THE DEAD END

It was a dead end. He had no where to go, no left, no right.

He didn't understand what was happening.

I was upset, I was panicking, I was completely panicked.

I didn't know what I was doing.

I couldn't go back home, I didn't want to be driving to the town where he was located, in a driving rainstorm.

"Please help me."

I begged.

The sign said: "Turn left for Yarmouth, Ontario.

Turn right for Halifax. "So I drove across the street, up the lane, and knocked.

He said yes, his name was Paul.

(It turned out he was from Toronto).

I said I was lost.

And he said, "I know.

I know.

I haven't seen you in a long time.

Why don't we just grab a cup of coffee?"

I agreed to go with him.

I had no idea what his name was, but I told him to call me Dave. I walked him to his car.

It was a very old, rusty pickup truck.

He started it, and then I asked him what the hell he was doing.

"Where are we going?" he asked me.

And he laughed.

He said, "I'm taking you to Kingston."

I asked him what kind of car it was.

He pointed to the bumper.

I had noticed the bumper earlier, but at that moment, I noticed the hand brake was on.

I looked at the glove compartment, and it had a big bottle of pain killers.

I just stood there, looking at him.

He laughed again, and handed me the keys.

I turned to go.

Then I got a good look at him.

And I remembered.

I remembered it all. He called me Dave.

He knew my name.

He said, "Here, you can drive."

He took his own life on May 22nd, 1997, a day after his 34th birthday.

I first saw him on November 5th, 1992.

He'd been waiting for me for months.

I could see the photo of a girl on his wall, and I thought it was a picture of me.

I thought he was my boyfriend.

He had me completely fooled.

He was 20 years old.

He was an extremely good - looking man, with curly hair and the kindest eyes.

But, more than anything else, he had a devilish sense of humour.

And when we first met, he asked me if I thought he was attractive.

I told him, "Yes, of course."

Then he told me that I wasn't fooling him, and he wasn't fooling me.

He got me good.

he told me all the time.

He even said it to me at the end.

One thing that he hated was the sound of a zipper, he always kept his front fly zipped, that way he wouldn't be reminded of his sadistic thoughts of who he used to be.

But I knew.

I always knew.

I remember when I was 16 years old, and I heard that Kurt Cobain had committed suicide.

The very first thought that entered my mind was: I bet he had an incurable disease, and I bet it was Lyme disease.

When I turned 17, and saw my first horrific photo of a woman with severe facial paralysis, I remembered.

I thought about all of the times he made me feel sick when I wasn't his girlfriend.

I had been depressed for a long time, and I was always sad, so I thought, "Well, that's probably why he was always sad, that's probably why he couldn't get a girlfriend."

He was probably always depressed, and was always in pain.

I know he'd had Lyme disease, I'd always heard that it could kill you.

On the day that he died, I was alone in the house.

I was working at a summer job, but I'd taken the day off, like I always did when it was nice out.

I remember my neighbour, Julie, showing up with a beer.

She offered me a sip, and I did.

Then I put the empty glass back on the bar.

I said to her, "I'll never understand why he did it.

I never understood why he did what he did!! It will always be like that I guess!! 

May be that’s life!! Not meant to be understood is what makes life so special….