Who?

Content note: this story deals with domestic abuse and thoughts of suicide.

…Sobbing. "Mother, please help me!" A loud, drunken voice yelled, "She is not going to help you; she knows better!" The young man looked at his mother with desperate tears in his eyes, wanting her protection. She stood by the sink, tugging her sleeve down over the purple bruise on her wrist, the way she always did. They shared a moment's stare, looking directly into each other's eyes, into each other's souls. Her lip trembled. For a second, he thought she would speak. The mother broke into tears and hung her head. Then the back of his stepfather's hand caught him across the jaw. A chair crashed to the floor beside him, and the kitchen spun as the young man's vision went blurry. He tasted blood. His stepfather was looking down on him, laughing, and said, "You are as worthless as she is; why don't you do us all a favor and end it."

With anger, the young man grabbed a knife off the table, pushed his stepfather, and ran through the door into the open night. He ran into the woods with only the stars and the full moon as light for guidance, tears cascading down his face, until he was out of breath. To catch his breath, he huddled against a tree. The young man was wet from head to toe; he hadn't realized, as he ran out into the night, that it was raining. Tired, wet, and cold, with his adrenaline fading, the young man started looking for shelter. He went deeper into the woods than he had ever been before in his life. As the rain began to come down more heavily, he came across an old barn with a sunken roof. The cold and rain forced the young man to seek shelter in this old barn. He entered and found a dry spot in the barn's corner.

The barn was still cold because the roof had collapsed, but at least he could dry out. Sitting on the floor, heaving, the young man looked up into the sky where the roof had collapsed, and he could see the moon. Sitting there on the floor, looking at the moon, lost in thought, the young man yelled… a primal yell of anger! He clenched his hands tightly, and then he realized he still had the knife in his hand. He pulled the knife up to his face, and the moonlight allowed him to take in the blade. The last thoughts that came into the young man's head were his stepfather's words: "Why don't you do us all a favor and end it!" Then he thought about the look in his mother's eyes. He looked at the knife; he stared at the blade in the moonlight. Then he dropped his head and sobbed loudly. He placed the knife beside him and began to cry into his hands.

He sat there for a few minutes, crying. Finally, he got up and listened to the rain beating on the roof… He felt the coldness of the night air and took in the moon's white glow in this dark, lonely barn. He whispered, "Help me." He looked around again and said a little louder, "Help me." Silence greeted him. The young man looked at the hole in the roof. The sky was filled with stars and the full moon; he yelled at the top of his lungs, "HELP ME!"

"Who!" Startled, the young man fell back against the wall and looked around in fear. He looked everywhere the light shone but couldn't see anyone. His heart started to race, so he edged toward the knife and grabbed it. Still on guard, he said, "Is anyone out there?" The only sounds that came back were the howling of the wind and the raindrops. Silence… After what seemed like an hour, his breathing slowed, and as the fear left, the gravity of the situation returned. Once again, he sat on the ground with his back to the wall, and he thought of his mom's eyes as his stepfather's words echoed in his head: "End it for us all!"

Sitting there, lost in thought, he allowed his stepfather's words to consume him again. This time, the fear and sadness turned to anger. The young man looked at the knife and then at his wrist. The barn went quiet. Even the rain seemed to stop. He turned the blade slowly, watching the moonlight slide along its edge, and felt how heavy it was in his hand. He heard his stepfather laughing. Worthless. His hand began to shake. He stared at it for a while, and once again he whispered under his breath, "Help me."

"Who!" The hairs on the back of his neck rose, and gooseflesh covered his arms. The young man started to look around, this time not with fear but with curiosity. He looked up at the roof and still could not see anyone. He said, "Anyone? I need help."

No answer came back. The boy then said, "I can't go back there to that living hell. My mother will not protect me, and my stepfather beats me. I need help. I can't continue living like this." The young boy looked to the open roof, hoping someone was there listening to him. He continued, "Maybe my stepfather is right, and it would be better for us all if I end it." Tears began to well in his eyes again as his grip on the knife tightened. Through his sobbing, he said pleadingly, "Help me!" Then, gently, as the raindrops hit the barn, a voice said, "Who!"

Confusion overtook the young man as he said, "That is what I am asking you. I need help." Silence fell on his ears. The boy looked at the roof once again and said, "Well, will you help me?" No answer. No one is going to help me. He glanced at the knife again as clarity washed over him. It's not worth it. Then he thought of his mother and wondered who would help her if he were gone. He thought of her eyes. He thought of the sleeve, always pulled down, always hiding something. Through the pain in her eyes, he could see her desperation for help too. In his mother's eyes, he could feel the same feeling he had when he yelled at the sky, asking for help. He stood there, thinking of what would happen to his mother if he cowardly took his own life to escape his pain. He wondered who would help her through her pain.

Gently, he said once again, "Help me!" Gently, once again, he heard back, "Who!" The young boy said, "No one. No one can help, but I can help my mother. I will not be a coward and allow that drunk to kill my mother. If she doesn't have the courage to fight him, I will. I don't need your help or anyone's help; I can do it alone." With new determination, the young boy picked up the knife. With anger in his voice, he yelled, "I will help myself!" Then, with a flutter of feathers, an owl sitting in the dark corner of the roof flew to the opening and crackled, "Hoot!"

The young man gaped at the old barn owl in amazement. He laughed and said, with the first sign of humor all night, "It was you the whole time saying 'who.'" The owl blinked at him. The young man studied the owl curiously for a while. He yelled at the owl, "Get out of here!" Yet the owl sat there and continued to watch him. The young man got angry, picked up a stick, and threw it at the owl. The owl calmly flew to the window of the barn and settled there, watching the boy. The young boy yelled again, "Get out of here!" The owl didn't move. For a long while, neither of them looked away. Then the young man finally sat back down and said, "I don't care if you sit there or not."

Lost in thought about how he would help his mother, he muttered to himself, "I can do it. I only have two more years until I am old enough to get out of that house. I will leave, get my own place, and take my mother with me." Deep in thought, the young man had forgotten about the owl, which sat in the upper window watching him. Light peeked through the roof, and the young man finally realized he had been there most of the night, lost in his own thoughts. Getting up and preparing himself to go back to the house, he looked at the knife in his hand for a long moment. Then he knelt, drove the blade into the dirt floor, and let go. With his mind set on what he had to do, he looked up through the roof to see the sun. The glare was bright, so the young man shaded his eyes; as he looked out the window, he noticed the owl. Curiosity overtook the young man as he asked the owl, "What are you still doing here?" The owl only watched him. He then said, with frustration, "What do you want?" The owl stared. The owl and the young man just stared at each other. Finally, out of frustration, the young man broke the stare and headed toward the door. With one final look at the owl, he said, "You didn't help me. I don't know who can help me!" The owl crackled, "YOU!"

The boy's eyes widened, and he said, "Did you say me?" For the first time since the owl appeared that night, it flew back to the opening in the roof. It landed at the top, looked at the boy one final time, and crackled, "YOU!" With one last flutter of its feathers, the owl flew into the open sky. The boy watched as the owl disappeared into the clouds and the bright sun. Stunned and shocked, the young boy watched the clouds' shadows until the sun was fully up in the sky. Before stepping entirely out of the barn, the young man took one more look at the knife, standing upright in the dirt, catching the morning light. He left it there.

With resolution and determination, he stepped out into the morning.

"I will help myself."

If you or someone you know is struggling, call or text 988 (U.S. Suicide & Crisis Lifeline).