even though we watched her bring out and dump those big buckets of oil out every night as well.

We knew she was feeding us. But we made fun of her anyway.

I don’t really think we were ever that mean, that ungrateful. Nah, I think we were embarrassed.

I think even then we knew somewhere in the back of our brains that our escape was really a prison.

So, we pretended to be free.

We pretended to be a lot of things.

We tried everything we could.

You know, you get one thing then it’s not the thing anymore, so you get the next new thing. Then, I guess we tried too much. Or maybe it was the wrong thing…

I’m sorry man, I’m so sorry.

I didn’t even know you were gone until I was ready to find our next score.

You were so cold…

I ran.

I didn’t even call an ambulance until after I got away.

That’s how messed up I was. That’s how messed up everything was.

I spent the next few days wondering when the police would come for me. Then I saw your obituary in the paper.

I went home.

My mom had passed away by then, and I didn’t even know.

But my dad was still happy to see me. Happy to see I was alive, and not like you.

Not dead, like you.

We went to your funeral.

There were so many people there! But I don’t think we really knew any of them.

Your mom couldn’t stop crying. And my dad wouldn’t let go of my arm.

And I was sober. For all of it. And it hurt.

It hurt a lot.

But not as much as hearing all the talk. Talk about you.

You were a druggie… It was bound to happen... You were no good…

To a lot of them, that’s all you were.

A no-good druggie who was bound to die early.

Then those same people started looking at me. Looking at me like I was next.

I wanted to tell them how much more there was to you!

I swear! I wanted them to know how smart, cool, and understanding you really were!

But they wouldn’t have heard me. So, I didn’t. I hung my head…

Then... I felt you there. And I knew, you didn’t want that for me.

No, not for me. You may have done some things wrong, we both did…

But that day, the day of your funeral, you gave me the prison key.

You saved me.

I wasn’t going to be next.

I wasn’t just another junkie!

I wasn’t.

And!

I didn’t want to die…

I went to rehab. I went 3 different times. Then I realized I had to leave town for it all to stick.

I went back to school. Learned all about computers.

I got a good job, a home.

And man. I got married last fall. She’s going to have my son soon.

We’re naming him after you.

Because you were my best friend.

I just wish we had never built that ramp.

If you need help, please get help. No matter what you might think right now, the world needs you, and you can absolutely have bright and beautiful days ahead of you.

• National Alliance on Mental Health (NAMI) 1–800–950–6264

• National Suicide Prevention Line 1–800–273-TALK (8255)

• National Substance Abuse Help Line (SAMHSA) 1-844-289-0879