I HAVE TO REMEMBER

by Brigitte Lee, , October 24, 2006

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I have to get this down. I have to remember this. If I don’t remember this I won’t be able to live with myself. I have to remember how it felt. I have to remember what was said, who was standing by the back door, who called me first. I have to remember what I was wearing. I can’t remember what I was wearing. I remember what I was doing. I remember what day it was. I can’t remember my day up until it happened though. I can’t remember anything before it. I remember my reaction being immediate. I remember being inside myself and not being able to see outside of my own hands. I remember who was there. I remember who wasn’t.

I need to remember what time it was. What time was it? It must have been after nine. I remember being really hungry, and then really not. I remember my mom on the phone pleading for me not to hang up, don’t go, don’t lock yourself away, come back, please won’t you call me back. I remember what happened.

I was in the kitchen; I was standing in front of the stove. I was stirring ravioli and sauce, each in a separate pot. I remember being hungry. I remember feeling the calm. I remember being content with the meal I was about to make, and the homework I was about to do, and the fact that it was Monday. I remember my phone ringing. I remember answering it, and being happy to see it was my Mom. I remember a cold chill in my spine and the soles of my feet get hot.

I remember her saying, “I have bad news”. I remember thinking that there was only one thing that could have been any worse than all of the other times she’s said, “I have bad news”. There is only one thing. I remember not stirring the ravioli and trying to get to a chair as fast as I could before she could get out the next sentence. She didn’t tell me to sit down, but the tone in her voice did.

I don’t remember what she said next. I’ve tried, repeatedly. And it’s not something you want to ask. I can’t remember the exact words, like in order. I can’t remember if she said “Dad” or “Father”. Why is this important? I don’t know, but I need to remember.
I remember hearing myself immediately crying, loud, a loud wailing cry, but right now I can’t remember what it sounded like. Immediately, like it just started to rain. A downpour that comes from what seems like nowhere, and just starts raining on you, harder than you’ve ever seen. And wasn’t it just a few minutes ago when the sun was shining?

I remember someone coming in. I remember who it was. I remember her sitting down next to me and grabbing my arm, trying to get me to open my eyes. I remember my Mom on the other end of the phone trying to get me to answer her. I remember not being able to move. I remember falling, inside of myself. I remember feeling like I was falling and I was never going to land.

I remember her having to pull my hands away before I could say anything. I don’t remember what I said. But I remember her reaction being as abrupt as mine. I remember something along the lines of saying I can’t stay on the phone. Let me get off of this phone. Let me out of this room, away from the light, let me be alone.

I didn’t even know how it happened yet. I couldn’t. I had to let it sink in first. I had to remember what she just said to me. I had to let it hit me. I had to let the shock subside. I remember it not taking long. I remember walking into my bedroom, seeing people look at me, but not being able to look back. I remember screaming. I remember my wall because it’s the only thing I could look at. I don’t remember what happened next.

Fuzziness. This is why I need to write this down, so the moments don’t fade out. Somehow I left my room; I went looking for my phone. People started to find out what was going on. They were talking quietly in other rooms, I couldn’t hear them, but you know people are discussing important information with that look on their face.

I had to call her back. I had to call her and have her directly tell me exactly what happened, and where, and why isn’t she telling me this fast enough. I need to just know it, I don’t want to sit and listen. I just want to know, I want to see it and get it over with. Where is my brother. Does he know? Where were you? How did you find out? Who was there first? Where was he? How? When?
Wait.
When?? Are you kidding?! You have to be fucking kidding me. What do you mean, they don’t know! Three days?! And they don’t know how???

Ok, stop.

I’m on the hardwood floor between the dining room and the living room, on my knees with my nose to the floor. I don’t know why this was the only thing I could do. But I couldn’t be anywhere else. In front of me the living room was dark, black, there was no light. Behind me, at the table, in the lit room, the girls sat at the table in a little line, not speaking, not moving, just listening, and watching me react to my life falling apart.

Someone else walked in, obviously being called and told that I was experiencing hell, and she better show up to be there for it. I remember her looking like she was going to walk right up to me and hold me, or do something, and then realizing I was obviously still being told the details, and it was best to just sit like the other girls, and wait.

So there I am, on the floor, trying to hold on, realizing that this meant I was leaving the next day. My planned life was about to be revised. I would have to pack things, and bring shit with me to last for an unknown amount of time. How do you pack clothes for a funeral? I am being excused from all responsibilities. I don’t have to show up to work. I don’t have to show up to school. People aren’t going to ask questions. I have to call someone. I have to call someone that understands how this is going to affect me. Someone has to go through this with me. Who? Who is it that you need more than anyone in a moment like this, because if they can’t be there right in front of you, it’s pointless.

