For that moment, though, I got to think that he had let his phone die instead, on accident of course. His phone was always dying on accident while he was back here in Oklahoma. Or he'd leave it somewhere. He was always on top of his phone until he'd come back to Oklahoma to visit, and something would fuck up his phone situation. Maybe he was so excited to be home. At this point though, he'd been dead for eight hours, which made the most sense since he'd called me the night before.
See, the night before, he called and I was busy. I was busy trying to get with this guy I kind of liked. I answered anyway, but the conversation was short. The last conversation I had with my best friend went like this:
Me: Hey, Duane.
Duane: Hey, I'm home!
Me: Oh, heeeellllooooo.
Duane: (Laughs) Well, just thought I'd let you know.
Me: Hey, Duane, I'm a bit busy. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?
Duane: Oh. Sure. Okay. Talk to you tomorrow.
That was around 8pm. So, he died six hours later. While I was fucking this guy I'd met a month before, my best friend was dying. As I was lying in a stranger's bed, my best friend was lying crushed in a vehicle's unforgiving back seat, having broken his neck and dying either instantly, or while unconscious. His friend sitting next to him said he looked like he was sleeping, but his brother's friend (his brother was driving and was also killed) said he looked like a crumpled mess, and he didn't know it was Duane until he moved him around a bit to see his face.
There wasn't an open casket.
I sent Duane a text at 10am that morning. He died at 2:00am, so he didn't respond. I asked, "When should I come over?" Then I waited. I went home from that guy's house. I stayed there the night before. My older sister was trying to get away from her husband, so her and her two daughters were staying in my one-bedroom apartment with me, which had started feeling a little cramped. I got home around 11am and my older neice, who was 10 years old, was taking a bath. Amanda, my older sister, was yelling at her.
"What the fuck did you get in your hair! Your dad is going to be here any minute!"
And then she stormed out of my bathroom. Amanda was staying with me because she was leaving her abusive 7th husband. My youngest neice, who was two at the time, Brooklyn, was that husband's child. Reyna, my other neice, had an unknown father, but the third husband adopted her, and we all thought it was nice that he got a tattoo of her face on his arm.
When Reyna got out of the bath, I volunteered to blow dry her hair, which was a pain in the ass. Her hair did have some kind of sticky shit in it (which she confided in me was jell-o) and I had to dry it in small peices at a time. I was two-thirds of the way through when my phone rang. I picked it up. I picked up my phone. Finally, Duane, I thought. When I saw the caller ID it said, "Restricted Caller". Oh God, it's James. Well, better to know he has my number than not know.
James is Amanda's abusive 7th husband.
James had threatened to harm or damage property of people
who were keeping him from finding Amanda.
James had threatened to harm or damage property of people
who were keeping him from finding Amanda.
I answered the phone. At this point, you all know what happened. But I had no idea.
Me: Hello?
Unknown Man: Hello, this is Sargent First Class Smith. Is this Brandie....I'm not sure how to say your last name and I don't want to buther it.
Me: Gaudette. Yes, this is she.
SFC Smith: Are you in contact with Leutenant Gibson?
Me: Duane? Yeah, I was about to have Thanksgiving with him, if he'd return my texts...
SFC Smith: Ma'am, did you not hear about the incident?
At this point, I think, Oh my god, he went a-wall! He tried to leave the military and went missing! No...that doesn't make sense. Duane wouldn't do that. Oh my god, t here's been an accident and he's in the hospital. He's lost an arm or a leg. He must be asking for me!
Me: Oh my god, no. What happened?
SFC Smith: Ma'am...I'm really sorry to be the one to tell you this but...Leutenent Gibson is dead.
Me: NO!!!!!!! NO! No! no! It's not true!
I went on like this. I'm not sure what I said exactly, or how he responded. I don't know when my neices left the bedroom or who ushered them out. I'm not sure how long I was on the phone with Sargent First Class Smith or when I handed the phone to Amanda. I can't remember when I called my twin sister, Bobbie, and cried into the phone. I cried so hard that she couldn't make out who I'd said had died. Not that she would have been as upset anyway since she and Duane weren't good friends, but she thought I'd said "Mom's dead". She couldn't understand why I was so upset. She finally heard me and came right over, though she was on the way to her boyfriend's parent's house.
Amanda, at some point, had come into the room to say, "Brandie, the reason that guy called was because Duane named you as a beneficiary...isn't that nice?" NICE!?! FUCK YOU! I turned to Bobbie, "Get her out of here". Amanda sat on the bed, "Brandie, I was crying the other day too...over James." It is NOT the fucking same, can't you see that!?!?! Bobbie told her, "Amanda, I don't think you're helping." And I said, "Can I talk to Bobbie alone?" Amanda looked pissy and left. I asked Bobbie, "Can you get her out of here. I can't take this right now." Before Bobbie got there, I'm not sure when, Amanda had tried to give me a pain killer after knocking over a chair, and I threw the pill across the room.
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