Aaron

There aren't enough flowers in the world
to cover your grave, because
it's spread like a stain &
like a stain, it won't
go away. You don't deserve
this- there aren't enough flowers
to help you sleep. Your
memory touches everything
and in my heart I know that I'll
never forget you. Close your eyes
& pray- those are the rules.

Blue skies & Blue October.
Do you remember everyday
you lived? It's been a year now.
Do you still cry?
I'm so tired of questions.
Can't the world be
quiet today? In your memory.

Thank you, Aaron. I remember.

Learning,
you were a shadow-slider,
an edge gracing,
corner of the eye extra

Living,
you filled the world imperceptibly,
adding a background to the
actors of the tiny world.

Playing,
your lilting easing somber
notes, held tightly in the
grip of your thin brown fingers.

despairing,
you made decisions
dark and terrible, choices
all too easy in this broken world.

dying,
you pulled the fateful hammer,
shattering the illusions of the lead-actors,
as well as your fragile frame.

Waiting,
your unreal tears slide down
illuminated cheeks, simply

I wonder if you'd hate us all. 

Honestly, who are we to care
in the past-tense. 
We cannot help you now. 
And you're so far gone that your shadow
is now undistinguishable from the
liquid dark coagulating in the corners
of my room. Would you hate us because
we did not know you 
and are trying so uselessly to understand 
so that it won't just happen again
(but it will)? And
would you really take so much time
to meet us all in our dreams and
chase clouds with us and hand us made-up memories
so we don't feel so bad about 
not being the ones who could save you?

Updated 9.08.09
This spring, Aaron Xue (Shooh-eh'), a talented student, athlete, video gamer and musician, took his own life at Essex High School in the early morning hours of the first day of spring vacation.

His community and this writing community were deeply saddened by the loss of this seemingly buoyant kid. At his memorial, family members and friends spoke of both his gentleness and competitiveness. Many of you wrote about Aaron, about your own feelings and about the memorial.

We feel that it is important to keep in touch with issues like this, to make sure that both he -- and the issues he faced and raised -- do not get forgotten. This week, two newspapers -- The Essex Reporter and Seven Days -- wrote about Aaron after interviewing his mother and father, but mostly his father:

“We lost Aaron,” Shuwan Xue told The Essex Reporter. “We want his life and his death to turn out something positive for this community. We want to petition the Legislature to see if we can push through better, tighter gun control. We want to get the issue out in the open.

“There is a lot of stigma around suicide. I don’t feel that. I feel overwhelming sorrow for Aaron.”

“The biggest question we have and a lot of other parents have is, Why did this happen?” he said to Seven Days. “This was a surprise to everyone. Aaron wasn’t depressed or anything. Aaron was healthy, he was engaged, and he had a lot of things going for him.”

We encourage you to read the articles and write about what you think. Please use the keyword Aaron so everyone can find what you write.
gg

i
I want to live,
this love;
this hate.
It's burning us all,
few burn down;
but we burn.

ii.
I wish I could sing you
one last song;
but now you're gone.
Aaron, you're gone.

iii.
I want to live.
I want to live.
I w a n t to live.

iv.
It goes on endlessly,
these tears;
these words.
I'm crying on my mothers
shoulder
for a boy I didn't know.
I want to sing him one last song.
I wanted to sing it before, but
Aaron, you're gone.
I can't stay strong
when this love,
this hate,
it's burning me away.

v.
I want to live.
I want to rise above it all.
It's too much.
I want to live.

When I heard the news of your death, that you died. Died. When I found out the reason I realized that you didn't die. You were just strong enough to let go. I know that we're always told, giving up is never the answer. I realize now that it might have seemed like the easiest way out.. The only way out. I know it's too late, but you have to know that there's always someone who loves you, know matter what.

I'm having a lot of trouble editing and reworking this piece so any feedback is extremely welcome.

"I have to sew my pants first"
and you wonder
if I really want to know.
Really I'm just delaying the news
making you hurt.
Really I'm just afraid
of what it is.

