The Story of Cory

When last I left you, I was on my way home after getting the news that Cory was dead. I picked up Gracie from the groomer and raced home, oblivious to the world around me, my head racing with thoughts and possible images of what to expect, almost hyperventilating, fighting to compartmentalize the fear, pain, sadness, choking back the inevitable tears... I had to just get home and see what's what for myself; still holding on to denial, refusing to really believe that it was true, trying to wrap my mind around the possibility...

The drive seemed to take hours, and I drove the route as I had done so many times before without a thought. Interstate 30 East, exiting at Brentwood Stair Road, and turning left at the light at the end of the exit ramp, heading down the hill. Past the income tax office, the liquor store, the car wash, the Section 8 apartments, turning right on to Wilson Road at the gas station. Heading up another hill to the stop sign next to the golf course, where the flock of pheasant waddled around. Left turn on Jenson Road, passing the golf course and coming up on Meadow Court. Where I was to turn left to get home.

Meadow Court was a cul de sac right bedside the golf course that was pretty quiet, for the most part. Well, except for the drug dealing house right at the end of the cul de sac... Allegedly... On the side backing up to the golf course, there was some sort of policeman, or something, that lived right across the street from the house. He drove some kind of undercover cruiser, the white Crown Victoria with cop tires and red and blue lights behind the front grill and always parked in the driveway because the garage had become a workshop. There was the nice african-american, middle-aged mom, single as best as I could discern, next door to him to the right. Next door to us on the right was the nice young couple with a newborn, and usually had cars, car parts, a boat, or a very large dog in the driveway. He was a talented auto mechanic in the process of restoring a classic something, or other... I think it was a late 60'/early 70's model Chevelle, but I'm not that car savvy. On the other side of us was the nice latino family. The gay older brother and the straight younger brother, the mother who was staying with them because she was divorcing her bipolar husband, and the younger sister who stopped by often with her friends.

That was the kind of everyday people that lived there. There was the odd crime--cars or houses broken into, in fact ours was broken into just the Friday night before. I got off of work at 11pm and few of us went to a friend's house house for a couple of beers. When I got home, the garage door was wide open and all of the lights in the house were off. We were also in the bad habit of not setting the house alarm or locking the door from the garage to the laundry room... So I pulled into the driveway and pulled my 8" chef's knife and 8" serrated knife out of my bag from work, and went into the house through the garage door into the laundry room, turning on every light as I went, paranoid that someone was in the house.

My first thought observed that to door from the garage to the laundry room was closed, but from the laundry room into the house was open. We always left that door closed... Strike two.... So I screamed Gracie's name. The most important thing at that point was that she was ok. I held my breath waiting to hear from her, but she doesn't bark. I was listening for the click of her claws on the bare floor and the jingle of her dog tags. No sound... I called again louder into the dark house with only the light from the garage and the laundry room lighting the hallway to the bedrooms. Then the click click click click of Gracie trotting to the door. What a sigh of relief that she was not only there, but ok.

I closed the doors behind me, closing Gracie into the laundry room as I searched the house room by room, turning on every light as I went, knives in one hand, cell phone with 9-1-1 dialed and ready to call in the other. Hallway--clear. Foyer and front closet--clear. Living room, kitchen/dining room--clear. I made sure the back door from the living room to back yard was locked. I'm not a girl from a horror movie... Then the scary part--the bedrooms... The first bedroom (where Patrick lived)--I threw open the door and reached inside to turn on the light fast and jumped back. seeing it was clear, I checked the closet and behind the open closet door. Then my bedroom next door, checking behind the door and in the closet... Clear. Heart pounding out of my chest, trying to breathe, but not wanting to be heard... The bathroom, opening the shower curtain, even though it was pretty much see-through... Still, had to make sure. And worst of all--Cory's room at the end of the hall. His room had a little bit of an entrance way, opening to the left, closet to the right. I reach in to turn on the light on the left, and the closet light on the right, again, jumping back in so doing. Through the bedroom to his bathroom, which was pitch black, and the light switches were inside and around to the right. There were several switches for two lights, the heat light, exhaust, heat... I fumbled frantically for all of them. All clear. Last thought--the back yard... Also all clear. Whew!

No one in the house, 9-1-1 called and en route, tried contacting Cory, which it turns out was at the gym and hadn't been home. Asked the neighbors if the knew or saw anything, and the only answer I got was from the latino family next door: when they got home at 6pm, the door was closed. When their friends showed up for movies at 9pm, the door was open. They just figured that we were cleaning out the garage or something, since we both held such odd schedules... The odd thing was that there was nothing missing. All I could figure was that whoever entered the house got scared when Gracie came a-runnin' and maybe barking... Scared them away and they pulled the door to the garage closed behind them so she wouldn't get to them. Even though all shed do is lick them... After that, the doors were locked, alarm code set, and lights in the backyard left on around the clock.

So as you can imagine, less than a week later I had to come home to a call that Cory was dead... I pulled into our cul de sac, which was lined on both sides of the street with police cars, emergency services, and CSI vehicles, as well as every neighbor standing on their front lawns looking at the house. I pulled in slowly looking up and down the court and the faces all turned to look at me as I drove past. Pointing, whispering to each other. I couldn't see the scene through all of the vehicles and people until...

I drive past the last car blocking the view, and there he was... The garage door was open, but not all the way. Cory was on the floor of the garage, half covered in a tarp that someone found... His family was sitting on the front lawn--mom, stepdad, identical twin brother, aunt, and best friend--sitting on the retaining wall between our yard and the yard next door where the latino family lived out of sight from the garage... But I saw Cory laying there, and he just looked like he was asleep. Although grayish in color... I was starting to lose it. Tears, emotion, compartmentalization failing, Cory was lying cold on a cold cement garage floor, half-dressed, half-covered. I was still driving. Sort of. I think I could have totaled my car when I slammed into the curb, parking the car in the yard and throwing the transmission into park while the car was still moving...

I jumped out, running around the car to the driveway to see closer... And then the cop in a suit grabbed my arm, asked my name, and I just started to cry. It was true. It seemed true... Cory was dead in the garage. Only half-covered with a green tarp. I was so angry! It was so disrespectful! I yelled at them to cover him! I yelled! I screamed! I cried! Any strength I had to get there and compartmentalize and maintain was now completely gone. Cory was gone. My landlord. My roommate. My friend. He was gone. And a part of me with him. I knew him for so brief a time, but he touched my life. My soul. He was a gentle, troubled man who had been through more than most... Little did I know...

And at that, I'll bid you all good evening and pleasant dreams and I thank you for reading. I humbly ask that if you're reading, please list yourself as a follower. I appreciate your interest. I just need to stop for tonight...