Action Figure

2014

And the paramedics arrived too late to save him. The first person to find him—at least according to Mrs. Swanson who lives across from his house—was his girlfriend (or maybe it was just a friend). Later Mrs. Greer who lives next-door said it was in fact his sister, Mary—she was the middle child, he was the youngest, and he had an older brother, Scott—that found him: chair kicked, noose digging into the flesh around his neck, body dangling and lifeless.

Everyone implied the boy, the youngest, now deceased, was "different." Neighbors—mostly wrinkled prunes of people past their prime either in retirement or soon to be, obsessing over the state of their lawn or garden, or Boomers with nests near abandoned—acquired a sudden interest in the family. Others referred to the boy with similar descriptions or called him "a weird boy." Sure, they may have talked to his older stoner brother, or observed his sweet smiling sister—but he remained somewhat of a mystery to the neighborhood. The facts of what transpired are not completely clear but pieced together by various members in the nearby vicinity.

Mr. Waters two houses down—Mary often babysat his son—said, "He never had a girlfriend. That's not true. Other kids occasionally came around, but mostly he was the closest to his brother." He added, "I think he had something kind of wrong with him. One of those problems or something."

If someone would have wanted to investigate further and used the invention called "The Internet,"—not something the aging neighborhood had grown privy to—they could have checked the Facebook pages of the family members, learning their ages and high school graduation years. Ethan, an elder millennial, born in 1989, (age: 25; graduated: '07) was aware of the art of online sleuthing—unlike his parents who only relied on printed newspapers or "heard it through the grapevine." Recounting nearly running into Scott (age: 23; graduated: '09) and his friend Travis (graduated: '09) when both were seniors in high school, stoned walking up a sand dune, Ethan's friend Tim (graduated: '07) said, "These kids are getting dumber and dumber. They'll walk right into cops."

Scott's brother, the deceased, was a senior at the local high school. Mrs. Appleton said, "He must have had a hard time when Scott moved away." Scott, being four years older, moved out of the house first—attempting college before dropping out and becoming an electrician's apprentice at a local shop. When Ethan noticed him at the shop, he thought of the death, remembered reading the obituary. "Is Scott okay?" he asked his co-worker. "Why wouldn't he be?" The realization: he didn't tell them about the death. He thought about reaching out but didn't know what to say, "Sorry for your loss"? Too formulaic. "I hope everything gets better"? Too optimistic—wouldn't change what transpired. Might even undermine the fact it wasn't an illness or an accident. "What happened?" Too nosey. (Even though Ethan did want to know what happened.)

Mr. Porter, who lived next to Mrs. Swanwon, said he talked to him when he was a child—probably around five, right after they moved in—and said he seemed normal and asked him, “Which house do you live in?” He pointed right to his house, but Mr. Appleton (next store neighbor to Mr. Porter) added that didn't necessarily prove he was "all with it." If you knew what he meant. Mrs. Waters said he had Aspergers. Mrs. Jensen said she didn’t think suicide was typical among people with Aspergers. But Mr. Ron noted he did have violent tendencies; once he repeatedly smashed a skateboard against a Star Wars action figure. Another time he taped fireworks to Legos. And Mrs. Benson, who lived in the house behind them, seconded that the kid did have queer tendencies—once throwing dog feces over the fence into her yard, which she was quite displeased with.

Mrs. Greer said, "I heard he had mental problems. Was really sick in the head. He had schizophrenia." Mrs. Reed said he was in a mental hospital the last year for trying to stab his mom. "That poor lady," she added, feigning sympathy. "What's this world coming to?"

Mr. Porter said, "That's the first time I'm hearing of this. A mental hospital? I would have noticed his absence for a whole year. Please, he wouldn't have stabbed his own mother." When Mr. Porter was not around, Mrs. Greer shot back: "Well, did he notice his own daughter's absence for years? He's on the sauce all the time. Can't believe a word the old geezer says." (Mrs. Greer, age: 74; Mr. Porter, age: 68.)

Mrs. White, who lives behind them to the left—said, “I heard his sister was there while he did it and didn’t stop him. He was blue in the face when they wheeled him out, had been dead awhile by the looks of it. She could have saved him but chose not to.” Mrs. Swanson, who worked in a hospital, said they always cover the heads of the deceased out of respect. Mr. Greer contradicted this, saying standard protocol dictates not covering the body to prevent "introducing fibers that could contaminate evidence."

The death marked the nest officially empty. The parent's packed up and moved. States were speculated: Missouri. California. Delaware. But later it was confirmed they moved to Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, isolated in the cold snow storms, with towns miles apart, devoid of people.

Perhaps it's best to go to the obituary in the newspaper, The Shores Dailey. Aside from listing normal obituary things: he was a senior in high school, the names of his living family members (parents, siblings, aunts, uncles), the dates and times of the visitation and the funeral (omitted out of respect and privacy), it said:

He “died unexpectedly” and “immediately went into Jesus’ arms"– even though people who hang themselves generally take at least a couple minutes to die while they’re dangling—and asked people to "bring Legos and Star Wars action figures to donate to local crisis centers where children are staying."