I plug the phone into my charger and wait a ridiculously long time for it to light up and buzz to life.
His lock screen is a picture of us as children. It was from Mom and Adam's wedding reception. Brendon was ring-bearer and I was a flower girl. Brendon was wearing a suit with an orange tie. I was wearing a white dress white with a few layers of tulle over it. Fake orange butterflies were trapped beneath the top layer.
I destroyed that dress after the wedding. Not out of malice towards the dress, which I had felt but suppressed, but because I wanted the butterflies. With scissors, I freed them from the net of lace that entrapped them so they would be free to play with me and the rest of my toys. My mom had been furious when she saw, despite having promised me I would never have to wear the dress again after the wedding. "It doesn't matter if weren't going to wear it again! Your new Auntie Jane made that dress for you!"
Mom took the butterflies away and kept them in a Ziplock bag next to my dress for a while, hoping to eventually repair the damage. But she was no seamstress and soon gave up. The ruined dress was donated to a starving child in a third world country and the butterflies thrown into the trash. As a punishment, I wasn't allowed to keep them.
"You did the right thing," Brendon told me as I stared at the backyard trash can forlornly. "Butterflies are meant to live in the wild. Maybe they can find their way home now."
In the picture, Brendon and I are on the dance floor, in the modest multi-purpose room of the community center where Adam's church also met, illuminated by the camera flash and disco lights. We're "dancing" in the way young kids dance, like "Ring Around the Rosies" but faster, spinning as hard as we can until it's difficult to stay up.
It's a good memory. Mom was happy. Adam was fun. Brendon and I danced, then spent the rest of the reception in the outdoor courtyard where the wedding ceremony had taken place, trying to catch the real butterflies they had released after Mom and Adam's first kiss. After the wedding, we all went on a "new family honeymoon" - a week-long cruise from San Francisco to Mexico. The cruise provided childcare so Mom and Adam could spend all the "quality time" together they wanted without leaving Brendon and I to miss out on the fun. It was an optimistic time. An end to all the life-ruining changes we were afraid the divorce would bring, an assurance that everything would be okay again.
I type the code from the greeting card and the phone unlocks. The background image is a different picture of him and me, this one from his high school graduation. I can't look at that one too hard, because now I'm crying, but I don't need to look at it. It was recent enough for me to hold the memory in my head. He'd looked so happy, so proud. So full of endless potential - he had his college admission, he was off to take on the world and he was ready.
That light in his eye must have disappeared at some point. Why didn't? Why didn't I do something?
I cry by myself for a good ten minutes before I touch the phone again. There's no need to rush, right? I have the rest of my life to go through this phone. And when I do, I won't have anything left of him. Just memories. At least this scavenger hunt thing makes me feel like there's still a little bit of him left in the world.
When I'm ready, I look at Brendon's apps. Everything looks pretty simple. Email, notes, calculator, Google translate. There's SweeTunes, a music app. I open the "games" folder to find three apps. One is called Cave Explorer, one is labeled "bootleg," and a third is Chatter.
I recognize the name "Chatter" immediately. It was a website we used to go on when we were kids. We first heard of it one summer when we went to this museum in San Francisco. It was an artificial intelligence designed to learn how to talk. Kind of like Cleverbot, I guess, but this was before Cleverbot's time. There was a computer set up in the museum for you to type something for Chatter to respond to, and a wall installation explaining that you could download Chatter's software online for your own computer for only $4.99. Brendon and I taught it our inside jokes. We asked for the software for Christmas, but we didn't get it - Mom and Adam were both very suspicious of anything you could download from the internet.
I never knew they made an app of it. I consider opening the app to see what Brendon taught it to say, but decide to look at the other apps first.
All of his notes are deleted. His email page opens to an entirely new email address I've never seen Brendon use before - akgsmlg183278afhn@gmail.com. I guess he didn't want me reading his emails. There's only one email in there, sent from his regular email account - brendonkwilkerson@gmail.com - with the subject as "For Len."
