Paullina Simons - Tully

They climbed into Tully’s bed together. When Jennifer was younger she had many nightmares, many bad things frightened her in the night, and Tully, who used to stay over at Jen’s house three, four times a week, would climb into Jennifer’s bed to calm her down. Tully did not mention all the bad things that came to her in the night. The habits of children die hard, and as they got older, Tully did try to sleep on the floor when she stayed over. When she did, it felt as if she and Jen were fighting, so they continued to sleep alongside each other. When Julie stayed over with them, all three girls slept on the floor. In the last few years, Tully seldom slept over with just Jen.

Tully pulled her blanket over them and spooned Jennifer, the only position in which Jen liked to sleep. Tully occasionally wondered through the years what it would be like to be spooned herself, but never brought it up. It was never that important.

Jennifer’s hair smelled faintly of Gee, Your Hair Smells Terrific. Tully touched it. Jennifer didn’t stir. She seemed tired, or silent. Uncomfortable?

‘Jen, your hair smells terrific. Jen?’

‘Hmm?’

‘Jennifer? Are you uncomfortable?’

‘Me? No, why should I be uncomfortable?’

‘You go through these things sometimes. You get awkward.’

‘I’m okay, Tully,’ Jennifer answered. ‘I’m glad to be here. I haven’t been here in so long. With you for so long.’ Jen paused. ‘We missed you, Tully, when you weren’t with us.’

Tully swallowed and held Jennifer tighter. ‘I was with you guys, I was constantly over.’

‘Not constantly,’ said Jennifer. ‘Not like before. And never alone with me. Admit it, Tull, you wanted to be away from us.’

‘No, that’s not true,’ said Tully.

‘So why did you do it, then? Why did you stay away?’

‘Who knows? I guess I just wanted to be with people who didn’t know me at all.’

‘Yes, but why?’

‘Because,’ said Tully, ‘I guess I needed some seclusion.’

‘Seclusion? Like anonymity?’

‘Yes, just like that.’

Jen was quiet. ‘Anonymity, like…death?’

‘Yeah,’ said Tully slowly. ‘I guess like death.’ In the dark, she could almost bear it.

‘So would you say that you sort of, like, died during those years?’

‘Yes,’ said Tully. ‘I guess you could say that.’

Jennifer was quiet. ‘Why did you need that so much, all that anonymity? What happened to you that you needed to…die? Did you fall in love with someone? Did something break your heart?’

Tully shook her head. ‘Jenny, I didn’t fall in love. And no one broke my heart.’

‘Tell me, Tully,’ said Jennifer.

After a moment of silence, Tully said softly, ‘Nothing to tell, Mandolini.’

‘Makker, you even stopped playing softball. Come on.’

‘Really,’ said Tully, smelling Jennifer’s hair again. ‘Believe me.’

‘Makker, you are full of shit. You really don’t want to talk about it, do you?’

‘No, Jen, I really don’t.’

‘Well,’ said Jennifer, ‘in any case, I’m glad you came back, Tully. We missed you when you were gone.’

And I missed you, too, guys, thought Tully, but remained silent.

‘Tell me, Tully,’ said Jennifer. ‘Tell me about the first time with your wrists.’

Tully moved away slightly. Jennifer reached around and pulled her back. ‘Go on.’

‘Not much to tell,’ said Tully.

‘Tell me why you do it.’

‘Jennifer, what the hell is wrong with you, what are you asking me this shit for?’

‘Just tell me, Tully,’ whispered Jen. ‘Tell me. Do you do it to die?’

Tully sighed. ‘No,’ she said slowly. ‘I don’t think I do it to die. I do it because I want to feel what death feels like. I just want unconsciousness to wash over me, I do it almost like they did it in the ancient times – to heal myself. And then when all the bad is out of me, I come to and go on.’

Tully trailed off, thinking of the very first time she sat down inside a bathtub filled with water with a double-edged razor in her hand. She thought her young breastless body was all relaxed, but when she put the razor near her wrists, her fingers were shaking so badly, she had to put them back in the water for a few minutes until she calmed down. Am I going to die? thought Tully. I mean, is that what’s going to happen to me? Am I going to die? I’ll cut my wrists and lose consciousness and bleed to death like the Romans did, except that nobody will find me until next week, after I will have been stone dead for so long. Am I going to die? I cannot count on anyone to come and save me, that’s for fucking sure, so before I put this steel blade to my hand and watch my veins pop open like dough out of a Pillsbury can, I want to be sure that I don’t want to die. Tully looked around the bathroom, looked at the towels near her, at the gauze bandage, at the iodine, and thought, I am ready. For whatever. For what-fucking-ever. And she took the blade out of the hot water and sliced an inch-long horizontal gash in her left wrist, thinking Oh, goodness me, my hands are so steady, oh, my goodness me, look at all that blood. She put her wrist down and watched the water near her slowly turn pink. She lifted her hand and, fascinated, watched her prepubescent blood pour down her arm. She touched the blood with her fingers, then tasted it. It was salty and slick. And then Tully cut her other wrist. She put both her hands under the water and closed her eyes, but that wasn’t as good as watching herself bleed. She opened her eyes and lifted both her hands up high, lying down all the way up to her neck in the blood water, and gazed in disbelief as the bright red blood oozed down her arms. It was when Tully’s eyes started to close, it was when she started to hear strange noises and see water and waves and rocks in front of her eyes, it was when she started to smell the salty sea, that Tully thought, It’s time, or I will die. If I don’t get up now, I will die. She felt herself to be in slow motion, moving with all the deliberate speed of a tanker on the horizon – seemingly immobile and soundless – when she lifted her body out of the water and bent over for the towel. Again, rocks were washed over with water in front of her eyes, water broke against the rocks, making gurgling sounds. Gurgling, burbling waves rose up and crashed in front of her, whooshh…whoooshhh…whoooshhh…whooooshhhh… Let me lie down for a moment , Tully thought, just for a moment. But she didn’t. She pulled herself up and grabbed on to the towel instead, pressing it to one wrist, then the other. She kept herself up, kept her arms up, got out of the bath, got another towel, and, wrapping it around the other wrist, pressed her wrists together hard and sat there naked on the cold tile floor, with her arms up and together, eyes closed, trying to will the blood to stop. And it did, eventually. The towels were ruined. Tully didn’t even need to dry herself off, so long had she sat on the floor. When she unwrapped her wrists, her gashes were black and swollen, but no longer fluid. That was good. Pouring iodine on the wounds was not so good. Tully whimpered and grit her teeth, and finally bit her lip to blood to keep herself from screaming.

She bandaged her wrists tight, went to her room, and prayed, swearing to God that she would never, never do that again.

But time passed, and her wounds healed, ragged, jagged scars though they remained. Tully forgot the closeness to death, remembering only the closeness to the waves and the rocks. And so she cut her wrists again some time later, and again and again, longing to be washed away by the salty water.

Jennifer’s back was to Tully. Nudging her and getting no response, Tully sighed and said, ‘Jen, what’s wrong with you?’ feeling tightness around her stomach. ‘Are you all right?’