Michael Ford - Suicide Notes

“Those aren’t the best odds,” I said.

“And that doesn’t include the ones who are born with defects,” Sadie added. “That’s something like another ten, so ultimately we only have about a thirty percent chance of coming out with no defects.”

“I guess it depends what you consider a defect,” I told her.

She nodded. “If you look at it that way, there’s like a zero chance of being born normal. But think about it: Right from the start the odds are against you. It’s kind of amazing that any of us ever get here at all.”

“Sort of makes you feel even worse about trying to kill yourself, doesn’t it?” I said.

Sadie shrugged. “I hadn’t thought about it like that,” she said. “But yeah, I guess it does in a way.”

“Are you sorry you tried?” I asked her.

She looked out the window. It was snowing. Not hard, just a few flakes. If I’d been at home I would have been hoping for it to turn into a blizzard so that school would be canceled. But when you’re locked up, blizzards don’t mean much.

“I don’t know if I’m sorry or not,” Sadie said. “If I hadn’t tried, I’d probably still be sitting around in my bedroom being miserable and writing bad poems.”

“I don’t think most people would consider that a good deal,” I said.

“Maybe not,” she told me. “What about you, are you sorry you… did what you did?”

“I’m sorry they stopped me,” I told her.

“What’s so bad about your life?” she said. “From what you’ve told me about your family, they don’t sound so bad.”

“They’re not,” I admitted. “They aren’t the problem.”

“Then what is?”

“I am,” I said. “I’m the problem.”

“And what’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” I said. “I’m just complicated.”

Sadie rolled her eyes at me. “Everyone thinks they’re complicated,” she said. “But actually there are only a couple of things you can have wrong with you. Which one did you get? Low self-esteem? Fear of failure? A martyr complex? Trust me, after three shrinks and a couple of visits to this place, I’m an expert on all of them.”

I was surprised to hear her say that. I didn’t know she’d been in the hospital before. “I thought this was your first time here,” I said.

“Second,” she said. “The first time it didn’t take, so they sent me back. But we’re not talking about me; we’re talking about you. So talk.”

“I have a better idea,” I said. “Let’s watch some TV.”

I turned the set on and flipped around. Finally I settled on the Lifetime channel, which is always guaranteed to have on some completely idiotic movie about a girl with anorexia, or a woman who gets amnesia and forgets she has an evil twin, or maybe even a family who hires a really creepy babysitter who ends up stalking them. And sometimes you hit the jackpot and end up with a movie that has all of those things in it. And believe me, a movie about an anorexic twin with amnesia who hires a psychotic babysitter is not to be missed.

“Want to play the dialogue game?” I asked Sadie.

“You’re on,” she said, and I turned the sound off.

We sat and watched the movie for a few minutes until we had the main characters figured out. One was a teenage girl, and the other was an older woman who seemed to be the girl’s mother. They were in a diner, eating greasy burgers and arguing about something.

“I’ll take the mother,” Sadie said. “Alison, I know you’re keeping something from me,” she said in what was supposed to be a motherly voice.

Alison is Allie’s real name, and for a second I wondered if Sadie had picked it on purpose. But there’s no way she could know about her. It was just a freaky coincidence.

“What makes you think I’m hiding something?” I said, trying to sound like an annoyed teenage girl.

“I found your diary,” said Sadie. “And I read it.”

“How could you!” I said.

“I had to, Alison,” Sadie continued. “And I’m glad I did. How else would I have known about…”

“About what?” I demanded. “What do you know about?”

“About Chris,” said Sadie. “That’s right, I know about Chris.”

“I was going to tell you,” I said.

Sadie shook her head. “I’m so disappointed in you, Alison. How could you not tell me? I’m your mother. If you’re seeing a boy, you should talk to me about it.”

“Chris isn’t a boy,” I said, surprised to hear the words come out of my mouth.

Sadie turned and looked at me. “What?” she said.

“Chris isn’t a boy,” I repeated. “Chris is… a girl.”

Sadie cracked up. “I didn’t see that one coming,” she said in her real voice. “Good twist. I thought she was just going to be knocked up.”

“Yeah, well, you can’t go wrong with a teenage lesbian story line,” I said. “Had enough?”

Sadie nodded. “I think we’ve worn this one out. Besides, I’m kind of tired. I’m going to bed. What about you?”

“I’m going to stay up for a while,” I said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

After Sadie left I just sat there looking at the television screen. The sound was still off. In the movie, the girl and the woman had gotten into a car and were driving somewhere. They were still arguing. I watched their mouths moving without any sound coming out. And the more I watched them, the more I thought that that’s exactly how most people are. They move their mouths, but nothing important comes out. They just talk and talk and talk.

That’s what Cat Poop wants me to do: talk. But like I keep telling him, there’s nothing to say.

Oh, man, was today weird—the freak show to end all freak shows. It started at breakfast. Today was pancake day, which we have once a week, and everyone was pretty stoked. It’s totally queer to get excited about pancakes, I know, but compared to oatmeal and dry scrambled eggs, pancakes are a big deal.

There was sausage, too. That’s what started it, the sausage. See, we were all eating, minding our own business and getting lost in the whole syrup sugar-rush thing, when all of a sudden Alice picked up a sausage and started waving it around. She looked like she was conducting an orchestra, moving that sausage up and down to some music only she could hear. The Sausage Symphony in Nut-job Flat, I guess.

Then she started talking. “This little piggy burned up,” she said. “This little piggy burned up. This little piggy went wee-wee-wee, all the way home.” Then she laughed, a weird little laugh that sounded like she was strangling.

Juliet was sitting next to her, and she tried to put her arm around Alice and calm her down. But Alice yelled, “Don’t touch me! Don’t touch the little piggy! I’ll burn you up!” Then she giggled some more.

I’m telling you, it was totally bizarre. By that point the nurses had come out, and they were trying to calm Alice down. But the more they touched her, the more she yelled. She just kept yelling, “This little piggy burned up! Wee-wee-wee! Wee-wee-wee!”

The rest of us just sat there and watched. I mean, what else are you going to do? She was totally losing it right in front of us. “Wee-wee-wee! Wee-wee-wee!” And she really did sound like a pig, like she was on fire and squealing in pain.

The nurses finally had to call one of the orderlies to come help them. He pinned Alice’s hands behind her back, but she kept right on screaming “Wee-wee-wee!” Only now she was sort of crying-laughing, like she’d completely lost her mind. They dragged her out of the room. Her hair was all wild because she kept shaking her head from side to side. “All the way home,” she was saying between squeals. “All the way home.”