I never met you. Seems weird, does it not? How do you not meet a neighbor? well, you see, the thing is you were never around. I am not even sure I remember how you looked like. The idea of you was present. I just remember the stories I heard about you, the prestige that would emanate out of your pores when entering the scene. I think I once heard you were fat; not that it matters given that I never met you or anything, even after living across the street from you for about eight years.
I remember your house though. The marble walls were in competition with your tow-colored gate. Your plants so viridescent it was hard to decipher which one were the real ones. And those green with envy? They would talk about that for hours. Your life was really something. Your house was the only one that had a decent swing set, for God's sake. Do you remember that party your daughters threw without your permission? We all stayed at the swings. I will probably be seen as a snitch for telling you this. Then again I bet they thought that you didn't know. What do they think you were putting them out for? Because they were untrue. I am sorry; I recognized I went of a tangent to make a reference to the Queen. I believe however it was appropriate to make a joke referring to the time we just happened to be in the same town.
You had cars and haciendas in El Cibao. You had it all. Then something happened. I remember it vaguely, but I remember it. The storm clouds approached; the sun was obsolete that day. The rain came down in the shape of tears. The howling winds took the form of wails. I had no sense of self-awareness as a child, so it went completely over my head. Then I heard Grandma speak over the phone with someone. "How did he get it the gun?" she asked. Six days later, I found out that you were no longer with us. They said you went off on a trip. It turns out that the trip was to Hades, a trip you took with your own hands. And in the midst of the sorrow, I just asked why.
If you had it all, why did you played God? There were no signs of your depression, according to my family. You had a beautiful family that you left behind. I don't even know you and I know that instead of ending your pain, you just transferred it to someone else. I guess it wasn't enough to hear "get over it' or "don't be sad." I thought it was puzzling the idea of how this happened. You were my first encounter with the idea of suicide, I was nine. And since then you've been in the back of my mind. You've made it into that basement that people don't dare to enter, but they know it's there.
The Kid Who Still Stutters.