His eyes are closed. A smile forms in the corner of his mouth as he lies there motionless in the summer sun; the warm air cascading gently across his face and rustling his hair in tender strokes. He is in his favourite place on earth, home.

It is the middle of summer and he is in his garden with his back against the oak tree that he has adored since he was a boy. He knows every bump and curve on the tree as he has climbed it almost daily over the past 18 years, often in a game where the tree gave him a lofty advantage over the hapless Indians below or a safe place to hide when Nanny was displeased with him for some misdemeanour or another.

Just recently he has taken to just lying at the base of the tree, with his back to the trunk, that cradles him like a nursing mother comforts a child against her bosom.  He loves this tree, he always has. He cannot imagine a more perfect afternoon than this, lying in the garden, on his own in quiet serenity, the only sound being that of his sister’s children playing somewhere out the back. And when he gets hungry, after a few hours that would feel like an eternity, he would amble back to the house and enjoy a long and carefree lunch that would send him even deeper into a state of idle relaxation. Not a care in the world; he feels so at peace with the world and with himself. He breathes in deeply and fills his lungs with warm sweet smelling air. His mother’s orchard is heavily laden with fruit and is ripe for

He breathes in deeply and fills his lungs with warm sweet smelling air. His mother’s orchard is heavily laden with fruit and is ripe for picking. The fruit is casting abroad its aroma inviting everyone to come and take hold of the soft luscious harvest that waits. He can also make out the perfume of the lavender bushes that adorn the border. If he opened his eyes he would see the tall stalks of purple soldiers waving in the breeze like a tranquil sea, gently moving backwards and forward in uniformed harmony.

The children’s voices in the distance are becoming a little too animated for his liking and their childish screaming is enough to disturb his peace. Some voices are louder than others and he chuckles to himself as he pictures his younger brother George getting far too agitated as he bosses whatever game he is part of. Sometimes father would have to intervene and ask George to calm down as he became increasingly frustrated that the house servants were not playing the game in the way that he wanted. He stretches his legs and turns to get comfortable; he could lie here forever and is determined that nothing will make him get up. Not that he could anyway, tiredness has taken hold of his body and he is a dead-weight; nothing more than another piece of the landscape into which he is melting.

He wishes that George would pipe down now. His loud screeching is beginning to disrupt his slumber. If he has to get up and march over to the house he will be very angry and won’t be afraid to show it. Although he loves George to bits, he can be a most infuriating chap.  Once, he ran off to tell a large group of travellers to get off of his father’s land or else he would beat them all severely – he was only eight years old and he was lucky to be found by our groundsman before they taught him some well-deserved manners. Also, the carefree way he skipped to the recruiting office when the Germans started to cause a nuisance in Belgium, even against the advice of our father… George was always ready to step in and say his piece without thinking through the consequences.

After a few more minutes, and another twist and turn to get comfortable against the tree, he realises that his peaceful slumber has indeed been interrupted. He tried to push it to the back of his mind, but the noise has now become intolerable and he is irked by the mindless shouting. Also, the refreshing cool breeze has disappeared and he is starting to suffocate in this oppressive heat. The air is no longer clean and fresh, and he coughs as he struggles to gulp down any air. This just won’t do…he needs to get up and head to the house. “Curse you George” he mutters under his breath, “will you stop that shouting! Enough is enough. “

He opens his eyes…

Instantly the bright sunlight has turned into a thick choking smoke that obscures the natural light, and instead of soft grass, he is sitting waist-deep in mud and grease. He thrashes around completely disorientated, looking for the safety of his house but it is not there…where is he? Nothing looks familiar, he is not in his garden at all, he has no recollection of this place. Then he notices that the shouting is not coming from his brother George in the distance, it is himself. In fact, as he sits upright against the tree, he realises that he is screaming uncontrollably. Why? Why is he screaming? What is wrong?

Another explosion sends a cloud of earth and stone against his face and he flinches from it, trying to curl into the loving arms of the stump behind him for protection. The tree is rejecting him. There is no safety here; there is no reassurance, no love. He is frightened and alone as he shakes in terror at what is happening. His ears ring to the point that he cannot focus on anything around him, he shakes his head but his senses are totally disoriented and all he can hear is his own muffled screaming and the loud thud of explosions.

He looks around with glazed eyes unable to focus on anything until he looks down at his body. He realises that he is soaked to the skin and his strange torn and bloodied clothes are stuck to him. The material looks like wet paper that could easily be rubbed away if you touched it. He adjusts his gaze and continues to look down to his legs and realises that they are not there, instead, he sees two mangled stumps where his legs used to be. He screams again, this time, it is more fierce and chilling and he vomits onto the ground as the sight of his torn body registers in his brain. Where is he? What is going on? Where is his family?

