Hanging February

Hanging February

1

The Social Feed Bleeds

February. The time to show extra appreciation for the one you hold most dear, a time of red festivities, a time of joy and love. It was only the first week of the month when I heard the news from my baby brother. Antonio Bonilla, a very close friend of mine from grammar school, passed away today. I couldn’t fathom the news, so I looked him up on Facebook and saw endless posts of sympathy and tears. It wasn’t fully realized to me until his mother posted on his page, expressing great distress that her son is dead. I stared at the phone and couldn’t look away. Flashes of our moments shared together swept through my mind, and the memories of Xbox, west coast hip-hop, Six Flags, and porn filled my head when I sat alone on the bed and cried. Cried so much that my chest pierced like a sharp needle fucking with my heart. I had lost a friend I’ve known since 1^st grade, and I never got to say goodbye.

2

The Truth

Antonio’s mother shared several posts that revolved around her son’s death. Revealing to us all online, Antonio was in the backyard of his girlfriend’s home, having a rough night after one too many drinks. He called out for her, seeking help, seeking love. She was home, so was her family, but they decided to ignore him. Antonio was a Latino, his girlfriend was white, and not the good kind. Her family despised him, mostly due to the color of his skin. I wouldn’t label them as racists, but the anger I have bottled up over the years after his death have sprouted honesty within me; I’m here to declare that those white bag of arrogant cunts ignored my friend’s cry for help because of race, and because of that he tied a rope around the porch and his neck and he jumped, choking and crying while they neglected him. Before he decided to commit, he reached out to dozens of friends, but not one of them seemed to care or even reply. I didn’t receive anything from him that night, and that’s what broke me. I had a dream about him, though I only remember it vaguely. He was in it only briefly, but he wasn’t happy. He seemed troubled, as if something was greatly eating at him. When I woke up, I thought of reaching out to him, but my lethargic ass completely forgot about it, at least until I looked on Facebook that one horrendous night. His mother didn’t hold back on her grief: she called Antonio’s girl a bitch online, blaming her for his suicide, and there wasn’t much to do except start a petition to implement a suicide law. The idea was to charge anyone of negligence if someone is threatening to kill themselves and with the other party not responding in some way. This never went into effect, but I did my part in signing for it. And I also did my part in attending his wake.

3

Daddy?

I dressed in a black button-up shirt as I attended the wake on my own. I walked into a room filled with people from Antonio’s life, family and friends, and some friends I haven’t seen in forever. Cory, Donovan, Ivette, Danielle, and a couple others were there. We greeted each other and just shared snippets of life with Antonio. It felt nice to catch up and look back on life with them, but I knew I had to face the casket sooner or later. After immense hesitation, I sauntered over to the opened underground bed and stared at the make-up covered, eyes and lips shut Antonio Bonilla. He looked good – kept his figure, fancy suit, he looked the same. I wanted to hold his hand and sing Coldplay to him, like the one time he did while we snacked on food before switching over to the Xbox. “I’ll miss you, man,” I quietly said to him, one hand on the casket, the other clenched. My throat was getting tight, so I couldn’t say anymore without bursting into tears. I gestured the sign of the cross and turned away, walking toward the back where they were playing a montage of pictures featuring Antonio and his peers throughout life. As I am walking by, a little boy ran by me and hollered “Daddy!” a couple of times before someone picked him up. A relative mentioned the mother, Antonio’s ex (not the bitch) and baby mama, covering her mouth and walking out of the wake when she heard her son call for Antonio. It was too much for me to take in. How are you going to explain to your kid that your father took the coward’s way out? What will the child think of, knowing that his old man was so young and so alive, only to be taken away by a noose on the porch? Will the kid remember his father? My anxiety was kicking in, so I decided to leave. I caught a glimpse of his mother, who was staring into space when I expressed my sympathy to her. She only turned her head and said, “Life is too precious to be ended so quickly.” She then walked away from me, maintaining the spaced look. It was my time to go.

4

February 2^nd

Whenever this time hits the calendar, I become severely depressed. The death of Antonio took a major toll on me. Around the time of his death, suicide was on my mind a bit, too. I sort of have depression, though I don’t like to label it. My mind becomes poisoned with vicious thoughts and emotions that I see ending myself as the best solution. But after February 2^nd, 2015, everything seemed to change. Suicide wasn’t on my mind anymore. Instead, I loathed the idea of it, and I hated myself for evening considering it in the first place. Life is one beautiful bitch that I don’t always want to fuck with, but the amount of preciousness in it one can appreciate can alter even the darkest of days. I wanted to kill suicide, I wanted to shout at his racist girlfriend across the planet and blame her until she went deaf, and I wanted to pick up his son and just talk to him. A noose on a porch of a racist family caused this muck. I don’t believe in forgiving these scums. Because of them, February is a month I no longer look forward to. A storm brews within this month, and I get burned to the fifth degree whenever an image of my friend pops into my memory.

5

Cold



I feel cold when I talk to people

Only here and there

I shake and rattle

Here and there

Only to fall asleep with a cold mind



I feel odd when I walk outside

Only here and there

I tremble and become lost

But only here and there

Only to be less kind



Everything became less and less

Everywhere

I only smile half the time

But only here and there

When a wave of brightness flashes through me



But then again, it’s merely here and there

A bad thought comes, darkness everywhere

Darkness consumes the light

The light is fading

But it never goes blank



Here and there, a spark ignites within

It’s indescribable, but it makes one feel whole

And well, shameless and content

And here and there a smile appears

So big that it’s everywhere



That’s when darkness subsides

When a frown fails

And a little blue in the sky shines on

That’s when it’s okay

Here and there

Yet, everywhere



6

Fare Thee Well, My Old Friend



Antonio,

I wish I had the chance to say goodbye before you lost yourself to that noose. I wish I called you after that strange dream. I wish we were still close buddies like we once were back in the day. Oh, you son of a bitch, you and I were like brothers at one point. I always wondered what you did after graduation. It just sucks because the next time that I saw you was on that casket, permanently sleeping. I feel lost sometimes when I think of you and what happened that night, and the days that followed. I’m not as nice as I used to be, and I don’t pray anymore. I’ve lost the notion of hope. I lost you, man, and it sucks major dick. You died a son, friend, and a father. I feel like I should be over this, but I simply cannot. You were the first friend I lost after graduation. I just wish I had found you in time again. If I ever become a well-known writer some time in the future, I’ll help your son find meaning in life, and I’ll make sure his life is well attended to once I gather the courage to talk to your mother again. It’s a dream for now – I only desire to turn that dream into a reality.

God fucking dammit. I suppose life does move on, but who the hell reminds themselves of that anymore? We all know life moves on, but life just keeps moving until Death stops you. I can take my time to grief and remember you for as long as I please, but I know one day some form of redemption will be at hand, and I’ll be there to clutch it for you. I don’t know what it is, but I’ll do that for you. It’s the least I can do.

I think that’s just about as much as I can write. Just know that I’m thinking of you, dude. You’ll never be forgotten. I love you, brother. Rest easy.

Fare Thee Well,

Cristian Anthony Rivera