When I was in elementary school, I was the shy, studious, nerd in the class. I had a fair number of friends, so I wasn't lonely or anything, but I was the kind of kid that would always turn his homework in on time, and would always try to answer questions the teachers ask. Yeah, you know the kind.
Anyways, there was a kid in my class. For the sake of this story, I'll call him Austin. You could tell almost right away that Austin was a troubled kid. He'd occasionally make fun of people, he'd be loud in class, and he never tried at school. Basically, he was one of those kids that teachers would only pass on to the next grade so that they wouldn't have to deal with their shit a second year.
At some time, I think around second grade, we had a paired "project" or whatever passes for projects when you're 7. As you could probably guess, I got paired with Austin.
Now, I hated this at first, but my mother's a psychiatrist, and once told me that troubled kids usually have something going on with them that I don't understand. So, I decided to reach out.
My memory's foggy, as it was so long ago, but I do remember that Austin and I, somehow, became friends. I think I might have actually been his only friend in our grade.
My other friends were like me, and never really liked Austin, but that didn't really matter, because I liked hanging out with him, and playing with him at recess.
One day, we started talking about hanging out after school. I asked him about hanging out at his place, and he seemed to get pretty nervous about it. At the time I remember him being really weird and dismissive about it, but I didn't get why.
Austin might be loud in class, and could be a jerk at times, but if you really got to know him, he chilled out around you. He was really funny, and was a really creative guy, great to play with when you're a kid.
It didn't really matter to me, though, so I just invited him over to my house, and he seemed to be normal again.
I think it was around 4th grade when I asked him, rather bluntly, why we never hung out at his place. He was dismissive and gave excuses at first, but eventually, after years of him being my best friend, he got quiet, and even then I could see how difficult it was for him to say.
Austin told me that he lived with his mom in a small apartment. His dad was in jail, I can't remember why, but I think for something serious. It was his mom who was the problem. I had only occasionally seen his mom in passing, and I remember being confused by how young she was. Austin told me she was 24 when he was in 4th grade. And, looking back, knowing the math that means that Austin was an accidental teen pregnancy.
Austin told me that his mom drank a lot. I was around 9 at the time, and I wasn't an idiot, so I knew what that meant. I have a vivid and horrifying memory of Austin lifting his shirt up and showing me a nasty bruise on his stomach. It was really the first time that I came across the notion of parental abuse.
Austin made me swear that I wouldn't tell anyone. And I didn't. I was stupid and selfish and didn't realize how dangerous his situation was. I was afraid of losing my best friend.
Now, Austin and mine's friendship, I think, was extremely important to both of us. I was practically his only friend, and I was a point of comfort and stability for him. He wasn't nearly as disruptive in class, he became nicer to people, and his grades even improved. It was so noticable that our teacher even held me after class and thanked me profusely for being such a good influence on Austin.
But Austin did great things for me too. When we hung out together, we did exciting and cool things. We explored, hopped fences, climbed trees and built forts in the woods. We swam in lakes and ponds. We even got in some trouble together. He taught me how to be brave. Austin was always more of a free spirit than me, and I was when I was with him. We were the best of friends.
I don't want to make this sound like some dumbass tear jerker or after school special, but Austin legitimately taught me, the shy studious kid that was terrified of breaking the rules, how to rebel, even if it was just a little. We were different from one another, but we celebrated our differences, and were able to help each other improve.
I have a couple of really formative memories of Austin, but I won't bore you with them.
Over time, around the time of 6th grade, his rebellious nature started to influence him more. He started drinking and smoking. At that time, I was really taken in by the "don't smoke, the second you do you'll get addicted and die" videos that they used to scare kids straight. Needless to say, that was a rebellion that I couldn't follow him down.
We were still friends, and we still hung out, but it was really easy to see, especially as we got older, that something in his life was getting worse. Namely, good old mom. Austin showed up to one day with a black eye. Of course he lied and told the teachers it was an accident. I knew, but I didn't say anything. When I would catch glances of small burn marks on him, we'd just pretend that they didn't exist.
It got so bad that we never talked about it. It was like being friends with a ghost, a ghost who was taking comfort in my presence.
Around the middle of 6th grade, Austin told me that he was moving away. It was hard to learn and accept that my then best friend was going away, and that I likely wouldn't see him again. But, through an admittedly tearful goodbye, he left. He left with his abusive bitch of a mother and I let it happen.
Fast forward, and now I'm in college. I can't remember how, but I decide to start looking for Austin on social media, maybe even try reconnect with him.
I can't find him anywhere.
I'm worried, as if my memories are correct, he was the kind of flamboyant guy that would definitely be on social media. Sure, people change, but that was stretching it.
A bit confused I did some digging, and it wasn't long before I found a news article on him.
Austin hung himself when he was only 14.
His mom is currently in prison for child abuse. Austin's note said it all, and his bruises and scars were more than enough evidence.
I was devastated. Austin, the fun and creative guy who became my best friend as a child killed himself only 3 years after we left one another. I can't put into words how much our friendship meant to me, and how it changed who I am today.
And I was the one who might have been able to help him. If I had been braver, or if I hadn't been such a selfish little shit and put his welfare over my fear of making him mad, then he might still be alive.
I know that I shouldn't blame myself. I was just a kid, or that I couldn't have done anything. But it isn't that easy. Sadness, guilt, shame or some primal emotion that I can't name is all I can feel whenever I think about this.
To everyone who's reading this, if you know someone's clearly being abused. Help them. And to Austin. I'm sorry, my good friend, I wish that I could have been better to you.
Tl;dr: I knew about my childhood best friend's abusive parents, and didn't tell anyone. He killed himself not long after we lost contact.
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