Through the fear comes a strong resolution to take control, he needs answers. There…over there, look it’s George. He would recognise George’s blonde curly hair anywhere. It’s as golden as the sun and always looks so beautiful, even against the foul mud that clings to him. He finds he can form words in his throat and manages to shout  to his brother…”George? George? What the hell is going on? George!” His brother is not answering. He is kneeling only a few feet away from him, with his back turned. “Blast him”, he thought, “what is he doing now?” He grasps the earth beneath him and shuffles nearer to his brother…”George, damn you”…he shuffles nearer and nearer, the thick choking air almost making him faint as he moves across the ground. He grabs his shoulder…”George, what the hell is …” The body of his younger brother falls backwards and sprawls on the earth. The screaming starts again. George’s face is not there. Half of his head is missing and his body is lifeless and limp… “George!!!!” he screams, but no one can hear him. Another explosion, another cloud of earth sprays against him and fills his eyes and mouth with rancid mud that smells of burning. He is immediately sick and slumps onto his side.

What is going on? Why is he not home? He sees a man running towards him! “help” he whimpers…”help me”. He reaches out his arms to be picked up like a young baby desperately in need of love and comforting. He doesn’t know if it is sweat or tears in his eyes, but he knows that he needs to get out of here. The man stops in front of him, kneels down, and unfastens something from his belt. ”A drink! Oh yes please,” he mumbles to himself, barely above a whisper. He reaches out to the man in front of him grasping at the buttons on his coat, tenderly entreating him to save him from the unnatural and godless scene that he finds himself part of. But no drink is offered, no warm voice meets his ears, no reassuring hand comforts his own cold and bloodied.

And then he sees it. Not the soft rounded edges of a flask, but the cold gleam of a blade. Slowly he looks up with fear raging through his body, and for the first time, he is able to make out the face of his ‘rescuer’. The man towering over him is young and rugged but stares back expressionlessly with cold empty eyes that betray no human emotion. Their faces are inches apart. The stranger has not stopped to offer salvation, he is not reaching out to help him, but with brutal gentleness, he slips the blade deep into his chest and twists it as it pierces his heart. His body spasms and immediately his eyes begin to mist over.

All around him becomes calm and the only sound he can hear is the soft speech of his companion who is now whispering something in an unfamiliar tongue. Although slipping towards unconsciousness, he feels that he recognises the pattern of words being uttered; confused and afraid, to his disbelief it sounds like the Lord’s Prayer although it has never sounded as empty as it does now. The stranger’s voice quietens to an echo and all else turns silent. With the knife still protruding from his tunic, he falls back and his eyes finally blacken and he comes to rest with his head touching the golden locks of his brother.

Together they gaze heavenwards with unseeing eyes as the mud continues to swallow their bodies and entomb them in a land that is far from home. Two brothers lost forever in Northern France.

“Why not”. Two syllables, one question, and a myriad of possibilities. To some, hearing these words may seem insignificant. For me, this simple question is incredibly powerful. It opens our minds to new ideas and cannot be asked enough. I believe that our words hold a tremendous amount of value. If they are thought-provoking, that value is immeasurable.

When our thoughts are challenged and our mind is tested, we are forced to think creatively. It’s in these moments that the magic truly happens. This is when ideas are formed, when problems are solved, when inventions are created, when revolutions are started, and when progress is realized. Asking this question helps us accesses our full capabilities.

Growing up, my parents made a point to engage in educational discussions with my brother and myself.

They encouraged us to participate in their debates and ask them questions whenever we needed clarification. Apart from discussing the day’s affairs, dinner was often a time to present us with short lessons or teach us about whatever life had in store for us.

Any chance they got they would find a way to translate the issues they were dealing with into a version that we could relate to. While math and science were handled at school, I learned more about taxes, investments, philosophy, and life in general at the kitchen table than I did in any classroom.

One of the most influential lessons I learned during these talks was the importance of the phrase “why not.” A graduate of Cornell, MIT, and North Carolina State University, my father has received some of the best education this country has to offer. He first presented the wonder behind the phrase “why not” to me about ten years ago. After discussing one of my older brother’s psychology projects, my dad digressed a bit to recall one of the more memorable lessons he learned as an undergrad.

He began to tell us about one of the philosophy tests he took while attending Cornell. Like most of the tests he took in this class, this one was a short answer format. It had a series of essay questions, of which only one had to be answered. Among the possible problems was the shortest test question I’ve ever heard of, “Why?”

When I heard this question I was stunned.

I couldn’t understand how a teacher could grade students on their response to such a vague question that seemingly had no definite answer (college has helped me grow a little more accustomed to such practices by professors). Sensing my confusion, my father continued the lesson by leaning towards me to ask, “What would you have written?” Determined to come up with the correct answer, my mind began racing through every possible answer.

