“So I guess, to ask it directly — why shouldn’t I kill myself?”
Karl sat back and crossed his arms, staring at his friend with his cold, grey eyes.
“This again,” his friend said, “always back to this.”
Karl clenched his jaw and softly ground his teeth. One of these days he would go through with it. He thought to the rifle in the closet, the bullets he’d given Gus. How easy it would be to get more bullets.
“What would you say if I did it? If I finally went through with it?”
Gus didn’t flinch.
“You’re not going to go through with it. You just don’t have any other way to cope with your anger and sadness than to say these things to me.”
Gus didn’t normally speak this way. The two men were best friends since they were 14 years old. They had over forty years of time and conversations and laughs. Forty years and lots of pain. Lots of questions. Gus had always been there for him. And Gus had never spoken to his friend this way.
“What’s wrong with you?” Karl asked, looking hurt.
“What’s wrong with me?” Gus said, leaning forward.
“Do you really want me to answer that?”
Karl paused. He wasn’t sure that he did want to hear an answer. He wanted assurance. He wanted to be told why he should live. He wanted comfort.
“Did I say something that hurt you?” Karl asked.
“Yes,” Gus said quickly. “Yes. And it has always hurt. It just so happens to be a bit more profound today.”
It had been nearly a month since they last talked. Karl combed through his memory, looking for something that could explain this irritation. Had he said something thoughtless that he couldn’t remember? Had he forgotten an important moment? He could find nothing. He folded his arms, softly ground his teeth, and stared at his feet for too long.
“All right, I can go Karl. Sorry to bother you with my troubles,” Gus said, standing and moving toward the door.
“Wait,” Karl said, “Please wait.”
Gus turned and looked at his friend. His eyes were moist and his jaw was set.
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
Gus tipped his head back ever so slightly, his eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.
“I’d like to speak very plainly, if you’re OK with that.”
Karl swallowed hard.
“I’m OK with that,” he said.
Gus walked back to his chair and sat down. He took a deep breath.
“Two weeks ago I went to see my Pa, up North you know. First time I’ve seen him in maybe 3 months. We talk, it’s probably the same as it always is. Some about sports, some about how he’s trying to lose weight. Some on what he learned from the mailman.”
Gus stops and looks down. He takes a deep breath.
“We visit maybe an hour. I’m getting ready to go. Suddenly he says, ‘Oh, did you hear that Fuzzy shot himself?‘ And I had heard about this, heard about it from my Uncle. Fuzzy was 82, found out he had stage IV liver cancer, already too late, starting to spread. Didn’t want anyone wiping his ass — couldn’t bear it. Took his rifle and went out behind his garage and blew most of his head off. My uncle found him, called my dad, called the sheriff. Got things taken care of.”
Gus stopped again. He stared directly at Karl.
“And you thought about me. Thought about how I’ve got really nothing to complain about and how I should suck it up and get on with life.”
“Sure. Absolutely I thought about you — thought all those things. Thought maybe it would’ve been good for you to see what someone’s brains looked like against vinyl siding. Thought maybe just thinking about the person that would find you that way might help you just a bit.”
“Maybe I go to the woods, off into the middle of nowhere so no one can find me,” Karl said softly, his voice breaking ever so slightly.
“Maybe you do,” Gus replied.
The men stared at each other for a moment.
“Or maybe you actually become vulnerable instead of all of this song and dance. Maybe you take some ownership for the place you’re in and stop blaming everybody else.”
Karl had heard enough, and he couldn’t take it any longer.
“I didn’t ask to be here — I didn’t ask to get divorced, not see my kids. I didn’t ask for this life – I didn’t ask for any of this,” Karl said, his voice rising.
“None of us do, Karl. Not a single fucking one of us asks for any of this.”
Karl shifted uncomfortably. He thought about asking Gus to leave. He thought about leaving himself. But it was his own house and he didn’t know where he would go.
“So what then Gus — just “accept things” and move on? That’s it?”
“Maybe. Maybe you can get through that way. I’d rather you dive into the heart of it.”
“And what’s the heart of it?”
Gus stared his friend in the eyes for a long time. He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair.
“Go ahead,” Karl said, “I can take it.”
“I want to say simple things to you, but I don’t know that they’ll get through. I want to tell you that you’re a coward because you can’t face the weight of the goodness in the world — you’ve got to close your eyes and squint at it until you convince yourself that it’s dark and ruined. I want to tell you that it’s not as bad as you think — but it’s also way worse than you realize because you’ve got a fucking hand in how your life turned out and you refuse to see it. You’ve still got a hand in how it could turn out and you’ve just given up. You may as well be dead right now.”
This was not the comfort that Karl was looking for. He was very angry and very hurt. He was grinding his teeth a bit more fiercely now, and pinching the inside of his left elbow with his right hand. For a brief moment, he thought about getting the rifle and shooting his friend. But he remembered that he didn’t have any bullets and he didn’t want to try to club him to death with the rifle — that would be exhausting. The thought of that effort made him tired and brought him back to some soft, cozy place.
“See? Right there! Right there!” Gus pointed, “Where’d you go? You’re headed back down somewhere, when instead you should fight!”
“What’s the fucking point! There’s no point and nothing is going to change!” Karl yelled, standing up and taking a few short steps toward Gus.
Gus stood up quickly and moved face to face with his friend.
“What needs to change, Karl?” he asked, firmly but quietly.
Karl was breathing hard now, nostrils flaring, heart beating.
The flicker of anger was gone in Karl’s eyes, and he slumped back in his chair. Gus sat down as well.
“Everything. Nothing. I don’t know.”
Karl sat, staring at the ground, waiting for his breathing to slow down. He had felt like he was right on the edge of something, right at the point of discovery. He heard Gus say his name a few times, but he couldn’t bring himself to respond. He had been so close to something. He looked up and locked eyes with Gus.
“I don’t know what to do,” he said.
“I know, my friend. I don’t exactly know what to do either,” Gus said quietly.
There was a long silence.
“I do have one idea for you,” Gus said.
“What’s that?”
“You should start killing this hopeless version of yourself. Starting today.”
Karl stared at the ground. Karl’s eyes were moist and he pursed his lips slightly.
“I don’t know how to do that,” he said softly.
“Go out and look at the stars tonight. Go out and stare at them and just sit there for a while. Try to appreciate them, try to say thank you. Try to come up with some words to describe what makes them so pretty. Will you try that?”
Karl nodded his head.
“You got to promise me that you’re going to do this. Promise me, or I’m going to kick your ass.” Gus said.
Karl nodded.
“I want to hear you say it,” Gus said. His eyes were pleading and serious.
“I promise,” Karl said.
It was quiet. There was a weight in the air between them, something heavy and terrifying.
“One more thing,” Gus said.
Karl nodded and asked what it was.
“Tomorrow, write a letter to your daughter. Tell her about this. Tell her about what you think of the stars. Tell her why you think they’re pretty.”
Karl took a deep breath. Then another.
“And tell her that you’re sorry,” Gus said softly.
Karl hung his head and covered his face and began to weep.