Loading...
Please wait, while we are loading the content...
Similar Documents
What I have always wanted to know, but am still afraid to ask.
| Content Provider | Semantic Scholar |
|---|---|
| Author | Edwards, John I. |
| Copyright Year | 2000 |
| Abstract | In lieu of an abstract, below is the essay's first paragraph. "Our conversations had never been about anything much more significant than how school, college, or my summer job had been going so I am not surprised that my Dad seemed confused when I asked him if we could talk about his life." Cover Page Footnote Appeared in the issue: March 2000. This prose is available in The Angle: http://fisherpub.sjfc.edu/angle/vol2000/iss3/27 trIhat I have dways wanted to know, but am still afraid to ask. Our conversations had never been about anything much more significant than how school, college, or my summer job had been going so I am not surprised that my Dad seemed confused when I asked him if we could talk about his life. "So what do you want to know?" asked my Dad. "Honestly, I'll listen to whatever you'll tell me," I replied. I was lying. I wanted him to tell me everything he knew about my Uncle John's suicide. I wanted to know if he was there and, if so, what he did. I wanted to know if he found him and, if not, who did. "I suppose you'd like to hear about your Uncle John," my Dad said. We both knew that's what I wanted to talk about. "If that's what you want to talk about," I said. Looking back, I can't believe I said that. I don't know what I would've done if, in my attempt to play it cool, my Dad took me up on the offer to switch subjects. He didn't switch though. WelI, I was he.re wh.en it happened. I was hame from college and I was doing lwmework in mA room. I was only a feut months older than Aou are rww. Jotm was 19. He hadn't tal.lced much to me that weekend, but I didn't think angthittg of it. I utas finishirg up a story for a scierrce-fiction class I was taking wlrcn I lrcard ttrc stwt. It was loud. Our roorls were ,ight nert tu each other. Theg are tlrc sa:me rooms that Aou and Aour brotlrcr haue now. Your broth,er's room is mg old rcom. Angutaa, I ran ouer and ttrc door we.sn't euen shut. I wondered whA. I almost think that h.e utas tnpiry someone would stop him. I walked in and. h.e, utas lying on his bed. There was blood euerywh.ere. I could see that lrc Luas breathing, but I kneut that lrc uas dead. I turned to call for mg father and. h.e wa.s alreadg halfitaA up the stairs. I utas onlA a junior pre-med major, but I was th.e, Iocal health expert as far as mA father was concerned. He said to me, "He's dead isnt trc? " I told him tllat I tlwugltt so, but I wesn't cryirg uh.en I made ttnt prorwuncement euen ttwugh I felt like I slwuld hnue been. "Wllat's wrong Bob?" called mg mother from downstairs. Mg fatlrcr told h.er to stay downstairs, but thnt onlg sent lwr up faster. I'ue broken the bad neu)s to mang families in mA life, but no reaction has staged with me like my motlter's. I expected her to scream. Her mouth looked like it was trytng to, but there was no sourtd at all. Her eAes welled up and slrc ran for him, paAtng no mir-td. to the incredible amount of blood. I hadn't euerl been looking at mg brotlrcr. When I saw him th.ere in mg motlrcr's arrns, I realized that someone needed to call an ambttlartce, so / did. It came fast; I utas glad. I'm rtot sure if I wanted it to be ouer for him, if I wanted it to be ouer for my parents, or if I just utanted him out of the house. I didnt go to the hospital. Your Aunt Mary txa.s at a fiend"'s lwuse. She wa"s onlg fifteen and. mg Dad wanted me to be home when slrc got 1 Edwards: What I have always wanted to know, but am still afraid to ask. Published by Fisher Digital Publications, 2000 fuck He didnt lnnrc a twrd.time arutinchtg me. I lotrc mg mothn, htt I uuldnt bear to ve ler in srch pain My parcnts got back beforc Mary. Theg got to break the nsus to her. ft wasnt wrf;il I hcad. Mary scneam thnt it rcally sunk in that lw utas gorre. To tell Vut tle trLfif\ mg sttongest emotion at that time uxrs anger. I was gnssed ttut mg tittle brcther thnqru tlnt it tttould be better to kill himself than to uralk into tle next rurrm and, ask me for heQr. f gnress I strtt arrL Mg nother lrr.s rte,uer been thc samc. Is thnt prctty mr]r wlnt golt uanlcd to lvtow, Jottn? My Dad was staring at the floor or the wall, but never looking me in the €yes. The noom had gro\pn slightly darker and I thought that we needed mone light, but I decided against it. 'Yeah Dad, thanks," I said, "f'm really sorry." I was looking at the floor, too. With his small release of emotion back in check and the realization that he could still get part of the lawn mowed before it was completely dark, my Dad said, Yeah... 'Well...' |
| Starting Page | 28 |
| Ending Page | 29 |
| Page Count | 2 |
| File Format | PDF HTM / HTML |
| Volume Number | 2000 |
| Alternate Webpage(s) | https://fisherpub.sjfc.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=2499&context=angle |
| Language | English |
| Access Restriction | Open |
| Content Type | Text |
| Resource Type | Article |
