Here I dreamt I was an Architect
I spent the summer of 2008 listening to the 59’ sound in my room. I was 16 years old. I start here because well before now nothing of interest had happened. Except for the separation of my parents. Not that I particularly cared, my father was a bastard and a drunk. I was glad he was gone. He left the day after my birthday. My parents had a huge fight the night before because he had struck me with a wine glass. To this day I still have the scar under my left eye; it’s faint but still there.
It was during the summer of ’08 that I decided to start a band with my friend Lucas Kuechley. Lucas could play the bass, and I could play guitar. I often thought “how hard could it be to play in a band?”The answer? Very. I wasn’t very talented, in fact I was crap. A cat could have played thunderstruck better then me, which is probably why Luke kicked me out. I didn’t leave without a fight though and broke his nose on the way out.
My name is James Madison and I don’t know why I’m writing any of this down. I guess a lot of it because I’m scared. After the fight with Lucas I ran home. I ran fast, I had blood on my teeth and I wanted to be home more then anything. I opened the door, ran in and tripped on my little sister Kate’s toy train. I landed on my face, blood was now pouring and my nose was broken. After ten minutes I turned my body over and stared into my mother’s eyes, my heart froze.
Allie Madison was the nicest women I had ever known. She was so kind and warm and loving. She had given my sister and I as good a life as she could. Allie Madison was the women who woke me up every morning before school and the women who looked on proudly when I won New York’s young writer of the year award. Allie Madison was my mother and my mother, as of 6’ o clock on July 14th’ was dead.
July 15th was an awful day. My house was full of people who I barely knew, people I didn’t want anywhere near me. And I guess that’s why I left. I went down to a small café on the edge of town. It was my favourite part of New York I’d stop here every day after school to have my usual cup of coffee and a kit-kat. I purchased my coffee and my kit-kat and also a copy of the enquirer. I focused intensely on reading it because I didn’t want to think the worlds a horrible place, as evident by the article I read about rapist and murderer Frank Dawson who just been sentenced to death by a court in Texas. I mean what kind of person does that? And what man should have the power to sentence another to death? I thought of my mother, and how she was dead. What god would take her away from me? I started to cry, and it wasn’t the subtle tear you always see flowing down a person’s cheek in the movies. I was sobbing quite violently. My body wretched and my chest heaved. I was sure that everyone in the café was staring. I got out of my seat and walked out of the café. The rain was pouring, heavier than I had ever seen before. I felt a hand on my shoulder and I turned around. I stared into the green eyes of a pretty girl about my age. She hugged me abruptly and again I started to cry. She walked me home. I didn’t know who she was or where she was from. But I did know that she was one of the most compassionate people I’d ever met. She gave me a number and then walked off. Now many of you might feel compelled to ask me what happened to that girl and if I ever saw her again, but my life story has many parts to it and that story shall be told on a later day.
I didn’t feel as awful as I had earlier. I still felt like crap but I felt like I was a slightly higher echelon of crap than I was before. I walked into my mother’s room and saw my sister asleep. Her cheeks were rosy red and her eyes were puffy from crying. I went downstairs to bid my grandparents goodnight. I didn’t sleep a wink that night and at four a.m I crawled out of bed and got into my mother’s bed and slept. I didn’t feel like being alone and I fell asleep wondering about the girl who walked me home.
I went to the doctor’s office the very next day. My mother’s funeral was the day afterwards Dr. Kersey wanted to see me as soon as possible. My mother had died of heart failure. I had already guessed that much. Then he told me that my mother had a rare genetic defect known as Barth Syndrome. Barth Syndrome is a disorder which primarily affects the heart and the doctor told me that there was a fifty percent chance that I had it and the same went for Kate.
I don’t really feel like discussing the funeral. It’ll always be the second worst day of my life and I cried so much. I kept hoping to just wake-up at a stage where life wasn’t awful. A time where I had a mother, a time where I had my family. I never got myself tested for Barth Syndrome. It would only bring me more grief if I knew and either way there was no cure.
My name is James Madison and I told you that I didn’t know why I was writing this it’s because I’m scared that one day without notice I’ll collapse and die. For all I know I’m in my body just waiting to die.
The year was 2011. I was sitting at home eating a bagel with cheese on it when the phone rang.
On the 24th of February 2011, Kate Madison was found dead near the local bus stop.