Your True
Tales
June 2003 –
Page 15
"I
Didn't Kill Aaron"
by Scott
Six years ago, my best friend died. Aaron, whose name I have changed for this telling because it seems like the right thing to do, said goodbye to me the last time I saw him. He had come round to beg me to come back to his house for he had just gotten into taking heroin and having just bought some was going home to get wrecked. He seemed worried, more so then usual but I maintained that I had to go to work. He got wound up and as he was leaving kissed me on the cheek, which was a strange thing for him to do, and said goodbye. This was also a strange thing for him to do as he used to just get up and go without a word. As he was leaving, I said I would see him later to which he replied, "I may not be coming out later. I love you" and slammed the door. I went to work and semi forgot about it. After work I went to his house and knocked on the door and of course there was no answer. Most of me knew he was dead on the other side of his door. I wanted to break it down. But past memories of me doing just that and him telling me off because he had just been sleeping stopped me. So I left. I went by everyday but nothing. I believe the second and third day it was probably cowardice and fear which prevented me from breaking the door down.
I was staying at a friends at Eton when the call came. My mother rang to tell me. My answer was, "I know." I began to tell myself it wasn't my fault. But there was a constant niggle in my mind that of course it was. Had I have gone home with him like he had been begging me to do. Had I have knocked the door down perhaps I would have found him struggling and been able to save his life. As I am writing this I remember standing in my bathroom and looking in the mirror and feeling very physically a hand touch my shoulder. I wasn't scared, but comforted. This was a few days later. The funeral came and went and the time was coming up for me and his family to go and clear out his flat. The night before the clear out I had a dream. In this dream Aaron came and spoke to me. I don't remember him saying much of anything other then he was ok. Just as he was about to leave he said, make sure you check behind the drawers. I awoke at this point and new what I believe he meant by this, though still at the time thought it probably nothing more then a dream. The drawers which were mentioned were the only drawers in his house. They were in the living room about waist height against the wall. Above them tacked to the wall was a newspaper clipping Aaron had stuck up for no other reason then he thought it was cool I guess. It read: "I didn't kill Aaron (changed for this telling) - I loved him very much" This had been there for three years and I always smiled when I saw it.
The day went on and the time came. We went over to his house and I told his dad of my dream on the way over. Things went as well as they go under such circumstances. Poignant feelings were felt, happy memories came flooding back and a few tears were shed. We all jumped when his alarm clock went off. Especially as it was 13.30 in the afternoon, which could possibly have been the time he died. Though we pointed this out, we knew it was more likely that he had just chosen to get up late the last time he set it. The job was done and we were about to leave and Aaron's dad said, "Remember the dream." I looked at him and hesitated because, to tell the truth, I felt a little silly seeing it through. But nonetheless it had to be done. I went back to the drawers and pulled them out. Behind them I found a spoon which had been used to cook up on. And the headline, which had fallen down sometime between his death and our being being there. I picked it up and read it over three or four times. "I didn't kill Aaron - I loved him very much." I had read it 1,000 times before, but each time I read it that day it was like the I was reading it for the first time. I showed it to his dad who was waiting eagerly to see what we found. I hoped it would be enough so as not to disappointed. He smiled at me compassionately and give a little nod as if to say, "Take heed of that."
It has been a long time since my best friend's passing. And I think of him less often as time goes on. As life goes on. That is not to say I am forgetting him. Just not dwelling. On the special occasions when I do think of him there is always a moment of guilt which sweeps over me. Then I think of the dream and the finding and I hope that what happened was more then just a coincidence. That the falling of the headline and the dream were part of a message from a friend. For 1,000 people telling me it wasn't my fault counts for nothing compared to him telling me himself.
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