"I have to sew my pants first"
Patch that growing hole,
stop my thoughtless fingers
making it bigger.
Then I'll call;
listen to your tear-streaked voice
whisper out the news:
a death.
I never knew him.

Out back, behind your school,
his school;
it's quiet there, that's where
he pulled the trigger and fell
to his own thoughtful fingers.
Out back, near the fields,
I held your warm fingers;
he was still breathing.

"I have to sew my pants first"
It was raining.

Dedicated to Aaron. 'Little Boy' is not necessarily him, but their are a few- if any- resemblances between the two.
____________________________________________________
Nobody noticed
Little Boy off
in his own world-
and pretty soon
he became a
nobody.

Little Boy
had always had
a strange
fascination
with birds;
he loved how
they could fly
without ever looking
back.

Little Boy
spent his time
talking to himself
because nobody else
was willing to be his
friend.

Little Boy was never
lonely-
sure, he wished he had
somebody to talk back to him,
but he never felt as if he
was missing out on anything.

People thought
Little Boy was crazy-
they were the ones that were
crazy.
If you got to know him, you would
learn all of the cool stories he
never got to tell anyone.

Little Boy always smiled like
their was no tomorrow,
but who knew that those smiles
were forced?

Little Boy poured out his
heart,
his soul,
to himself.

The song I have attached here is "Little Girl Blue" by Janis Joplin. I'm relatively certain me posting it is illegal... but I'm giving her credit.

Aaron.
I've been... thinking
about writing this piece
for a little
over a week now.
Since the moment I heard.
See,
I didn't know you.
I had never heard your name before.
When someone told me you
died
I figured it was
an accident.
I figured
your parents had been driving in the dark,
you went to a wild party,
something. Not this.
Of course it crossed my mind.
It crosses all of our minds
"What if it was... on purpose?"
But no.
I shook the idea from my head.
I didn't want that to be true.
I didn't want any of it to be true.
I didn't want you, or anyone dead.
Nonetheless, you are.
It makes me sad.
It make me feel guilty.
I never knew you, never had any connections to you aside from friends in the same orchestra or kindergarten.
But
If I
Had
known you.
I could have told you
what they told me

You went to my school.

I really didn't know you. Lots of kids didn't....

But I'm not going to make this about me.

This was about you, Aaron.

I can say I'm sorry a thousand times and it will make non difference.

I can be selfish and feel the massive pain of a young life lost.

I can remember the many friends I have lost in such a short amount of time....

I...I...I....

See. This is what we do. We take your pain and make it about us.

You were such a beautiful person. The sound of your cello resonating from the stage....

And smart too. That makes me smile. That allows us all to smile; the thought of your great talent and brilliance...

Me...Me...Me...

But you live on, Aaron. You live in the long, wide hallways of Essex High. Among all of us. We breathe you in every time we enter those doors.

Every time we sit in the music hall.

Every time we sit in class.

Laugh with friends at lunch.

Raise our hand in class.

Drift off in homeroom....

maybe it’s time that I start forgiving the world for all that it’s –
no, I will not do this, I will never do this again
because there’s nothing for me to do

I don’t cry

I wonder if you liked lemon meringue pie,
the kind with the pretty yellow on the inside
and a soft crust, maybe even some cloud-cream
nestled on top, and would you eat it with me,
the two of us, strangers, on cool summer nights
sitting in an apple tree, sea breeze gusting by,
you and I under constellationalized stars?

I never cry

the monsters of poisonous virtue and vice
leapt down with their vulture eyes and plucked
hope from your musical fingers,
melting your mind with thoughts of death
and I can’t help you now,
I can’t help you now

Death… What does it taste like?
Could you
tell
me?

I’m sure that you always got the feeling
they were watching, never seeing, though,
yes, I’m sure you felt like that all the time because

The only you I remember
is in the pictures they gave us
at preschool graduation,
where you're kneeling in the grass
in a striped shirt
blowing the fluff off a dandelion.

