there’s a young guy, chris, worked at the pub across the road. nice kid, very quiet and unassuming. he was into sports, but not to the extent that so many his age are where they turn into hoons at the mere mention of last night’s match. they tried him out in the bar for a while, but he was a little too slow and disconnected for the kind of multi-tasking needed in a busy bar. so they moved him back to the kitchen where he doubled as prep and floorstaff. he did well there, his kind nature endeared him to the oldies and the occasional difficult customer found themselves disarmed by his genial, helpful spirit.
he’d been a little gloomy of late. he’d broken up with his girlfriend, his first true love, she’d unceremoniously dumped him and he was finding it hard to pick up the pieces and move forward. the gypsy gal’d told him she’d introduce him to her daughter when she’d visit next, they’re about the same age. but he was always polite, pleasant and placid in spite of the heartbreak he was trying to cope with.
we were over at the pub last night when the manager commented that chris hadn’t turned up for his 5.30 shift. very unusual, as he was always pretty punctual. an hour or so later, a phone call came in. chris had hung himself. he was eighteen.
teen suicide is a frighteningly growing problem. are we, as a society and as parents putting too much pressure on young people? are our expectations higher than previous generations because we have so much technology, opportunity, freedom of travel, freedom of choice? I can - somewhat - understand someone in say, their fifties pulling the pin, as you’d think they’d experienced a fair bit of life and had come to - for them, anyway - a rational decision. my friend hugh from nashville had thought he’d beaten prostate cancer, only to have it move out of remission and become terminal. rather than endure increasingly painful months or years for he and his family, he made the decision to end his life early.
but an eighteen year old? I can remember my first heartbreaks, the days when nothing seemed worthwhile, but you get over it. when I was eighteen, I was in a locally popular band, playing the high school and bar circuit, dreaming of success and trying to drag as many unsuspecting young girls into my bed as I could manage. I wouldn’t have given that life up for anything at the time, and to try to correlate my then emotions with what chris must have gone through is near impossible.
chris, it was a pleasure to have known you.