Life Happens by Dennis Gordon (reading the story of the txt) 📕

at the top of my arm I ripped the sleeve away from the shirt. I didn’t feel like there was time to go looking around for a fist aid kit or to find an alternate source for the long tourniquet style bandage I knew I would need. A long shirt sleeved seemed a viable solution in the moment. After ripping both sleeves off I gripped one of her wrists and tied it off as tightly as I thought was safe and in turn did the same for the other wrist. No more than a half a second passed before I found my right hand wrapped tightly around her throat I squeezed just hard enough to make it very hard for her to breathe. And though I was in the grip of a horrifying rage I recall exactly what I said. Gritting my teeth then croaking from a tight dry throat I asked the question that was lodged in my chest “Do you really what to die Renee?” She was grasping at my forearm with both hands trying to break my grip. But at that moment there was no hope of that. She managed to gurgle out that very short very succinct response that I already knew. “No”. “Are you sure, because we can end this for real right here and now. Lights out and all the pain goes away. Isn’t that what you wanted? Isn’t that what you were trying to do?” “No please.” She croaked still gasping for air and pulling at my wrist. Her face had taken on a deep red tone. I immediately let go. Though I had known the answer to the question well before I asked it her response still flamed the already out of control flames. She had just admitted that she mutilated herself in a life threatening way simply to manipulate me and to get her way. That’s when I noticed that one of the makeshift tourniquets was no longer white and had soaked through to a dark crimson. It wasn’t holding and to make matters worse I was relatively certain that the reason it wasn’t holding was that I just forced her to attempt to break free from what she perceived as mortal danger. So she had fought against it with everything she had though everything she had was seriously diminished from blood loss. I had just risked killing her to make a point and the realization struck me that it was no different than what she had just done to me. The irony did not escape me. Looking back on it knowing what I know now I can honestly say that total blood loss was easily between a half and a whole pint. That dark hue of red had quickly disappeared.
Her waxen parlor grew to a chalky, pale, and sickly appearance. She looked exhausted as her very lifes blood had drained away and her limp frame seemed to just sink into the couch. Finally grasping the full weight of the situation and pushing my anger off to the side for a moment I realized I needed help. Now I was starting to worry about her going into shock. I franticly reached for the phone sitting on the end table. “I’m calling 911” I said as my fingers smeared her blood all over the numbers and the receiver. At that moment her frail diminutive figure that was losing strength by the second erupted into a panicked animal driven by a new and deeply ingrained fear whose sole purpose was to stop that call from being placed come hell or high water. “Nooo! ” She screamed dragging the word out into a disturbingly eerie fusion of a high pitch screech and an almost guttural growling vowel sound as she snatched the phone from my hand. Clutching it with both hands and holding it tightly to her chest. In an unnaturally depraved way she looked like a small child devoid of reason or rationale who has absolutely no intention of sharing her new toy with any of the other kids. Her frame was rigid and she retreated drawing her body in tightly to the sofa. Assuming a shockingly guarded posture accentuated with the same look of penetrating terror. Her eyes were wide with a new sense of panic and fear that made the previous five minutes look like a casual dress rehearsal. As if the previous performance had only been the lead in to this new and much more unhinged finale.
“Ranee, you need medical attention. I have to either call an ambulance or at the very least drive you to the emergency room. Now just give me the phone and I’ll call your mom.” I only thought she had reacted badly when I said 911 but the M word released an entirely new personality. A twisted expression of pain and anger contorted her face and she stood up abruptly on the sofa with the same hard stance. “Wow, she is really not taking suggestions in a very constructive manner now is she?” I thought. That musing notion had no more passed out of mind when the cordless hand set to which she had so tenaciously clung had become airborne. I was actually kind of startled by the sheer force she put into it as it flew across the room shattering against the living room wall a few feet behind me. The state of shocked confusion that was becoming uncomfortably familiar once again emerged in full. Being the naive inexperienced young man that I was it only hit me at that moment that this had clearly gone way beyond the poor reaction to a break up. She was acting like a woman possessed. She was exhibiting behavior more akin to someone fighting for their very survival. Had she always been this crazy and I just didn’t see it? Or was all of this some brand new disorder, some newly emerged mania, a freshly birthed delusional paranoia or schizophrenia? Doubtful I thought. I knew myself too well. I was keenly aware of my own myopic perspective. But whether it was my long standing state of denial or the emergence of some new emotional dysfunction for her result was exactly the same. In the minutes that followed I discovered her response to the phone was not without its foundation in reason. When confronted with the possibility of this living drama in which we were the starring players she was overwhelmed with a flood of horrifying memories. Images of a time before my arrival in her life. A time in which a 14-year-old girl who became pregnant, was forced to give up the child for adoption, suffered postpartum depression and subsequently attempted to take her own life. All of which resulted in an uncomfortably lengthy stay in an institution for the less than emotionally stable. A time and place that had irrevocably left its mark on her psyche. The thought of once again being forcibly committed to any same such facility was far beyond any coping tools or mechanisms she was equipped with. Once my mind had digested these facts my demeanor changed and I reassured her that we would deal with the wounds ourselves and that the events that had unfolded in that apartment on that day would remain forever hidden form those would seek to send her away again. Without leaving her alone for very long I gathered the items I would need to tend to her violently self-inflicted wounds to the best of my ability and waited with her until her friend and roommate had returned home and I could be reasonably assured that she was in no danger and that she would no longer seek to harm herself. I left and went back to my apartment where I spent the brief remainder of the day solemnly alone in my room until I went to bed. I did not eat that day. I shut my bedroom door and pulled up a chair near the window where I sat in silence staring out the window and reflecting on the decisions made and the actions taken for better or worse.
I wondered what the long term implications and consequences for those decisions might ultimately become, I still don’t have those answers. Chapter 2 Beware the riteousness

 I have spent far too much time procrastinating on this chapter. Mostly due to horrific nature of the content and partially the conflict of how it needed to be told. I finally decided to simply get to it. In 1987 I was a junior in high school and and once again my head and heart were filled with concepts like honor, nobility and defending the weak or those who cannot defend themselves. The world was extremely black and white. Though as teenagers we have that luxury. Throughout my junior year I had been developing a friendship with a person who would be my best friend by the end of the school year. We can call him Wayne. I had already been friends with his older brother (let's just call him George) for some time but had never met Wayne at that time. My first impressions upon seeing them together for the first time was that no two men could ever be more diametrically opposed. North and south poles of the same magnet. One with blonde hair one with bron. One with a stocky build and one tall and slim. One meticulous and uptight the other relaxed and carefree. I liked them both. They both spoke to and complimented aspects of my own personality. But then I was pretty tightly wound myself in those days and actually all over the freaking map in that ever evolving quest of teenagers to find out who they are and to establish an identity as an individual.. 

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Publication Date: 06-21-2018

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Dedication:
To those who can not be named here.