Monday, January 24, 2005

   Ben
Hey everybody! Ok I want you guys to read this, my friend on another site wrote it and its so awsome i want to put it here so all yall can see it!!

Ben

Ben committed suicide when he was 17
When Ben was in third grade he liked art
Our teacher told us to never cut corners in life
Ben never did and when he drew a red turtle
Our teacher hung it in the hall with a sticker
She liked how the box turtle had such a straight shell

When Ben and I went to seventh grade
He got picked on for his art
His paintings started changing after that
He drew a lot of black and red clouds that year

In the beginning of eighth grade Ben drew more and more
“The sky is blood” he said laughing while painting and I just stared
His teacher loved his work and put it in the Awards Show
Called his parents and they were very proud
After school Ben got kicked in the stomach
I found him by the stairs and he said, “the sky is blood and I am nothing.”

When Ben was 15 he started putting his art on his arms
He never cut corners, always straight lines
He liked how his skin was a canvas that would never leave him
Painting and drawing with only white and red

In ninth grade Ben was struck with an inspiration during math
He cut it into his forearm with a compass
“My head is raining” was all it said
That day Ben got taken out of class
I remember the way the blood stayed on the desk after he was gone

People started talking
His teachers and parents said, “You don’t really think those things, do you Ben?”
Ben liked to grin at that and say “of course not,” while his fingers traced
scars
Under his sweatshirt
He was forced to see a counselor

Ben and I sat on the stairs
He told me how art was like scars
They will remain after he is gone to act as the proof of what was alive
What was real

“Where do you think we go after we die?” he asked me and I couldn’t answer.
“I know where my art will be, on paper. But where will my thoughts be?”
Ben found it thrilling to think about the magic of thoughts being lost forever
With death.

Ben committed suicide when he was 17.
I remember the day they found him, wrists cut from an exacto knife borrowed from the art room.
He had a lot of blood all over the bathroom at school
For hours all I could think of was paint

The night before Ben had called me on the phone
He told me in a shaky voice that neared panic
That he was out of canvas
I assured him the art teacher would let him have some more in the morning
He seemed to accept that

When they knew he died words spread like fire in a dry forest
Ben was the “psycho” who killed himself
I remember feeling numb but knowing Ben felt the same.
Suddenly I felt a whole lot.

Next to Ben was a note that said:
“The sky is blood and I am nothing.
Crimson scars released me from the dark.
Let your head rain like mine.
My body is my canvas and this is what I created.”
I knew then what Ben had meant when he said he was out of canvas.

Two days after Ben died I went back to our Elementary school.
His drawing was still in the hallway, only moved to an older case.
I ran and took it down, careful not to bend the corners.
I felt like I did in the spring on the playground when the snow turned to slush
Hope reborn for a few seconds, then the cold returned.

It rained a lot after Ben committed suicide
It rained a lot before, too
People said, “The rain is God crying over Ben’s death”
I thought they should have noticed how many tears the clouds shed for him
In warning

At Ben’s funeral a lot of people showed up
It did not rain the day they buried him
The sun was shining and I could not see the difference
Between sweat and tears
I do not know if the people cried for Ben or from the heat

I spoke for Ben at his funeral
I talked about his art, and I talked about his scars
When I was speaking I was remembering the blood on the desk in 9th grade
How it was there after he was gone
How his scars spoke to me in volumes that I could not fully hear

One year after Ben committed suicide I turned 18
On my birthday I went to his grave and placed his turtle drawing alongside it
Still perfectly red and straight
Though it now held a note I scribbled near the bottom reading
“One thing about you Ben, you never did cut corners. You will never know how many brilliant lines you cut into my heart.”

Just in case this isnt a tru story!!! she just made this up!

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