It was the night of my birthday many years ago when I heard it. A crappy birthday. Nothing of note happened. No cake, no party, no celebration, little acknowledgement.
I heard someone screaming my name in my apartment in Japan. Asking for help. However, it wasn’t just any name. It was the name family members called me between the ages of 4-12. A nickname. Something only close relatives and family would call me. Something I hadn’t heard in years. This apartment was for a company and could house three people easily. But I was only using a single room.
I lived alone. So I investigated.
I found no one. Confused, I thought I imagined it or dreamt it and went to bed. But I wasn’t asleep when I heard the plee for help. The scream.
My cousin contacted me out of the blue a couple months earlier. He had run ins with the law and gangs. He even did some time in jail or prison. But he needed my help. I tried my best to help him. To explain - to actually assist him in any way I could. But life just happens. He was my best friend from childhood but then - at that time he was practically a stranger. I stopped hearing from him. I thought he just hit a patch.
The morning after hearing the scream I received an email from my dad.
My cousin passed away from internal bleeding.
He drank himself to death.
He had no job or income but his mom would supply him with alcohol I was told.
He was living in southern California when he passed. On the other side of the world.
The scream.
A scream to me. For me.
Using my name. My family’s nick name for me.
#The scream.
##Help
I feel guilty for reasons I can’t explain. But I know that perhaps it’s my fault. In a real way. Because the pain that led him to drink I caused in part. Because some of those demons he tried to chase away came directly from me. Because people hurt him because they knew I loved him most of all. And some people have more power than any could truly comprehend.
I just never imagined someone screaming for help across the Pacific Ocean.
That much pain and desperation is something that haunts me to this day. It’s been years.
I wish I could explain. Apologize. Ask forgiveness. But I think about his direct family. I think how they would feel. Would they even believe me? And could I even explain what or who I could anger that would attack someone because I cared about them.
It would do far more harm than good.
I’ve told a person or two. People that felt guilty about not helping a friend or detecting they would commit suicide.
But it’s just not the same.
I can still hear that scream. I can think about it in the day or night just creeping into my thoughts.
Talk to me cousin.
Forgive me if you can.
I love you.