“Can I ask what happened?” I asked, turning down the radio to hear his story.
“Suicide.”
I put my hand on his arm as safely as I could while he was driving because I suddenly had to touch him, and he pulled one hand off the steering wheel to hold mine.
I didn’t know what to say. How does anybody respond to such a tragedy? What words could possibly help, even after all the time that had passed?
The answer was clear: There was nothing.
He laced his fingers through mine, still not moving his eyes from the road.
He kept talking. “She was a freshman in college. She swallowed a bottle of Xanax down with a bottle of vodka. By the time her roommate found her, it was too late.”
“Oh my God,” I whispered, my fingers tightening against his as I realized the heartbreaking and devastating irony of swallowing too many pills that were likely prescribed in order to battle depression.
“She didn’t leave a note, but it was clear that she’d meant to do it.”
“Any idea why?”
He shook his head. “That’s what makes it so difficult. Even fifteen years later, I still don’t have any answers.”
“Were they her pills?”
He shook his head again. “Her roommate’s.”
“I’m sorry, Jesse.”
I felt his fingers tighten against mine. “Thank you.”
We were both quiet for a moment. I didn’t know what else to say; I didn’t want to press too many questions and make him uncomfortable, and even though it was a tragedy, I was glad he told me. His revelation would only bond us closer together.
“V, I’ve never talked about this with anyone voluntarily.”
“Thank you for telling me,” I said, feeling overwhelmed with love for him. I felt honored that he trusted me enough to talk about what was clearly the most difficult event of his life. I brought our joined hands up to my lips and kept them there as he continued talking.
“I didn’t handle it well. None of us did, actually. My parents nearly got divorced because of it. I turned into a delinquent.”
I remembered the picture of Jesse at his prom, and now I understood the brooding, haunted look in his eyes. If his sister died fifteen years earlier, that would have made him about a sophomore in high school. He’d told me the picture he showed me was from his junior prom, only about a year after his sister’s death. I couldn’t imagine losing someone I loved so much to something so tragic with so many questions surrounding the circumstances, especially at the tender age of only fifteen.
“My parents forced me into counseling. They wanted me to talk to someone, thinking that if I just got it out, I’d start to behave again. But none of it helped. Looking back now, I was clearly starved for attention because my parents were dealing with losing their daughter while their marriage fell apart, so I acted out. I was an asshole to everyone around me. I started drinking because it numbed the pain. I got in a shitload of trouble at school.” He paused and took a deep breath, lost in the memories as he drove through the desert.
I sat quietly as I waited for him to continue.
“And then I met Dr. Dustin. He was young and he’d gone through something similar, and I just clicked with him. He encouraged me to take up a hobby, something that I could put all of my focus into. For him, it had been furniture. I asked him if he would show me, and he taught me everything I know about it. My life was falling apart, but he was an adult who believed in me and spent time with me when I felt like no one cared, my parents included.”
“Is he the one who told you that you’d make a great counselor?”
He nodded, pressing his lips into a thin line.
“He was right,” I whispered.
I felt his fingers tighten over mine again. We were both quiet as I thought about juvenile Jesse acting out from a place of pain and then getting his life back on track because of one adult who took an interest.
“Tell me about your sister,” I said quietly.
“She was my best friend. She was three years older than me, a senior when I was a freshman. She took care of me. Everyone loved her and she was good and kind. She never hurt anybody, which is why none of us could understand why she hurt herself. I just kept thinking that I could have done something differently. I blamed myself for a long time. I still do, sometimes.”
A conversation with Jesse replayed itself in my mind. He had once said to me, “I was always there, but maybe you just didn’t realize it.” I knew now that he had been talking not just to me, but about his sister. He’d been there for her, but it was too late for her. She never realized that she had people who loved her and who wanted to save her from herself.