I had the most amazing first love.His name was Matt. He was kind, funny, charming. Everybody loved him. He was an amazing person. On January 27th, 2007, I was waiting for his phone call to tell me that he was ready to hang out. I waited all day. I tried calling him but no one answered. Later that night there was a knock on my door. I saw Matt's dad and brother through the screen door as my stepdad, Jim, answered the knock. At first I mistook his brother as Matt. Only briefly and from about 15 feet away. I was confused when I realized that Matt wasn't with them. I walked to the door as Matt's dad, Eric, started talking to my stepdad in a low tone. I knew that whatever he was saying was going to be bad. Maybe that's why I didn't process what he was saying. Perhaps I was blocking out what I didn't want to hear. Jim told them he was very sorry and they said their goodbyes. Eric glanced at me briefly, seeing the blank, uncomprehensive stare on my face. When they left I asked Jim what they had said.
"You didn't hear?" he asked me. I could see the pain on his face caused by the fact that he would have to tell me the news. It is a burden to tell someone something that will affect their whole life, something completely tragic.
He told me during the morning Matt and his mother had been murdered. Suddenly, my whole body felt like it was boiling. The world stopped spinning. I started crying. Bawling. Jim hugged me, followed by my mom who had listened in when Jim related to story to me. I demanded that they find every detail of what happened immediately. They tried to tell me that it probably wasn't going to be a good idea to hear all the details with the state I was in. I had to know though. I needed to know who would kill such a sweet, innocent boy and his fun and amazing mother. Jim searched the internet for story. The man who killed them was name Dylon Peterson. I didn't recognize the name. Not at first. Not until I saw his picture. On the computer screen was the picture of the man Matt's family had shown so much generosity to. They had let him stay in their house after Matt's brother discovered tha he had been living under a bridge in Portland. Dylon and Matt's brother, Nick, met in their culinary school and Nick showed him kindness. This man who the family had been so charitable to had brutally murdered my love.
I had talked to Dylon before, sat in the same room with him, ate food he cooked. Dillybar is was what Matt affectionately called him. They were friends. When I saw that an's face on my computer, knowing what he did to his friend, I was sick. Literally. I ran to the bathroom and threw up what seemed like a week's worth of food. I didn't go to school for a while. I couldn't face thepeople who wanted to comfort me. I couldn't sit in my biology class with that empty seat next to me; Matt's seat. I laid in bed doing nothing for that week. I didn't watch TV, movies, or read because I didn't want anything to bring up memories. The memories came anyways. For weeks i woke up every morning hoping that I had just had a nightmare. Something that horrible couldn't happen to the one I loved. That happened to other people. Of course, that's what all people who have lost loved ones think. I knew that wasn't the way the world was. In February I got a tattoo of his initials on my ribcage. I did it illegally. I tricked the people in the shop into thinking I was 18. It was surprisingly easy. My tattoo made me feel like Matt was a part of me, like he was sharing my life because he couldn't live out his. He'll always be so close to my heart.
I have so many great memories to comfort me. I welcome those memories unlike the first couple of weeks which I dreaded anything that reminded me of him. One of the hardest things I've had to face as time passes, is the fact that I can no longer remember the sound of his voice.