This whiskey bottle comforts me and tells me not to cry., while the full moon says, "pray for me."
I wonder why you had to die.
It has been three weeks since your death. But I can still hear your scream and the look in your sea-green colored eyes when you plunged me to the ground saving my life but taking the bullet that would end your life.
I try to close my eyes to block all the bad memories out. But the night's there to remind me of the gunfire and your early grave, a grave that never should have
been. I look to the heavens above and I ask, "Is it too late to ask for forgiveness?" The stars wink at me like they blame me. They are telling me if I had not been so stupid and selfish you would be here with us right now.
It was my idea to go after those men. I was the one to put you in that early grave. If I
had only waited for the others, perhaps the day could have been saved.
I judged you at first; I placed you has a coward, a cheat, a person that only cared for himself and no one else. But as time went by, I found that we all could trust you. You were not coward; you were there when we needed you the most.
Who am I to judge a man? I have my own demons and ghosts that I am running from. You stood by my side, holding your head up high. We were outnumbered and we knew it, but you still stood proud. You told me one time, "That is what a friend is for." But look what being my friend did to you.
So here I am; I jumped headfirst into a bottle to find forgiveness from a Southern speaking friend. But I come to you short, nothing, never found the truth but only found the end.
The last thing that you said to me before you took your last breaths, "Thank you for giving a southern boy a family, and a place to call home." Those words I will take to the fiery gates of hell with me when I go. When I meet my maker, will he close the book on the hearts I broke and the lives I took? Will he walk away
because my soul's too late to save?
I let so many people down in my life, including five brave men. But I let you down. Why did you have to jump in front of me? Why did you save me so that you would die? Why; I want to know why. You deserved to live; you were changing your life around for the better. You were really doing good for the rest of us. I guess you can even say that you were rubbing off on us.
I went to see the preacher to teach me how to pray. He just smiled and turned away. He said if you want to tell
Him something you don't gotta fold your hands, but say it with your heart, your soul, and believe it, and I will say,
"Amen."
Heart - you had a big heart. You saved us many of times. Soul - yours will live forever. My heart is heavy with guilt, hurt, and shame for not saving your life. Seeing your green eyes when you fell to your horrible death, that hurt the most.
Your ghost appears as I try to fall asleep, telling me you are okay, you wanted to die, and you are where you want to be. But I don't believe it. You belong here with us. You should have not left us so soon. You had so much to look forward to.
I will always miss that Southern speech when you asked, as you always did, "Care you join me in a game of chance?" Our seven is not seven now; that hurts me. But when I look at us all sitting at the same table I always do, and will always, look at the chair you always sat in, and I tip my hat to you.
Thank you, Ezra Standish, for being a friend, a comrade, a partner, but most of all, a BROTHER.
Your leader and friend;
Chris Larabee
The End
