Matthew was the kind of young man who would never count the cost of doing something that mattered—he was ready to jump out of a plane for Doctors Without Borders. He could talk people into anything, too. He could negotiate his way through the border patrol to get the story for National Public Radio. It wasn’t fame that he sought, though he wanted the right people to know that he was the kind of guy who could get the job done. He wasn’t a homebody-family type, either. Maybe someday. Before he settled down, he needed to feel he’d achieved something—that he’d been part of something that called on his talents. Maybe the Marines would do that. That kind of brotherhood called to him.
Matthew had made it through his childhood. His father periodically beat his mother; his mother drank ‘till passing out most nights. His parents moved him and his brother every year, seeking a “geographic cure” to his dad’s abuse and his mother’s numbing.
He got good at sports, but the empty space in the stands where his parents might have been left him hollow. At fifteen, Matthew jumped out of the car to fight, proving himself to the drug dealer who drove. He became known as the man who got the job done at twenty when he made his point with a beer bottle to the head of the guy who tried to steal their profits. He was charged with felony assault with a deadly weapon. At thirty, he turned things around. He moved away, told people he had a college degree and worked for a financial institution. He didn’t get caught stealing for a couple of years.
At forty-five, Matthew was getting by in a little room, with an on and off girlfriend half his age that he drank a lot with. It was hard to find good work with his felony convictions. He could talk anyone into buying a car, though, so when economic times were good, he could pay some bills by selling cars.
Matthew’s brother had a life to which he belonged. There was a wife and kids, a career and a house, always something needing him, calling on him, showing him who he was.
Matthew had tried church, and it helped a little. His brother had begged him to go talk with someone.
Though he said “no,” Matthew finally went after last night. He’d been thinking long and hard about the easiest way to die.
Matthew sat in his first meeting with his Carson therapist, Tom.
“I’ve made really big mistakes and I’ve paid my dues. I don’t really want to die–I never thought I’d live this long, though. I just want to get on with my life, but I’m stuck. I don’t belong to anything. Except my dog. Maybe my brother. I don’t know—can you help a guy like me?”
“I’m here to help you. Can I ask about this dog of yours?”Matthew smiled broadly, “Yes. He’s my best friend…”
And so they began the long walk home, Tom, Matthew, his brother and his dog.
By JAC Patrissi
