Years ago in high school, I knew another boy, I’ll call him ‘Andy’. We were acquaintances, not close friends, but we were on friendly terms. His younger brother and mine were good friends though.
He was a good-looking guy (I guess), straight blonde hair, and a ready smile. In fact, when I met him it seemed he was almost always smiling about something, always ready to tell a joke or laugh at someone else’s.
Although I could see that under the smiles and laughs that there was a shyness and vulnerability about him, he was popular with other boys as a friend, and with girls as a romantic prospect. In short, he seemed happy, affable and likeable.
So I was stunned to learn, when I showed up to school one morning, that Andy had placed a loaded shotgun into his mouth, and pulled the trigger. It had happened late, the night before. He was just 17, and just weeks away from graduating high school.
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Guns were common in that area, for hunting. Most families had one. Even as teenager, I had my own shotgun and .22 rifle.
After a period of shock and mourning in the small local community, things gradually returned to a semblance of normality. Of course, for Andy’s family, things would never be the same again.
There was no suicide note, and no one I talked to could figure out why he would do such a thing. If he had been a heavy drinker / drug user, showing signs of depression, maybe somehow it might have made sense. But Andy? No, it didn’t make sense, at least in terms of the Andy we ‘knew’.
The months passed, and Christmas time came. One day my younger brother came to my room and said he had something to show me. He insisted that I must come outside to see it, he didn’t want to bring the mysterious object into the house.
So I followed him outside to the back of the house. He pulled an object out of a large duffle bag. It was a gun, a 12 gauge shotgun.
“Where the hell did you get that?” I asked. “From Steve” he answered. Steve was Andy’s younger brother, and both he and my brother were just 15 years old.
Then he told me the story. After Andy’s suicide, the shotgun had been taken by the police, as part of an investigation to confirm that the death was indeed a suicide. The gun was returned to the family after investigations were completed.
Then just a few days ago, as my family and I were opening presents, Steve and his family were doing the same. I imagined that it was going to be a sad Christmas without Andy there.
Steve opened one of his gifts. It was from ‘Mom and Dad”. He unwrapped it and pulled out the shotgun – the exact same gun that his brother had killed himself with just months prior. The gun returned to the family.
I don’t know exactly what was said by Steve or his parents after the gun was unwrapped. But I can imagine that inside, Steve must have been suffering, and in mental anguish and turmoil.
I can imagine any love he had for his parents dying in that moment.
Steve called my brother later that day to tell him about the gun. He was crying, and confused. He didn’t want the shotgun, he wanted it out of his life. So my brother came and got it, then showed it to me.
So I stood there with my brother behind the house, looking at the gun. I was angry, and uncomprehending inside. 'What kind of sick, fucked-up parents would give the same gun that had killed their oldest son, to his own brother, on fucking Christmas? Were they hoping that Steve would emulate his brother and kill himself too??'
I told my brother to go inside, that I would take care of it. I took it into the garage workshop and cut it up into as many smaller pieces as I could. Then I put it into a burning-barrel we had out back, and set it all on fire. I used enough fuel to burn down a small town.
After that, I took what was left, and threw it all into a local dump.
But it all makes me think. We can never really know for certain what is going on behind a happy face, a smiling face that is secretly in deep pain, and unable to articulate or resolve that pain, so concealing it. That was Andy.
Image Pixabay
And unless we are part of a family, we can’t really know the real inner dynamics, the hurts and wounds and insults given and taken. And the secret perversity of some people and some families.
That was Andy’s family – bound by parent’s who must have been sick inside, and perverse in behavior. It is hard for me to imagine any other explanation, given the suicide and the Christmas present.
When I think about it, his parents are lucky that Steve didn’t use that gun on them. Who knows? Under the circumstances, they may have deserved it.
The sheer malice of some people is incomprehensible. I guess it’s what we call Evil.