After a few frantic moments, I accepted that my efforts were to no avail. I couldn’t wrap my head around what the question was asking. The question “Why what?” kept popping into my head. My only explanation was that it needed more clarification.

Defeated, I admitted that I was stumped and asked my dad what he had written. My father laughed and said that he had left it blank too. Out of thirty some odd students, only one had attempted to answer that question, and they did so in less than a minute. As you may have guessed, this student simply wrote down “Why not?”

Again I was shocked. But this time I was happy about it. At first it was only because I loved how bold the idea of walking out of a test after writing two words sounded. But as I thought more about it, I began to realize how incredible the response was and why my dad had told us that story. Although I didn’t fully understand the magnitude behind “why not” at the time, there were two aspects of the answer that really stood out to me.

The first was how profound it was. It’s not that it was particularly hard to grasp, it was just something I’d never given much thought to. Responding with “why not?” can be both a question and a challenge to authority. This becomes incredibly powerful when it is used to reject a conventional thought to explore new ideas.

The Wright Brothers said “why not?” when people told them it wasn’t possible to fly, Roger Bannister thought “why not?” when everyone said humans couldn’t run a four minute mile, and Steve Jobs didn’t hesitate to ask “why not?” when he was told he wouldn’t be able to compete with Microsoft. At some point, every great innovator starts with the simple question “why not?”

The second aspect that stood out was its simplicity. After I realized the depth behind the response, I was immediately impressed by how effortless it was to get there. But the more I thought about it, the more it just made sense. Why should we always accept what is presented to us? Why shouldn’t we ask for more? Why not?

At that point in my life, this was probably the greatest philosophical understanding I’d experienced. The fact that it had only taken an exchange of three words to get there was remarkable to me. My whole academic career, the value in the answers had progressed linearly with the complexity of the problems and the methods to get there. But this disregarded that rule. “Simple is beautiful”. I’d heard it before, but I hadn’t truly appreciated it until then.

It’s incredibly empowering when you come to the realization that two words can enable you to experience life at a greater capacity. While I’ve tried to let this idea be a major influence in my life, it’s recently become more relevant to my current situation.

The end of my fall semester marked a major transitional period in my life. Despite my performance in my classes, I was no longer interested in pursuing an engineering career. At the same time, I decided to step away from an Internet marketing business that I had spent well over a year building. On top of all this, my soccer career came to an end, a moment almost 18 years in the making. Seemingly overnight, my schedule changed drastically. At one point I was actually confused by the amount of free time I had. There was a massive void in my life to say the least.

After a few weeks of growing restless and not knowing what to do with myself, the remedy to my situation presented itself to me. While working on a problem set, one of my good friends Nick told me there was a small MMA club at our school and that he’d recently attended one of their training sessions. Thinking I might be interested in joining, he asked me if I wanted to go with him the next time he went. At the time I didn’t know much about MMA, but I knew it was a great way to stay in shape, so I said, “sure, why not.” Flash-forward to the following weekend.

I was standing in a basement on a wrestling mat strapped into some headgear and sparring gloves. I’d just watched Nick’s nose get cracked open and now it was my turn to fight Sean.

The leader of the group, Sean had about 40 pounds on me and grew up learning Maui Thai. He takes personal ownership in not only training the club, but also in breaking in each new member to gauge their skillset. Needless to say I was a little concerned going into this fight. Fortunately I didn’t have much time to think about what might happen before the stopwatch started counting down.

Sean obviously held back and I actually landed a few good punches, but I got absolutely worked for three minutes. If I had to guess, watching that fight was probably similar to watching a dog chase a laser pointer, a good mix of comical and hopeless.

The next day I was in a world of hurt, but a beautiful thing had happened the day before. For those of you that have never fought, the first time you take a good strong punch is an eye-opening experience. At first you’re in a state of shock and panic. You can feel your nervous system trying to frantically figure out what’s going on. But the fight’s not over and you have to continue to deal with the next combination. Eventually you get used to it. When this happens, when your body finally adjusts to the concept of getting hit, your fear escapes you.

“Expose yourself to your deepest fear. After that… you are free”- Jim Morrison.

The only way to conquer your fear and to grow as a person is to get out of your comfort zone and to face whatever fears are holding you back.

After Sean’s first two punches, my brain had accepted that I could survive getting hit. It was a surreal feeling and it all stemmed from the question “why not?” That experience was a gentle reminder of just how important that question is to me.

From then on I took it upon myself to embrace those two words again. In doing so, I’ve beyond filled the void that once existed. Over the past few months I’ve done more than I ever imagined. I went snowboarding for the first time, I took up rock climbing, I took a ballroom dancing class, I became a weekday vegetarian, I found an internship outside of my major, I went off-roading at 6,500 ft., met Jay-Z, worked out with a Victoria’s Secret model, and had a cook-off with a world renowned chef.