I remember my brother getting on the phone. I remember asking him if he was ok. I remember hearing him finally start to cry, like he was waiting for me to do it first, or maybe he didn’t cry. I remember somewhere my mom telling me that he started to cry when he heard me cry. Maybe I remember her saying that when I called her back and knowing he was crying. I remember thinking it was important that he cried. I remember thinking about him in my living room at home, with my mom, sitting around waiting for my grandparents to show up with the news. I remember thinking about him knowing that no one from that side of the family drives to show up for anything. I remember thinking that I wanted him to be with me. He was the one that could understand more than anyone what was happening. I remember feeling more connected to him at that moment than we ever had in our lives.

I got off the phone, more fuzziness. There is a block of time here that I really can’t remember. I sort of remember crying more, maybe I started giving details, and someone came home.

I’m in my chair, in my bedroom. Crying, sobbing, and gasping for air, rocking, holding the wall, hitting the wall, yelling at the wall. The new person was informed of the current situation. People stood in my tiny little space around me, and they listened to the mangled words coming out of my mouth hit the wall and crash to the floor. I remember someone else leaving.

I remember saying that he was alone. He was completely alone. He had no one there, no one knew for days. I should have been there. I should have called him. I can’t remember the last time I saw him. I’m so angry. I’m so fucking angry. I’m so mad I can’t even feel pain. I’m so God damned pissed off, fuck him, and fuck him for doing this. I need to hit something, I need to scream more. I need to just cry. I wanted to just cry. Let me cry. I need to cry, I need to sob, I need to let it go. It’s over. It’s finally over. Screaming, there was more screaming, more kicking, more physical abuse of my bedroom wall. I remember saying, it’s finally over. Never again. He can finally rest. It’s over.

I remember people trying to say things to me and it being a waste of oxygen, because I can’t even remember what they said. Fuzz.

Phone calls, first phone call, and I couldn’t reach him. Call the next person. I can’t remember what I said. But I remember the point, and I remember saying to tell so-and-so, and so-and-so. Looking back on it, I don’t know why I needed to call people so immediately and inform them. I guess it helped me make it real. The people you call when anything happens, they make it real for you.

I remember calling the next person, and the next person. And back to the first. Still no answer. I remember trying to call someone else to get a hold of that person and still, nothing. I remember more people trying to talk to me. I remember more crying, more screaming, more talking to my wall and anyone that was in the room. I remember someone going to get beer and more people. I remember starting to be able to breathe, and carry on minimal conversation, and people lying on my bed, and more people standing behind me.

I remember the phone ringing and telling the people in my room they had to leave.
“What’s going on, someone said my phone has been ringing, I’ve been sleeping”. I remember telling him. I remember having to say it twice because he couldn’t hear me the first time. I remember that being the worst part, having to repeat it. I remember crying so hard and needing him so badly to just be in front of me, holding me, rocking me, and not on the other end of the piece of technology that brought me my bad news. I remember him crying. I remember him telling me it isn’t fair, and that nothing is ever easy for me. I remember it not lasting long enough. I remember knowing he wasn’t going to be able to help me anymore than that.

Skip to the living room because I can’t remember how I got there. I can’t remember more people showing up. I can’t remember what they said or what they were wearing. I remember sitting on the couch trying to smile and drink beer and talking. I remember someone calling my ex-boyfriend whom lived in my house but wasn’t there. I remember thinking that even he should be there, and knowing he wasn’t going to be. I remember wishing he would show up, and hug me, tell me I was going to be okay, even after everything. Even though we barely spoke, I remember needing him to say that, and then leave if he wanted. I do remember someone holding me, on the couch, and I think he was rubbing my head. Or maybe that didn’t happen. Or maybe it was someone else. But I remember sitting on more than one couch, drinking more than one beer, and smoking more than a few cigarettes. I remember not crying just then.

Talking, discussing details on what I was going to do next, who was going to the Dean for me, and what time I was leaving. I remember getting up to get another beer. I remember everyone being in the living room, and I was walking to the kitchen for a beer. I remember stopping at the fridge and putting my hand out and not making it to the handle before it happened again. A wave of hate and anger and tears just came right over me, like a slug to the back of the head. Like someone came up behind me with bat, and BAM, just hit me. I fell on the floor, just sort of like sat down, really hard, and it just started again: the wailing, the crying, and the slamming of my fists. I remember two people coming and holding me on the floor. I remember this being the end of the night.

I remember being fed sleeping pills with my beer. And being undressed and taken to bed, all while crying. I remember it being dark. I remember someone coming into bed with me and holding me, rocking me, humming quiet words and whispers. I remember fighting with the wall next to my bed now. I remember kicking my window sill and hurting my feet. I remember screaming, screaming, screaming at my hands. I remember being held down so I wouldn’t hurt myself. Not that I was trying, but that I simply couldn’t hang onto anything hard enough. I remember him crying behind me. I remember asking him why he was crying, am I really that disturbing?
I remember him talking about his own father, I remember getting delirious. I remember not knowing that I was awake. I don’t remember falling asleep. I don’t remember anything after the wall.

I have to remember this, or it won’t be real.
I have to remember this, or it never happened.

Illustrated by: Norma Gutierrez, Art Director

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