: reverting to or suggesting the characteristics of a remote ancestor or primitive type.

I rarely went into Teddy’s room. There were a few times: when we were buying weed from the people only Teddy knew, when his exgirlfriend who pretended to be a psychic read my tarot cards, a few others. The few times I was allowed in his room I always felt alien, like I had entered a place I could never understand, regardless of trying. I almost feel more comfortable in it now that he’s gone. It’s like his death brought us closer than we ever were in life.

I spent so much time with Teddy and I never asked him why he was so sad. Maybe it’s because I already knew the answer, and maybe its because I didn’t want to hear it. Maybe if I had been a psychiatrist instead of his kid sister’s best friend, everyone would have listened to me when I diagnosed him with bipolar disorder three full years  before they diagnosed him professionally. Would it have mattered? Teddy spent 27 years wondering what was wrong with him and why he couldn’t just be like anyone else.

But now I can’t decide he didn’t just spend the majority of those 27 years waiting to be 27 and a half, so that he could leave us here, equipped with all of the lessons and teachings he gave us. I can’t decide if he went into the last week of his life knowing how short the hours were, I can’t decide he chose to come out to dinner with me last weekend just so that he could say goodbye in his own way, I can’t decide if he went to bed last Tuesday night without knowing he might wake up and change his mind about the life he was living.

I’m not angry at him until I look at Amanda’s face and then I want to kill him all over again. I’m not angry at him for wanting to get rid of the pain he carried with him everywhere, I’m angry at him for hurting the people who loved him the most so very directly. I’m angry at him for letting her find him.

Most of all I’m angry at myself for not listening to his words last week. If I was smarter, if I was more analytical  if I had given him more consideration in those short moments at that one meal, could I have saved him? I know that the answer is ‘no,’ but I also know that it’s really ‘yes.’

The lights are still on in Teddy’s room, running the electric bill and scaring us every time we see a shadow. His mother cried herself to sleep on his couch in the spot where he ate his last meal. He’s got piles of books on the corner of the table that are meant for someone, but God knows who. I’m scared to go in there, but I do anyway because I know Amanda is so much more frightened. He’ll show himself to me when he knows I’m ready and the two of us will bridge the gaps we couldn’t when he was living and he’ll tell me all about the cosmos where he’s living now.