I beat the house gambling, I explored Lake Tahoe, I played soccer in the U.S. Open Cup, I went bridge jumping, I back-flipped out of an airplane, I gave a speech in front of 400 people, I began teaching myself how to play the guitar, I rode some of the highest, fastest rollercoasters in the world, I began collaborating on a smartphone app, I raised money for a volunteer trip in Kenya, I became a licensed Realtor, and I wrote a published article. In the same time I’ve traveled to seven states and six major U.S. cities. Within the next two months I will travel to two more continents.

While none of these events are anything to marvel at, they are all things that many people, including me, long to experience. Unfortunately, they are also things that the same people often allow themselves not to experience. The only reason I ended up doing them is not because I’m some amazing human being (I can promise you I’m no different than the average Joe on the street), it’s because I made a conscious decision to ask myself “why not?” That’s it. That’s all it takes.

My challenge for you is to remember those two words. Ask yourself “why not?” as much as you can. Ask “why can’t we do this?” and “why shouldn’t I experience that?” This is not a call to spontaneity, or a request to blindly say yes to every opportunity that presents itself. It’s simply a matter of considering all of the options that are in front of you before you make your decision. There’s nothing to lose, and in my experience, there’s an incredible amount to be gained. So why not try it?

I was nine years old. I had a seven-year-old younger sister Kate. My mom had just passed away from breast cancer, and my dad felt hopeless.

Things didn’t seem like they could get any worse. The next year or so is a complete blur in my life; I think I have subconsciously blocked out that time because it was so difficult for my family and me. My dad about a year later began to date who would become my step-mom, Debbie.

My family had known Debbie and her family for years before, and her son Mark was my best friend growing up. His parents got divorced right around the time of my mother’s passing, and the timing just seemed to work out perfectly for my dad and Debbie.

This time seemed to absolutely fly by, and before I knew it my family was moving into a brand new house with Debbie, Mark, and her daughter Jackie. There were six of us now in a house. Things had moved so quickly I don’t think any of the kids were ready for such a big change.

There was so much resentment between the opposing families. Kate and I had loads of tension with Debbie, while Mark and Jackie couldn’t stand my dad. They were disgusted with the new situation because they obviously wanted their real dad instead of mine.

Understandable, but not pretty.

Mark and I, best friends growing up, couldn’t stand each other more. We never spoke, never hung out, and talked bad about each other behind each other’s backs. I hated that he disliked my dad, and he probably hated me for disliking his mom.

All I wanted was to move back to my old house with Kate and my dad. We were finally starting to get stronger after my mom’s passing, and now we had to deal with this? It seemed totally unfair.

Those next three years were really rough, and it was probably a stereotypical step family situation. Lots of resentment and tension, but our parents were happy together. Finally, however, there was a defining moment that brought Mark and me back together.

My best friend from high school, Graham, was a big basketball player like Mark. We always hung out, and he couldn’t stand Mark either because of everything I would tell him. However, during the summer going into junior year, Mark and Graham worked at the same basketball camp. They spent 8 hours together for two weeks and grew pretty close.

One Friday night, Graham invited me to come over and hang out for the night and when I got there, Mark was there too. At first I was pissed and thought about just going home.

But I decided to stay, and I couldn’t be more grateful that I did.

The three of us played basketball, ping-pong, video games, built a bonfire, and watched a movie. We all had a blast, and it was at that exact moment that Mark and I became friends again. This transformation in our relationship not only helped us grow closer, but it helped our family as a whole bond.

Mark and I’s struggling relationship was a prime reason why our family had so much tension, and fixing that friendship was a turning point for our family. Since then, our family has only been growing stronger. Mark and I went off to UGA last year, and we even roomed together.

Four years ago if somebody told me that Mark would be my roommate in college, I would have laughed in their face because I couldn’t think of anything worse. But we did, and it was an unbelievable year. All of the kids are in college now, but when we go back home for holidays and breaks, we always pick it up right where we left off.

I couldn’t be happier with how my life is now; I can truly say that life will always go on and everything happens for a reason.

(Fiction by Patrick Ulacco)

Growing up in Naples wasn’t so bad, you’ve got plenty of beaches and beautiful women, along with a handful of other chicks fleeing from the cold up north during vacation. You’ve got the Everglades around the corner; couple miles south on an open road, and you’re bound to see some gators if that’s what you’re looking for.

You want a crazy atmosphere for young adults and college freaks? Take a two-hour drive to the other side of the peninsula and you’re in Miami, man; the hub of nightlife. You can ask me all you want about what the place was like back then, but I have no answers for you. I never went to Miami when I was younger. And I never planned to.