And the you we seemed to know
seems so different from the child
with dandelions
I once knew.

I never knew you.

It sounds like a ridiculous cliché nowadays,
"Oh, a peer died: I wish I had known them,"
but I think that's true for a lot of us right now.

I think we feel responsible.

I wonder how I could've helped,
your name didn't even sound familiar when I heard,
but there's something in me that says, "If..."

I could've seen it.

So caught up in my own problems,
so oblivious to everything else important
when it doesn't pertain directly to me.

I miss the you I didn't know.

You meant so much to so many people
and now you mean so much to so many more:
maybe this is better.

I know "I'm fine" is usually a lie.

If no one knows...
If no one knows, no one can help;
you didn't want help, did you?

I know people who would've helped.

There's an entire community and more
wishing we could've helped you,
wishing we could've known.

I hope you like your new accomodations.

My sister said that
you were laughing
in math class
on Friday,
Aaron.
Were you laughing
because you knew
that the pain
would end soon
or just because
somebody had
said something funny?

It really is a
shame
that things have
to end this way.
I wish I had had
a chance to get to
know you.
But, you know what?
I respect your decision.
Of course I don't go
parading around holding
signs saying
'Teen suicide is fine,
I wish more people would do it'
but that was your path
you decided to choose.
We deserve rights as humans,
and choosing what to do
with our lives,
I believe,
is one of them.
I do wish you had talked to somebody
though.

Why didn't you?
Did you believe that the staff
was useless?
Or did you just not want to draw
attention to yourself?
You didn't want people talking about
you behind your back,
like,
'Oh, he's suicidal'?

The only memories I have of you
aren't even mine.
They're through my sister's.

You looked like you were
sleeping.
It’s cliché, I’m quite aware- but
it was just so
gentle
and
soft
and you had always been so alive.

I could see the shadows, though, of death
in your face. They were like
bruises on your cheeks, evident
in the limpness of
your lips
and the ways your hands were folded
as if they were meant to hold something,
but it was
taken away- maybe you put it away.

Death was in everyone’s hands that day.
Your mother took mine in hers
and asked me who I was.
What do I say to that? That I do not
know
at all that; it’s still a mystery to me?
That the proper question would be
Who was I- to Aaron?
That’s easy- I suppose. Not exactly a complex
person. I was
that girl in the back of the orchestra. The second violin
that you told
scary stories to
about the geometry teacher she would have
next year. Who laughed along with the
other seven kids that got together
every Monday and Friday and
played
music.
I was.

I’m thinking school on Monday will be hell.
I’m thinking I don’t really want to go.
I’m thinking I don’t really want to have to
Say the things I know I’m going to have to
Say over
And over
I’m thinking if I end up punching somebody in the
Face tomorrow- I’m going to get in trouble. Well
Fuck that.

I’m thinking I’m going to get eyes rolls- and bitchy
Whispers and that’s okay. I’m thinking I don’t really
Care.

I’m going to say this only once- that I stand by my previous opinions
Get over it.

I find it ironic that only a few days before she asked
Me
“if they died, would you cry?”
I said no.
And today I sat in a church (a church that I hate sitting in, am forced
To attend whenever my parents feel particularly
Religious) and did not cry.
I saw tears
But I did not cry
I heard memories
Did not cry.
I find it ironic that, on that same day, I sat in a classroom
And told the eight other students that
I believed suicide was

whatever way you choose to do it
it'll still hurt
whatever you choose to leave behind
it'll never be enough
whatever time you choose to die
our lives won't be the same

I'm sorry that
it had to be this way
these mix of emotions
extreme sadness
confusion
of why you went away
and though we had never met
i wish so deeply in the realms
of my soul, the place where
i can be quiet, that we will
meet again someday

i feel so empty
that such a precious life
was taken
that there was no one for
you to go to
in the time you needed it
most
i feel like i should've
reached out, taken your hand
and led to away from the
darkness
but you were the stranger
the one with the wounds
dug deep
i feel like the world is
responsible
for not treating you better
but i guess now
you'll only be a memory
someone i can cry for
and though i didn't even
know who you were
i grieve for you
beat myself up about how humans
are stupid and that we couldn't

Dear Aaron,

I can't cry for you.

