I have to write out my life story. It is nothing glamorous full of action, thought it may be controversial, none of that matters to me. It is the simple story of a simple life. To get out the pain that has come to me in my short 43 years, to ease it. My name is Troy James Baldova.
 I was born on a chilly morning in October. The 14th, of the year 1952. St. Andrews was a sleepy little town, always has been. The day of my birth my brother Zach was awaiting my arrival at our small house by fixing up the room that was to be mine, doing so by placing all of his stuffed animals around the crib. My mother, Guineth was thrilled to have two glowing young boys, thought Zach was first and always would be. James was the name of my father. I did not know him that well, I could never get close to him. He shut me out of his life, as though I was not his child. I never knew why, and do not to this day-why he could never love me.
 I can’t remember much of my young life. I only remember the time I spent playing with Zach, him teaching me football, wrestling in the yard behind our house. More than once I found myself laying in my room, looking up at the ceiling, wanting to be Zach so bad that it hurt. I wanted father to talk to me, even in the slightest, I wanted mother to let me help her around the house, I wanted all those things and more. Envy was a strong emotion between me and my brother. Zach brought me to the open lot by our house the night before I started high school. It was empty, hard packed-down grass covering the entire plot, where all the kids from our neighborhood played. The sky that night seemed to be overflowing with stars, in every corner of my view there were small bright dots. I knew that I should have been scared, I should have been afraid of the shadows. But I wasn’t, I know that laying there next to me was my big brother, and that nothing would ever happen to me, he would protect me. It’s strange how much you can rely on one person, without even realizing until it’s too late.
 I can see July 18, 1966 as if it were but a few hours ago. I was sitting at my desk, Carrie lay on my bed, paging through one of my comic books. I heard Zach talking to my mother in the den, and when his footsteps approached the hall I knew he was coming to my room.
 “He you,” He leaned against the frame of my door, his ‘killer smile’ as mom liked to call it, spread across his face. “You wanna go to Denise’s house with me?” I went with him to Denise’s almost every week, but this time I got a little knot in my stomach when he asked.
 “Well,” I looked over at Carrie, who was now on her feet, already putting her shoes back on. “I guess so." I laughed as Carrie looked up, realizing that she had already assumed the answer to be yes. Zach smiled once more as Carrie led the way out of the room, pulling me by the arm behind her. Zach had a beautiful 1965 Plymouth, painted a deep shade of blue that he was fond of calling ‘midnight’. He would always say “Hey Troy, you in the mood to take midnight out for a spin?” to me on nights when it was just the two of us left home.
 Carrie and I sat in the back seat, because we were stopping to pick up one of Zach’s friends-Freddie. When we arrived as Denise’s house, she was in back playing with her dog sparks. Carrie and I, although  years younger than everyone else who was there, did not feel out of place, this was a normal weekend activity for us. Zach said that we were leaving in awhile because Denise didn’t want anyone over when her parents came home. But Carrie had to be home within the hour, and Zach didn’t want to leave so soon, he said he had to talk to Denise about next Thursday. I told Carrie that I would walk with her to her house, and then meet Zach at home in time for dinner, even though our parents were at some meeting for the weekend. Zach always cooked for the two of us, and we agreed to meet around 7 o’clock that night.
 I got home around ten instead, having been asked to stay for dinner at Carrie’s, And I knew that Zach wouldn’t mind me being late, not like mom would’ve. I walked up the small path that led to the front door, the lights weren’t on-so I figured Zach must have gone to bed, or invited Denise over. The second assumption made a smile cross my face. The big door in the front was still bolted, this brought a little suspicion but I remembered that Zach could’ve just gone in through the garage entrance. I walked around back, that door was always open. The kitchen was silent. I couldn’t even hear the TV in the den. Every light in the entire house was out, which made the shadows from the moon paste themselves on the walls. I flipped on the light that lit the stairwell, still no noise-Zach couldn’t be sleeping or I’d hear him snoring- I thought. And if Denise was over? I thought…I had better go make sure he’s even up there. I ran up the carpeted stairs that were worn in the center from the traffic of two little boys. At the top, I looked down the hallway. A thin line of light shined from beneath the door to Zach’s  room. But, no lights had been showing when I walked up to the house…he must be home, has heard me and turned on the light in expectance of my arrival. The old floor boards creaked a little from wear as I walked. I stood in front of Zach’s door. I opened it up, noticing how cold the knob was. I expected to see Zach laying in his bed reading the latest edition of his car magazine that he loved so much. Instead I saw a shadow, A swinging shadow held in place by a line of rope attached to the white plank board ceiling. I remember screaming, screaming until the world came in upon me, until all I heard was all I heard was Zach’s voice playing over and over again in my head…”Troy, be strong. I’ll always stand behind you, I’ll always be there.” Just as he had on that night that we sat alone together in the baseball field. 
 I can’t remember anything until, I’m sitting in a room. Glorious white light shining al around me. I thought I was dead, I thought that I had screamed so hard I had died-and that Zach would be here any minute, to comfort me with his strength. Then Father came into the room. He looked at me, his leathery face looking worn and much older than ever before. The browness of his jacket shattered my hopes of heaven. He didn’t say a word, just looked at me with a dull stupor-like expression on his face. I sat up in the hospital bed that had that pungent sterile smell to it. Clearing my throat, I managed to say one word. “Zach?” and that was the first and only time I actually saw my seemingly heartless father cry. He nodded his head as the tears slipped slowly down his face, making little wet lines on his dry skin. I lay back down, and after he left…I cried too.
 I found out that the reason for Zach’s suicide, although meaningful, was not justified. He wrote that he could not handle the pressure any more. Him and Denise had broke up that night, though they were engaged. He said that he would always love her, that he would always be with all of us, in spirit. But that he couldn’t take it any longer.
 The next years held a kind of magic for me. Black magic in some ways…but not all ways. Carrie, being my best friend was there for me after I got over the initial shock of the death. My grades slipped dramatically in school, and father cared even less than he had before. My senior year of high school, my mother started to see hallucinations, she thought that she saw Zach walking around the house, she even started talking to him. Father took her to the doctor one day. I never saw my mother again, they had to put her in a hospital. Father said it was for the best, said it would be better for everyone if mother just had a little ‘vacation’. Even though it was hard for me, I had to put that behind me. In fact, writing this down is the first time that I’ve accounted everything following Zach’s suicide fully. It brings back all of the pain, all of the hurt that I felt during that time. But I felt as if I had to let it out on paper. For, earlier this year, Carrie died. She had cancer, and felt that she could no longer go on living with the agony of the knowledge of her death. One night when I was out, I came home to find yet another death. This one from overdosing on her painkillers.
 Carrie and I have been married in 1971, and have 3 children—Natalie, Dameon, and Zachary. I, unlike my father, actually was a part of my children’s lives. I watched Natalie grow up, even give her away at her own wedding. I saw Dameon apply to architecture school. Zachary, be valedictorian of his graduating class. And I witnessed each of them weep at their mother’s grave. I cannot go through another death. And although I realize that my children will be heartbroken by what I must do…It must be done, Death is inevitable. I know that I will miss them immeasurably. I just want them to be happy, and since Carrie’s death-I have no one. I hope in some small amount I will be remembered upon this earth…but, I must say farewell to those that I love. And although I realize that this is not the life that I wanted for myself. This is all I will ever become. I cannot go on living in this house which holds so many memories for me. No longer can I stand all the pain. Forgive me…

{-=Troy James Baldova=-}
*
-=Born=-
October, 14, 1952
-=Died=-
August, 22, 1995