I grew up with my father and my twin brother, Kyle. Don’t ask about my mother, she’s more of a coward than I am, letting a name push her to abandon her children. I don’t want to talk about it. My father came from a long line of Irish scum, but believe it or not, he was the first in a long line of O’Keefe men that didn’t end up abandoning his children for the bottle. Yeah, he chose the bottle over my brother and me on a daily basis, but let me tell you something, man; he never left. He’s a better person than my mother if you ask me. And let me tell you something else, he tried.

He tried so hard to be someone that he could never be, you could see it in his eyes, but he was cursed.

He’d have this desperate sparkle of hope in those helpless blue eyes. When he wasn’t boozed up that is, but still, you could see it. There was some sort of savior, or something that was in him that wanted to escape, something deep down was fighting the darkness within, but that darkness is strong in us O’Keefe men. But every night would swallow any bit of hope. And those blue eyes. Those blues eyes would transform into tainted black pits bordered by bloodshot red veins. And my father would fall, and all hope would be lost as a monster emerged from the depths of an old Jameson bottle.

My brother and I would go to school every morning with new scars and bruises reminding us of our painful past, and only faith in ourselves kept us from seeing it in our future. We would hide in our shells and only converse with each other. After a long day of avoiding any sort of interactions, Kyle and I would escape for just a few hours every day. While our father thought we were at track practice, we would make our way to our own little safe haven. It was this little, discrete area of the Naples Pier beach that not many people walked by. We would sit there for hours, man, and we would just talk, you know? And from two o’clock until five or sometimes even six, everything was okay.

We would survey the waves as they crashed and listen to the palm trees in the wind. We would take in the warmth of the sun and we could smell the briny refreshment of a life free. We would talk about whatever came to mind. A lot of times we made up stories, you know? Stories about escaping from that demon back home.

“See that boat out there, Chris? Imagine if we were on it. Imagine if we were just so far away from here that we didn’t even know what pain was?” Kyle would say.

“Yeah! What do you think we’d be doing out there?”

“I don’t know about you, but I’d be fishing. Try to grab a nice catch for dinner, you know?” Kyle really knew how to make me laugh, man; we’ve never been fishing in our life! But if we were out there, let me tell you something; Kyle would have caught something.

“You don’t think they would have some fancy meals served to us?”

“Depends what kind of boat we’re on, I guess. But let’s not get too ahead of ourselves, Chris, let’s just get on any boat we can before we pay to board the fucking Titanic!” He would laugh and jab playfully at my shoulders. Anyway, we weren’t strong enough emotionally to actually be on our own.

We had to stay.

So we would go home every night before the sky turned red and before his bottle popped. And every single night— I mean it, every single night— we would walk through the front door and hear the old man. I don’t know how he managed to get out of work before dinner every night. I mean, he worked for the town, aren’t those shifts usually pretty random? I don’t know, that’ll always be a mystery to me. Every night though, we’d walk in and he’d be like, “Listen. I’m, sorry okay? I would never mean to harm you. We’re cursed, boys. Don’t you ever pick up a bottle. We’re cursed.” Two hours later he’d be throwing bottles at us, calling us spoiled scum bags for trying to watch TV. We’d hide from him in the room we shared.

“Oh go cry in your rooms, you little faggots! My father.” He would slur. “Let me tell you about my father! You know what it’s like to have cigarette burns up and down your spine?” But his father didn’t do that as much as my father said he did. My father only had a burn or two. His father left when he was seven. It was different for me.

I went to bed every single night, not looking to escape to my dreams, man.

Dreams didn’t exist in that life.

I went to sleep every night waiting for the sun to rise. I went to bed every single night of my childhood, hoping that the beating I got after dinner was the last one I’d get until after dinner the next night. I went to bed every night looking Kyle in the eye from across the room, watching hope fade. I saw our demons in Kyle, and he saw them in me. Those demons, they were our fathers eyes; our eyes. We’re O’Keefe’s, just like he is. We’re the next in a long line. But we weren’t about to unleash any more evil into the world. Kyle and I were going to be the ones that got away. We were going to be “Good O’Keefe’s” who worked hard for their families and made it back from Hell. That was the plan, and we believed it could be done, man. We were going to do it.

All we needed was enough money to get on a bus to Saint Petersburg and rent a hotel for a few nights. We knew we’d be able to get part time jobs over there and ultimately work our way up. Eventually we would find some nice beautiful women and take care of them, show them love that no O’keefe man has ever shown anyone. Then we would get married, live in a two family home if we had to, or on the same street, and our children would be more than just cousins. Not a drop of alcohol would ever make it through the doors of our homes. Our family curse would simply cease to exist.

After a year of high school, though, and the summer going into next, Kyle started taking it pretty hard. The abuse was catching up to him, and I did all I could to help.
“I don’t know how much longer I can take this, Chris. I don’t know if I can keep coming home.”

“No, don’t worry, buddy. We’re in this together. Just three more years including this one, then we’re out of here for good. I got you, Kyle. Don’t worry.”