I thought I did, that night I found out. Emily messaged me, and I didn't know what she was talking about until I checked the site. I was miserable that entire night. But as much as I thought it at the time, I wasn't miserable for you. I knew you'd already made your choice, and I'd never known you anyway.

Who was I miserable for? Myself. Selfish again. I cried because what you did was so powerful. Awful. And I don't mean the awful people use these days, I mean the originally intended meaning - full of awe. Awe-inspiring. Not that it's something to be glorified, by any extent.

The service was beautiful and highly emotional. I think this is all I'll be able to write about it. Or, rather, from it. ... (Added note by GG: Service was for Aaron Xue, 15 year old boy who took his own life on April 17. He was born in January, his middle name was "Bing" which means ice.")
 
 
 
Born in ice was a boy
with strings sewn to his fingers.
This, explained the doctor to his parents,
is dedication.

As the boy grew he learned to press his fingers
and pull them away. He began to
manipulate his dedication
until it became passion.

And his family realized
this is music.

But the day came all too soon
when such strain on his body was too much
and his family bid their boy farewell.

As soil spilled onto his resting soul
the earth froze for one moment
and his invisible hands played one last sonata
on their heartstrings.

Life is a unique instrument
on which we experiment with the truth,

Aaron,

There are some things I don't understand. Why is this morning so beautiful? Many in our community will sit together and cry over you today... I guess I just feel like the sky should be crying too.

Perhaps what I am really thinking about is: Why do sad things always seem to happen on beautiful days? Why are death and beauty so devastating to us as people?

I know that you understand what I'm saying. You know what it feels like to cradle music in your lap and you know what it feels like as it evolves beneath your fingers. You know the scent of rosin. I find myself wondering if you were ever as touched by a piece of music as some of us are by days like today. In death, you have been labeled cellist; this is perhaps the most lasting image of you for many of us. Is this what you would have wanted?

Aaron.
That name is going to be forever
ingrained in my head-
just like the name Ryan is.

Friday.
I had a play performance that day.
It was the second one and I
was all smiles.

Today.
I just got back from D.C. and
didn't hear about it.
"Where are you going?" I'd asked my sister.
"To the memorial service."
I hadn't had enough time to catch my breath
to ask who it was.
I'd serenaded her with questions and
found out that she had been in her math class.
The only thing I knew about her math class
was that she mentioned the freshman were like
woodpeckers.
I don't think Aaron was one of them.

Last year.
I'd seen my sister and his sister laughing
together after tennis practice.
My sister was jealous of his skills.

It's not fair that some people have it all
"easy," with few bumps on the road
while others have massive problems
every day of their life.
I guess it's how you deal with these problems
that matters.

I never knew him or saw him.

I didn't know him.
There was never an opportunity
For us to
Cross
Paths.

It wasn't until
I read a few pieces
That it really
Hit
Me.

He was a
Person
Who felt things,
Just like
You,
And especially
Like
Me.

He lived
And breathed
And loved
And dreamed.

I don't know
Why
He did it;
I don't know
If it could have been helped
Or
How
It could have been helped.
I really
Don't
Know.

But I do know
That every time something
Like
This
Happens,
Everyone sticks together.
People who are
Feeling
Feel together,
Everyone becomes
So
Much
Closer.

Maybe he was someone who
Needed
That extra closeness.
"Depression is a type of fire, too,"
Taylor Mali said.

So if that is
What he needed,
If that is
All that would have saved him,
Then I would like to extend a hand
To him.
Tell him,
Thank you for opening our eyes,
Tell him that
Never
Will that be me,
Never will I fall

I just realized something...

