My grandfather's laughter wasn't a complete stranger, but a passing acquaintance. It was spare and sparse, doled out like a prize, and never given freely. A thin smile was the reward for a job well done, an impressive feat, or a particularly clever wordplay or joke. Laughter was a rare sound he could almost remember how to make when conditions were just right.

Smiles and chuckles were easier to earn when light would sparkle on the current running towards the ocean. Sadness was an abstract idea left moored in far away ports when he retired as a stevedore; sadness was an abstract idea left to wither in empty classrooms when she found retirement of her own. They were happy in the years that they walked the sun-dappled banks of a winding Southern river, and sadness was the color of our world when she left us behind. His good humor was laid to rest on an October day that was also their wedding anniversary.

I once asked him why he stopped being a fireman. I think of that conversation every time I pass that fire station in the old historic district of Savannah.

"The smell." That was the only explanation he offered. The only other clue to his reticence was when my mother or father would grill, he'd never come outside until dinner was served and the grill was put away. The man himself didn't own one.

Before retirement, I would stay with them in the second house they ever bought together, where they finished raising one daughter after the eldest had wed and moved on. I can still remember the blue carpet in the dining room and the grapevine that ran the length of the garden in the backyard. Every summer, he'd toil for the spoils of the earth; riches gathered were golden corn and the rubies of vine-ripened tomatoes.

I can vividly recall the slices of tomatoes in contrast to the Fiestaware, freshly creamed corn pooled to turn those slices into red atolls in a yellow sea.

On most of these overnights at their pre-retirement house, I'd wake to find a paper bag of freshly baked donuts. He would have to be at work at some inhumane pre-dawn hour, but he'd always leave just a little earlier than normal so that he could bring donuts back to the house for his grandson. I was always fascinated with the fact that he was there when I'd go to sleep, but then mysteriously gone when I woke up, and I never heard a thing.

I've since walked a mile in his footsteps, having known work that occasionally required inhumane pre-dawn hours. I'm still in awe of his ability to stay awake through the 11 o'clock news and then rise at some mysteriously masochistic time.

He showed affection by doing things. Providing. Entertaining. Not necessarily talking. He'd take me along on trips to the store; I always liked going with him more than going with my grandmother, because she knew the definition of the word "No." He'd always let me come home with something extra, something unnecessary. Something I wanted but never needed; there were always new toys to be had, and I'd leave some of them in the cardboard box I kept at that river house.

On one of these shopping trips, he introduced me to something that, unknown to either of us, would change my life forever. He bought me a Daisy Powerline 860, a BB repeater and a pellet air rifle. It was fairly low-powered, but to a six year old, it was a mighty weapon indeed. He taught me how to use it, he taught me how to respect it. He gave me that rifle, and a little red Swiss-army knife that he got for free with his Old Spice holiday gift pack. I still have both.

I would wander the banks of that river for hours with the knife in my pocket and the rifle in my arms; tin cans and tree trunks trembled and feared my name, and the river herself would let me skip shots like stones.

A decade later, I don't think he was ever as proud of me as when I brought home dinner for the first time using those skills he first taught me on those banks. I think that laughter is what's kept in a bottle in my memory, and I open it from time to time.

Stoicism. Self-reliance. Organization. These lessons he taught me by example, and everything combined with what he taught me with that Daisy to help make the man I am. All of these skills are some of the reasons why I'm still here today, and others aren't.

It wasn't until years after he left that river for good that his laughter became as much of a stranger to me as I became to him, but the memory remains.

i watched a video

on YouTube that told

my life has worth something

and im gonna grow old

and im gonna be happy

though, it seems like a lie

and maybe just maybe

I'll find the right guy

I'll feel like I'm loved

I'll take myself at face value

and know I'm enough

that one day I'll see me

the way people do

that I'm not just a burden

or an object to use

I'll be on my deathbed

at age ninety-eight

and see my life was filled with

people i love, and songs i hate

I'll see everything as a blessing

and not something to overcome

maybe my skin will feel

the warmth of the sun

after years of the clouds

preventing it's shine

my grandchildren will see

my dark smile lines

my parents will be proud

and i will be prouder

i won't be scared to be outgoing

I'll speak up for myself louder

but that was just a video

made by a kid who doesn't know me

with no life experiences like mine

and nothing to show me

I'm gonna die

with nothing to show for it

and 100 years from now

no one will know of it

crazy, and sad

a nihilist maybe

with no one around

and no one to save me

shes sighs at the table and signs the paper

she hugs me

and tells me it's going to be okay

"5 minutes" the lady in the suit says

tells me she loves me

and that she didnt mean it

straightens my clothing

"it'll just be a weekend or two"

an unplanned lie

the woman walks in the door

"i love you, Sweets. make sure she goes with her brother"

she says to me, then my social worker

only 2 visits afterwards

im 17 now

it's been 9 years

I've deleted this paragraph four times, let's make it five. Remember when birthdays were fun, happy times? It's a loaded question, how many years I've graced this planet. I've contributed what I can, I'm older than I was then. There are many life lessons to learn, one is how to use the written word. I'll come back to this, I promise, after another decade of remorse, sorrow, discarded drafts and too much bourbon.

I was in my twenties once, living day to day, hoping to survive the decade without succumbing to pain. I hit thirty and realized I'm a third of the way through, if I am lucky. Perhaps it's all happenstance, a roulette of genetics. I take another sip of my drink and watch the condensation drip down the glass, another year in the bag, handed to me with a lemon slice on the edge.

We are all surviving, even if at different tempos. Each year is its own performance, percussion that continues. If the beat goes on, but no one is around to hear it, can you still call it music?

Are you listening to it?

I walk in

door unlocked

knife in my hand

rooms are all dark

except for one

she's texting her friend

I'll wait till she's done

then it's the end

I pull out the knife

fear in her eyes

quick and precise

make sure she dies

go big or go home

I savor this time

me and her are alone

I say in her ear

right before i strike

"this is the part where you die"

then her pupils turn white

i bask in the glory

of her blood and tears

and exit out the back

before anyone hears

I'll be missing you

Till the day I die

I've been waiting so long

That I want to cry

You say that you love

And I say I love you too

So, while your missing me

I'll be missing you.

Am I happy?

The simple answer is “no”

But I should elaborate

So I guess here I go

Waking up every morning

Hating that I woke up

Isn’t happiness at all

If I ever knew what it was

Contemplating suicide

Keeping it to myself

Because I already said

I don’t need any help

It seems so far away

And I can't help it

Hope is gone, and so am I

I stay in my shell like a shellfish

People care

But I push away the love

I so desperately beg for

Then take what I can like an addict to drugs

I’m scared to vent

I don’t want to be a burden

So nobody gets to know

When I am hurting

Because my problems are my own

Locked myself in this house

I chose alone

So, am I happy?

The simple answer is “no”

Because I hate myself

And that is all that I know