Our father had taken Kyle’s shoes, saying they were too expensive or something, forcing Kyle to go barefoot to school for days. And the only reason he even got those shoes back was because our father started beating him in his sleep with them.

“Chris. There’s nothing good about being here! Don’t you feel safe when we’re at the pier? Don’t you wish we could stay there forever?”

“Well, yeah. But it’s not that simple.”

“It is though, Chris! It is! Why don’t we just go there and never come back?”

“Because, Kyle, we have to stay in school if we want to be different. We have to finish and get jobs so we can be stable. I promise, it’ll be worth it when we look back on these days and realize that we got through it together.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I just wish there was something that could make us feel a little bit better while we’re at home, you know?”

“Absolutely. But hey, at least we’re not alone right?” Kyle smirked as I tried to stay positive and he promised he’d stick it out with me.

A few weeks later I got a text from Kyle after school, got out of class early, meet you at the spot. Naturally, I thought nothing of it. Teachers at public schools in Naples couldn’t care less if you were going to amount to anything or not back then; we got dismissed early all the time. So I walked to the spot alone taking in every breath of free, safe air. I could feel the wind on my face; I could feel it heal my wounds. The humid warmth slowly transformed into the refreshing salty breeze. Yet on that day, the smell was not pure, it was like burnt marshmallows, but not in a good way.  As I got closer to our spot, the stench only got worse, man. That was the day Kyle and I lost our therapeutic connection. He was smoking cotton.

“What the fuck, Kyle!”

“Chill, bro, it’s cool. It’s just me, don’t worry.”

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m just giving it a try, man. It feels good. I feel relaxed. This is what we need to help us feel better at home. It’ll help us. We’ll be alright.”

“No. You do whatever you want.” I was pissed, man. He wanted me to try it; I just turned around and left.

I couldn’t believe my own twin brother had abandoned me.

He continued going to the spot everyday without me, and he stayed later than we ever did as well. He would sneak into the house long after dark with his pockets shaking full of pills. He no longer had the demons in his eyes; he no longer had our father’s eyes. It was just an empty glass, as if Kyle was not actually there, and a shell of him remained in my life. He started talking back to my father, which I admired but also despised. I loved it because someone was finally fighting back.

I had never seen so much courage before.

Soon instead of protecting the family name and me, Kyle just packed up and left. Our father got him pretty good with a hook to the chin. Kyle stood up and returned the favor, knocked my father to the ground. He stood over him, but turned to me instead, and that was the last time I really saw Kyle. I mean, not even as a shell, his eyes weren’t glassy at that moment. I stared back at him and he turned away and walked out, almost as if he was telling me to follow him. He picked up the bottle for himself and found even more pleasure in it. He didn’t go to school anymore, and he lived at our spot by the Naples Pier. I never went to see him because, I don’t know, I was afraid to become him. I was afraid that I would go see him and end up with a bottle of my own. I was afraid to see the only thing that ever made me happy, and for the first time in my entire life, I was completely alone.

The nights became longer; the beatings became more frequent and twice as painful. One night, my father took a wooden baseball bat and started beating my ass with it. “You like that, don’t you? Let me help you out now that you’re butt buddy is gone. Ha!” He always thought he was so clever, which infuriated me. But those beatings, they really hurt, man. Couldn’t walk for a week after that one. And that was the first time I ever thought about what it would be like to be with Kyle. Part of me wanted to run away and join him, because then at least I could be happy. Then at least I could be with my brother. But no, I wasn’t ready to give in, I was more afraid of what the bottle could make me than what my father could do to me.

School became unbearable, because I could feel eyes on me no matter where I went. I could hear the subtle whispers about my scars, and I knew of the rumors that my brother was dead somewhere, but I knew he was okay. He’s my twin; of course I knew he was okay. The endless torment continuously ate away at me.

I couldn’t hide anywhere anymore, and I couldn’t talk to anyone.

Nobody could ever know or understand the pain I was going through, not even Kyle, man. I wanted to push myself to finish the year strong, and then I would figure my life out in the summer. There was no way I would be able to go through two more years of high school like that. Not a chance.

You know what happened, though? I didn’t even make it through that year of high school. I couldn’t even finish my sophomore year of high school. My father threw one too many bottles that night and he got me good. The bottle broke on my shoulder and the shattered glass cut my eye pretty bad. Been wearing this patch ever since. I fell to my knees and my father didn’t even realize what he had done. He goes: “Get up, you coward! Get up! I’m gonna make a man out of you.” Anyway, after that I left the house. And with an eye that felt like the devil himself was trying to crawl through, I couldn’t think of anywhere safe for myself to go… Except to Kyle. So that’s where I went— over to the pier where my brother was living in the sand.