Aaron was born exactly eight months before I was.

Eight months.

mere months.

Damn.

I will podcast this, later when I'm alone and have a chance; soon though.

Tell me where you belong
And I will show you I’m strong
We together can take it all
We together can break this
Fall.

Take my words, tell me lies
Hide the world where children die
We together will make it
We together will break this

Smiles tell us why we’re not whole
All the while people’s souls are cold
Time will never heal what you have
I’d pay the world to go back
Would you?

One day I saw you smile
And play like it was worth while
You alone will know it all
We can only imagine your
Fall

Smiles tell us why we’re not whole
All the while people’s souls are cold
Time will never heal what you have
I’d pay the world to go back
Would you?

We are so much alike
Though it wasn’t clear till that night
You forever will not see
We together will never be

Smiles tell us why we’re not whole
All the while people’s souls are cold

I've read every single entry

everywhere

and it feels like I'm being
torn- tiny paper cuts
tiny
drops of blood
with every word.

Soon I will be stained read, leave
reddened
smears everywhere I touch, like
you have.

Reddened
smears.

I have read every single entry
and yet
it still hasn't fully sunk
in.

I am ashamed to say,

I cannot believe anybody could spell something wrong in their condolences in a guestbook.

I got this really awesome pen yesterday and I was just playing with it in my sketchbook with the intent to actually sketch, but I ended up writing. In my sketchbook this is all in a weird pattern... Sections are at different angles and it goes kind of backward and stuff, but I figured I'd post some of it anyway. I cut out some different parts, but it's pretty much all here.

Once I woke away from
myself

Whose feet lead my uneven
gait?

I surprised myself with the
smile
in my eyes.

New, fancy pen guides my hand.
3.99 for a pen;
3.99 for a book.
Not my money (I had a giftcard).

Sister studies for her
SATs.
She's always cared more,
tried more than me.

Midnight blue Christmas
lights.
Decorative lights?
Doesn't just have to be for
Christmas.
They shine differently
than irises do.

I wanted eyes like
Morgan le Fay.
green & purple;
two different colors,
two different sights.

I should stop with
expectations
soon.

Things come & go.

i.
You flew South
for the winter,
I suppose,
your wings
brushing the gray sky
like eyelashes.

ii.
We will write
notes to you,
paint words on the
bridge
and on the brick walls.

iii.
There will be
an empty seat in
every classroom,
an awkward silence
in every conversation,
and a hollow space
in every slowly-beating
heart.

If only I knew,
your face,
your smile,
what you were like.

If only I knew,
your likes,
your dislikes,
your way of life.

If only I knew,
who you were.

I did know,
you were an amazing tennis player,
you played the cello,
you had a facebook page,
but now,
there is a facebook group in memory of you.

If only I knew,
if heaven and hell were real.
If only I knew,
if you were still there.

If only I knew,
who you were

If only I knew

I guess I write songs when I don't know what else to do.

How long
can we tell each other
nothing's wrong?

When the children
hide themselves away,
when the children
take themselves away.

How long
can we tell each other
nothing's wrong?
How long do we sit on our hands, and
how long do we not understand
our children's songs?

I never knew your face.
Who am I crying for?
I never touched your words.
Still salty thoughts
mix on the floor.

How long
can we tell each other
nothing's wrong?

Nothing's wrong?
Nothing's wrong?

I realized that I did know you from more than just my dream last night. I knew you from two foggy A-day lunches, from two times I thought were insignificant. That probably still are. I was trying to be nice.

I said, "Hi!", introduced myself and we talked a bit. I knew you only over a meatball sub and a pint of chocolate milk. The only real memories I have of you are your smile and your birthday. I asked you that and not much else- I was on a birthday collection that day, prodding everyone who would answer me. I promised that I wouldn't forget, wrote it down, and closed my planner. I don't remember what you were eating.

Your birthday: January 27. How could I forget?

I can't believe I forgot.