I probably would have cried if I hadn't cried so much already. Instead of crying I just hyperventilate. Is this an answer? Is he going to tell me why he did it, what I should have done to stop him? Is he going to say goodbye?
I open the email:
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To whom it may concern:
This phone was the property of Brendon Keith Wilkerson, who is also the author of this email. I am writing this in my own hand, of my own free will, with no coercion. No one else is aware I am writing this or encouraging me to write it. I am self-aware and of a sound and rational mind; I am not on any mind-altering substances – in fact, I have never partaken of these – and I am not mentally ill. I am fully capable, and I take responsibility for the contents of this document. Though it has not been notarized by a lawyer, you can consider this my will. Though I recognize that many will dispute the legal status of this will because, out of necessity due to the nature of my plans and the fact that them being known to any other person would put my plans and my very right to self-determination in jeopardy, I drafted it by myself, I hope all relevant parties will be respectful of my wishes.
If all goes well, I should have committed suicide around the time of 11:30 on New Year's Eve (12/31/2013) or shortly after midnight on New Year's Day (1/1/2014.) If I am unable to carry out my planned suicide around this time, but have nonetheless appeared to committed suicide at a later or earlier time, assume that my original plans were interrupted and I have decided to carry them out at a different time. Any apparent details related to my death that are not in accordance with my plans so stated in this document should
not be considered reason to suspect foul play. I fully intend to commit suicide regardless of whether or not I am able to do so in perfect accordance with my current plan.
If my plan is successful I will have committed suicide with a firearm belonging to my stepfather, Adam Langley. The weapon is legally owned and was properly stored within a locked safe. I was able to take the firearm without Adam's knowledge or permission by correctly guessing the code to the safe, as it is a number combination used within other passwords which he has shared with me. Adam has done nothing illegal and bears no responsibility for my death, morally or legally.
I bequeath this phone and all its contents to my sister, Helen Rosalina Wilkerson, upon my death. No one is to look at this phone or its contents without either Helen's consent or a court-mandated order such as a warrant or a subpoena. I would request to Helen that she does not give her consent that anyone search this phone, as the contents of this phone were curated by me specifically for her and contain references to personal information that I would rather not share. I would also hope that there is no need for a warrant or subpoena for the contents of this phone, as there should be no reason to suspect foul play. I have no enemies and no one has anything financially or materially to gain from my death.
Those investigating my death may want to know my motive for committing suicide. It is thus: I am a miserable person. My life has been spent in endless pursuit of an aim which I have come to know is hopeless. I do not consider myself to be capable of making the changes necessary to enable myself to be happy. I will not get better. I will not come to accept myself as the inherently miserable person I am. If I continue down the path of living I will experience only struggles and hardships. I will not make good friends to help me get through the rough times. I will not have the opportunity to build a family to make my current hardships worthwhile. The future contains only pain and disappointment.
I have resolved to quit school and spend a semester in pursuit of things that bring me comfort. I will stay with my family for one last Christmas season. I will not return to school. I will complete my plan before then. I have thought about this decision for a long time and I am certain it is my best course of action.
My only regret in this matter is the pain that I am certain my death will bring to my sister, Len. I do not regret the pain this will cause my parents; you brought me into this world without my consent and therefore have no claim to injury when I decide of my own accord to leave it. However, Len, you did not bring me into this world and you did not enter my life voluntarily. Therefore, I am truly sorry to cause you pain during this otherwise happy time of your life; you have done nothing to deserve it. But please understand that this is my decision to make; this is no one's life but mine, and I have no obligation to stay miserable to make others happy. Len, I am confident that you possess the qualities necessary to live a joyful life regardless of grief. If I did not think so, if I had even the slightest belief that you were dependent on me for happiness or for any other need, I would not have considered leaving you. But I have faith in you.
Good-bye,
Brendon Keith Wilkerson
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And I'm trembling again but this time it's not tears I'm holding back.
It's rage.