I’ve never seen someone so inhuman and yet so happy.

His eyes were back to the glass I saw for the few months before he left the house. His hair was long, almost down to his shoulders, and incredibly messy. His clothes were filthy, but he had more on a tree that were drying off. He kept sniffing and clearing his throat, as if he had a cold that he couldn’t shake, and he had a crushed pill in his palm that he was about to snort. He welcomed me with open arms. “Hey!! Brotherfriend! What took you so long, man? Sit down, you want a drink? Want a smoke? A line? What brings your beautiful face to these parts?” He didn’t even notice my eye; he was on another planet, man. But he was happy, and he was peaceful, and that’s all I wanted. So I sat down and took some Jameson for myself. I took it without thinking, but I’ll tell yah, I thought long and hard before I actually drank it. I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t want to become my father, but I couldn’t keep going on the way I was. Kyle seemed great. So I poured the dark bitter liquor down my throat and as the whiskey went down, the demons came up. They didn’t feel like I thought they would, though. I felt like my mind was free and my eyes could see clearly and the weights on my shoulders were lifted. I was alive.

We stayed up all night. Kyle told me how happy he’s been since leaving and about how “life is freedom, man, we just gotta do with it what we wanna do, man.” He was wrecked, he was gone, but he was right. I stayed with him and finally let go of any goals for chasing social approval. I stopped worrying about what my father would think the next morning when he realized I was gone. I stopped feeling the pain both on the outside and on the inside, and that’s when it hit me. We drink to escape; we drink to find freedom that we never had. And when the fear begins to return, and the shadows start creeping over our shoulders once more, we don’t let them take us. We simply drink a little more.

My father let those shadows in, because that was the only way to keep us from becoming like him. He failed, but he didn’t, because Kyle and I will never have children. We will never be like him. And although the curse is in us, the curse will never be awoken again.

(Written by Nkenna Njoku)

Whoever said “Time heals all wounds” had obviously never met my brother.

It’s been over a year and I’m still learning how to do this crazy life thing without my best friend and little brother. Whenever something good or bad happens I always want to run next door to his room, text or call call him just to hear some uplifting words or hear his reaction.

The best way to summarize this whole situation is with 3 words, “It takes time.”

There are five stages of grief. In the last 19 months I’ve fluctuated constantly, sometimes on a daily basis between all five.

Denial

This stage seems to come most frequently. When I first got the news I refused to believe it. I was confused and tried to block out all the things I was being told. At one point I called his phone multiple times just to try and prove everyone wrong when he answered.

And the weeks passed. Denial would come in the form of waking up and forgetting that anything had ever happened and having to relive the situation all over.

More recently denial has been simple; whenever I feel myself getting sad I tell myself that my brother is on a long beautiful vacation, and I’ll see him someday soon.

Anger

Anger was simple. I felt an anger that I had never felt before. I was angry with anybody and anything involved.

“Why did this have to happen to my brother when there are terrible people committing heinous crimes and walking around freely??” “Why didn’t they help him?” “ How can they claim to be his ‘friends’ but nobody can seem to explain what really happened?” “Why did they invite him to such a place? “What if he had been somewhere else with other people?” “WHY, God?”

It was the type of anger where all you can do is cry and feel defeated because you know that there is nothing that you can do within your power to change the outcome of the situation. Anger because you don’t have answers.

For months I felt like a time bomb that could explode at any moment. People around me would use certain trigger words and phrases like “drown”, or “I’m dead” and it took everything in me to refrain from 1) bursting into tears and 2) giving them a verbal tongue lashing about their poor selection of words.

Bargaining

Bargaining came in the form of me constantly begging during my morning and nightly prayers. “Please God, I will never sin again, I will always be kind, I will never stray from you again, if you just let this all be a dream.”

But every morning following those evening prayers I would wake up and the outcome would still be the same. I was stuck with this new reality and there was nothing I could do about it. Even when I saw my brother for the last time I thought, “well maybe if I just hug him or hold his hand he’ll wake up and make a joke.”

Depression

I got to a point in my depression where I selfishly thought that dying would be much better than living because at least then I would be able to hang out with my brother. Dying was the perfect option. Feeling nothing was better than hurting every minute of every day.

If I died I wouldn’t have to be in constant pain. There would be no bills to worry about, no people to deal with, and most importantly, I wouldn’t struggle with telling myself every morning “just make it through the day.”

It was then that I also got to a point where I questioned my faith. There were many days where I would just be sitting in my room for hours crying and wanting to feel something other than pain and crying out to God, “If you are a merciful and good God why would you allow me to feel this kind of pain? why would you kill my brother?”

3 weeks after my brother’s accident I went back to school and resumed my adult responsibilities the best I knew how. The same week that I resumed class and work, I also celebrated my 21st birthday.

