More to read.

Here's another chunk of the book. It's the one I'm sure everyone wants to read to see if they made it in. Well, I think I covered everyone. Remember, unedited version of a first draft. There is a bit of time frame difference from the last posted section. This second is tentatively scheduled for Chapter 11.

"Confusion.

There it is.

There’s the emotion I needed. It might not be the right one, but it’ll do.

Here’s the most stable person in the world, the epitome of collected, and he kills himself.

The inspirer of my transformation put a gun in his mouth.

My savior offered himself in the laundry room.

It made no sense, not based on the little information I had. A basis for more questions was all I had. No one had anything.

All I could do was call everyone I knew Ethan considered a friend and let them know. It would be the same questions over and over followed with the same response.

I don’t know.

I don’t know.

The more I knew I had to say it the less I wanted to make the phone calls.

Meredith, Ben, Josh, Dan, Derrick, Joann, Don, Jean, Tom. Mikey, Mickey, Scotty. Bart, Tyler, Megan, Emily, Adam, Terry, Mark, Travis. Whitey, Razor, Swan, Bubba, Ox, Cooter. About three Bens, three Kristis and two Katies.

Then there was also Ben and Kristin, Joe and Tanya, Kellen and Kristi, Jay and Mandy, John and Katie, Lisa and Jason, Dave and Kimm.

Further into college more friends’ names come in pairs.

Damn that guy knew a lot of people.

Those are just the ones I could think of off the top of my head. Then there were professors, people at work, the bars, classes, and clubs. That’s not including the dozens of people that are going to question me when I run into them on campus.

The phone calls began with answers that seemed rehearsed.

No, he didn’t leave a note that we know of.

Yes, I thought he was fine too.

I became the official spokesman of Ethan’s suicide. It was my first chance to put my public relations major to use. Finally.
I’m sorry I can’t answer to any reason why he would do this.

Talking my way around most things, I answered what I knew and dodged what I didn’t.

It’s common that if you couldn’t decide on a major, you went with psychology or somewhere in the communications field. I chose the one where I thought the most money was involved.

His mom found him.

The basement.

I switched from a confused, surprised and grieving friend to a PR agent of death. As I liked to call it, the voice of Ethan’s self-induced expired mortality. It was a softer, yet long-winded way of saying “suicide.” It seemed a gentler term than telling the truth, a nice way of staying away from a recognized simple word with a bad stigma to it. It was something people could understand.

Self-induced expired mortality.

Yes, I’m going to the funeral.

No, I don’t know when it is.

I doubt it will be open casket.

Yes, a shotgun will do that.

With the little bits of info I had, I was able to talk around most questions. I was better than I thought. I could have sold a school board to install cigarette machines in schools.

Ethan would have been proud.

Sure I’ll call so-and-so.

No, I don’t know what they’re going to do with his stuff.

I don’t know if we should have a memorial here.

I don’t know.

I don’t know.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t fake the slickness needed to talk to these people without wanting to suck on a Remington myself.

Calling people knowing in a few seconds they’ll burst into tears repeatedly was the worst thing I’ve ever had to do. It felt like what a police clergyman must go through every day. You wake up, get dressed and go to work knowing you’re telling people about dead loved ones all day.

Wearing that little white collar, at least God has those guy’s backs.

I wondered where He stood in my situation. I was trying to smooth over the death of my best friend. No, my best friend’s suicide. Again, I could spin circles around my drinking buddies, but put I still couldn’t convince myself.

My little face I put up to make myself feel better wasn’t working.

This time, however, it was for survival, not self-gratification.

Calling Heather was another thing I had to do.

Heather, I didn’t even have her number anymore.

Heather, with her hazelnut brown hair, chocolate cake eyes and her sugary disposition.

Heather was the last on my list.

She should have been my first."

It's Saturday and finding free wireless internet was the second time I've left my apartment. The first was to check my mail.

I am so friggin' cool.