Pastime

"Yeah, I am a pro horseback rider," Theo gloats. 

He's always trying to impress somebody. The first time it happened Theo wanted to start running. He almost died, too busy chasing approval from his potential mother. Foster mother. Rose, he called her. When he almost died Rose gave him up. So, he quit.

The second time it happened he decided to take up knitting. He only did it cause his grandmother loved it. He needed her approval; she was his only living family. He needed her to love him. He stopped when she died. He claims he stopped because he wasn't good at it, but that's not true. He stopped because kitting brings back the pain of when he lost the only thing he had left. He tried hiking next. Slipped, fell, got scared, and quit. 

Then it was horseback riding. He was actually pretty good at it. One of his longest hobbies. Anyone looking at him would think he was happy up there on the horse's back. I knew better. I could see how terrified he was. He only got up there to impress the girl he had a crush on. She didn't like him though. When he figured that out, he stopped.

Next, it was Pottery. Did that for a few weeks. Dried out his hands, so he stopped. Again.

He wanted to impress our gym-teacher next. Mr. Howler. Howler had told him he couldn't hold on to a talent, even if his life depended on it. That led Theo to try wrestling like Mr. Howler. Quit that after a month.

Theo has never been funny; he knew that too. But since his enemy, Cole Ginger told him that he felt he needed to prove him wrong. Standup comedy was Theo’s next victim. He was no Kevin Hart. Nobody laughed with him; only at him. He didn't like that, so he let it go.

"I might just join the army," He told me.

Anybody could see how defeated he was. The pain he wore on his face as if it were gulled there. I hated seeing him this way. Defeated. Words hurt more easily than they did before, and everyone could see it.

   He started writing next. Said he wanted to use the words that hurt him to heal others. Made sense to me. I wouldn't have minded if there wasn't an ulterior motive. He wanted approval from Bethel, his new foster mom. Only that didn't work out. He got hurt the more he tried to heal. Their relationship became toxic.

"You'll never be loved," she would say. "You good for nothing but a quick check!" she told him. She never physically hurt him, but she tore him to shreds. He didn’t know what to do with himself, so he saw a counselor. The counselor helped him as much as she could've. 

His next hobby didn't come from wanting approval this time. It came from wanting to prove he wasn't useless. He became a yes man. No matter what someone asked him to do he always said “yes” 

One good thing that came from him saying yes though, he found a different hobby a healthy one. He wanted to try guitar, my favorite hobby of his. 

He wasn’t good at it, but he was happy, happier than he had been in a long time. He did guitar for a year. He stopped when he was officially adopted by Mister and Misses Cooper. They made him quit. Told him it hurt their ears. So, Theo quit. He didn’t want to risk being thrown out again; he chose their happiness over his. 

He was content with living with the Coopers’, but he wasn’t happy, at least not on the same level of happiness he was on when he had the guitar. He didn’t want to disappoint the Coopers, he never did. If they wanted to start reading, he did that too. If they started dancing, he would too. 

Until he met Hillary, his first love. He did everything he could to make sure he got her approval. He backslid to his old ways. Hillary loved fashion, so Theo took classes to learn how to sew. He kept that up as long as they were together. 10 years. She gave up on him. So, he quit. 

One day, it dawned on him that everyone in his life that meant something to him had either left him, gave him away, or died. Eventually, he just crashed. Started his new and final hobby. Becoming insouciant. He stopped caring about everything including his own life. 

I tried to help him, but he wouldn’t listen. Stopped listening to anyone who had potentially cared for him. Started drowning out his pain with Beer and Vodka. Started smoking too. Every time he inhaled a cigarette it was like he was inhaling everything, all his problems, and pain. And every time he exhaled, he was getting rid of everyone’s warnings and comfort. Blocked out anyone who tried to help. He didn’t want help. He had a death wish and nobody could change his mind. He became reckless in everything he did. 

For the next 20 years, that’s what he did. He inhaled all pain and exhaled any guidance or help. Inhale, Exhale. Until one day, he didn’t exhale.

 I don’t tell them that though. I tell them that he was loyal, kind, giving. I tell them about all the good things he was and all the good things he did. I tell them stories of the few moments he had when he was happy. I tell them of the days before he spiraled out of control. 

I tell them about the old Theo. The happy Theo. The Theo who was my friend. I don’t tell them about the dark Theo. Or the hurt Theo. Or the Theo who never figured out what he wanted. I don’t talk about what led him here. What led him to this long, mahogany casket, six feet underneath, surrounded by the few people who cared for him.

He became reckless, he started to search for death and he finally found it.