The morning of my birthday I rummaged through some old letters on my desk and found the birthday card my brother had sent me for my 20th birthday. I sat there staring at it, rereading it, and just pictured him singing “Happy Birthday” and a warm hug from him. It wasn’t right. I told myself that I wasn’t allowed to enjoy that day or any other holiday for that matter.

Initially I didn’t make any plans and had no expectations for my birthday, but with the help of an amazing teammate, Tunya, and even better friend I had the best birthday given the circumstances. Although I found myself doing what some would consider enjoyable I still found myself wanting to cry and thinking “I wish my brother was here so I could be happy again, I shouldn’t be having fun without him.”

During summer session I would sit in class struggling to take notes because I could barely see through my tears. Many days I just wanted to be left alone, in the darkness, to just grieve in peace without being asked ‘when are you going to go back to “normal?’” or being interrogated about the whole situation and having to relive the emotions from when I first found out.

I often found myself laying wide awake at night pacing up and down in my room. And when I was fortunate enough to get a few minutes of sleep I found myself quickly woken by a nightmare.

The hardest days were the ones when I woke up unable to discern between reality and dreams and found myself reliving the horror midway through dialing his phone number, sending a text, or logging on to any social media outlet and seeing the numerous “I’m sorry for your loss” posts.

As always, time went on and I adapted to school and this new life. Just when I thought I was making small progress, I was inundated with thoughts of the future. I realized that my brother would not be there for many milestones.

-My brother will never see me graduate from college

-My brother will never see me get married.

-I won’t be able to celebrate any more birthdays with my brother

-My children will never get to meet their Uncle Vince

Graduation seemed to be the hardest to come to terms with because it was the most meaningful and was happening in the very near future. Graduation was also just 4 days shy of Vince’s accident, so I knew my emotions would be running high.

The afternoon before graduation I found myself sitting in Rooker Hall with 2 of my teammates reflecting on the last few years and our plans for the future. I expressed to them my disappointment that my brother would not be there the following evening witnessing my commencement ceremony. My teammate Sarah said to me “Just because he’s not here doesn’t mean he didn’t get the invite. He’s going to have the best seat in the stadium.”

It was then that I knew that it was ok to move on with my life and no longer feel guilty for having fun or achieving wonderful things without my brother because he was always there with me, in my heart.

Acceptance

There were and still are so many unanswered questions. The lack of closure is what kept me up at night or kept me from focusing in class.

For a long time I thought that having an answer or just having someone to blame would make me feel better. It came to a point where I had to silence my thoughts and say, “ok Lord, I don’t understand at all what you’re doing but I trust you.”

I also had to tell myself two things:

that all those questions didn’t matter

even if I had the answers to all my questions would it put my heart and mind at ease? Honestly, probably not.

We live in a death fearing society. I think it is foolish for any of us to deny death or think that we are immune from death.

One thing that I have learned in the last 19 months, although cliche, is that life is short and anything can happen at any time, whether you are ready or not. I have learned to take things at face value and always embrace people with constant, unconditional, and selfless love. I had no desire to learn how to live without my brother, but I had to because life continues whether you’re ready or not.

You can learn how to live without someone, even your best friend. It won’t be easy, and it’s going to take some time, a long time honestly, but you can do it. Just remember that small progress is still progress. Never let anyone tell you how long you should grieve for, it’s a process and it takes time.

One thing that settles my heart is knowing that however many remaining years I have to spend on this Earth without my brother pales in comparison to an eternity in God’s kingdom. Until then I just have to remind myself he is on a beautiful long vacation.

I can’t wait for the day we can pretend we have our own cooking show again, or he can jump out from behind the tree in the front yard and spray me with his water gun when I’m running, or Saturday morning cleaning and taking breaks to have a sing or dance off. But most importantly I can’t wait for the day Vince can give me a long hug.

A wise man told me this year “Quality of life is not measured by quantity of life.” Vince taught me so much and did so much in just 19 years. He was the kid that loved to run drills in the backyard and put in the extra work even in the off season. He was also the kid that loved to volunteer with Hands on Atlanta on the weekends to build homes for families in need.

God gave me 19 years with my best friend and I will cherish them until I take my last breath on this earth because they were the best. We used to do EVERYTHING together. We had so many jokes we basically spoke a different language. Some nights we would stay up all night just being goofy and talking about the most random things.

This whole situation is so surreal. The only thing Vince hated more than tomatoes and brussel sprouts was seeing me cry and wallow in sadness.

I still don’t understand why this all happened but I do know that God has used this situation to soften my heart. I am learning to love and serve the Lord the way my brother did.

My brother would not only want me to be happy but he would want to be helping others and spreading Christ’s love. Time doesn’t heal all wounds, but with time you learn how to cope and be at peace, not in pieces.

My brother was my best friend, and he will always and forever be my best friend.