For everyone who keeps asking:
This is Troy, my little brother. He was murdered on September 1st, 2010. He was only 16 years old, turning 17 in just 6 more days. One of his “best friends” told him to come over to his house, where he shot him straight in the chest. The bullet lodged behind his lungs, but that isn’t what killed him. At first the kids story was that they wanted to get the bullets out of the gun to play with the gun powder, and a bullet exploded. The second story was that they were shooting into the kids mattress, and he accidently shot Troy. Third story was that he was pointing it at Troy, just fooling around and he accidently squeezed the trigger. Whatever happened, all I know is that my baby brother is gone and I still don’t have all of the real answers. At first I thought maybe it was an accident like the kid said; maybe he didn’t really mean to shoot him. But then more and more evidence came to light. How he ran out the back door and hid the gun. How he let Troy stumble to the front porch, fall down the steps and watched him as he drowned in his own blood. How he didn’t call the cops, call for help or try to save him. How he was jealous of Troy, how he was going around showing the gun to people and telling him Troy and him needed to talk. How could it possibly be accident after hearing all of these things?
I went to one of the trials for the kid. He sat there, twiddling his thumbs with a big smile on his face. He was whistling, making little noises and looking up at the ceiling without a care in the world. And then he turned around, looked straight at me and smiled as big as he could.
I wonder if he’d be smiling if he knew what he did to me, to my family and to Troy’s friends. I wonder if he knows what it’s like to see your little brother, covered in plastic and hard as a rock, laying on a little table in a secluded room. I wonder if he knows what it’s like to reach out, touch skin that’s cold as ice and feel how dead someone is. Even their hair. I wonder if he knows what it’s like to wake up every single fucking day and wish you were dead, instead of them. I wonder if he knows what it’s like to watch news coverage of the murder; seeing your little sister run to the house where he was murdered, screaming and bawling.I wonder if he knows what it’s like to fall to your knees, begging God to bring them back, screaming for them to just be alive again. Even for one tiny moment. Just so you can say goodbye, let them know how much you love them and how you’ll never forget them.
There’s days when I just sit in my room, cradling Troy’s sweater to my chest and calling his phone, over and over. Just to hear him say his name on his answering machine. It’s three, maybe four seconds of hearing that wonderful voice again, but it’s never enough. I’ll never get another text from him during school, with him telling me that he misses me and can’t wait to see me again. I’ll never get another phone call with him screaming “YOU STINK. I LOVE YOU. BYE.” and then hanging up, laughing like an idiot the entire time. I’ll never get to see the way his eyes light up when he’s doing something he shouldn’t, or his ridiculous laugh when he does something stupid. All of that is gone, all because some kid was jealous.
I know I’ll see him again. Someday. But I’m sick of waiting. I’m sick of waking up every morning and it hitting me all over again that he’s dead. But I won’t give up, ever. My little sister needs me. My family and my friends need me. And what’s the point of killing myself? Troy didn’t give up his chance at life, it was ripped away from him without a second thought. It would be an insult to him and his memory if I did. So I’ll stay strong, try my hardest to be happy, and everyday make him proud of me.
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