Michael Ford - Suicide Notes

That’s when I woke up and saw my parents bending over me. At first I thought I was dreaming. My mother still had on all her makeup and her party dress, and there were these great big streaks of purple eye shadow down her cheeks and her lipstick was all smeared and she looked like a freaked-out Grow ’N Style Barbie head my sister had when she was about eight. You know, that life-size plastic head of Barbie where you can put makeup on it and fix its hair with curlers. Amanda and I used to play with it a lot until the day our next-door neighbor, an older kid named Troy, found us doing it and called me a fag. Later on I buried it in the backyard.

So my mother’s looking down at me saying, “Why, why, why,” over and over again, like some little kid keeps pulling the string that makes her talk. My father isn’t saying anything at all; he’s just looking at me like maybe he’s the one who’s dreaming. That’s when I realized that I wasn’t dead, that I was still on the floor in my room. And all I could do was look at my mother’s mouth opening and closing and wonder if I could make her say something else, like one of those See ’n Say toys where you point the arrow to the picture of the chick and it says, “The chick goes ‘cluck, cluck, cluck.’” And I started to laugh, thinking about it, about her clucking nonstop, and she cried these big purple tears that splashed against my face like rain.

The next time I opened my eyes I was in this room. The same one I’m in now, staring at the same ceiling I’m staring at right now. Looking at the Devil’s face. It was snowing outside my window and Nurse Goody was sitting in the chair next to my bed, looking at me like I was an exhibit at the Museum of Natural History and she was searching for the little brass plaque that would tell her what I was and when I became extinct.

So that’s it. That’s the big secret. I tried to kill myself on New Year’s Eve. Just like Sadie did last night. Only she really did it. I don’t know all the details, just the basics. She took a bunch of pills. I don’t know what they were or where she got them. I’d like to think they were Wonder Drug. Then at least she could have gone thinking she was flying.

My mother started right off with the hugging, like now that she’s started doing it, she can’t stop.

“We were so sorry to hear that your friend is gone,” she said, patting me on the back.

At first I thought she meant Rankin, who got sent home because of what happened. I guess Cat Poop decided I was the one telling the truth, because I’m still here. Or maybe they flipped a coin and I won. Or lost. Anyway, he’s gone. I don’t miss him.

When I thought my mother was talking about him, I felt my heart stop for a second. I really didn’t want to talk about him. Us. Whatever. Anyway, then I realized that she meant Sadie, and my heart started beating again. But then I went from being scared to being angry. I wanted to say, “She’s not just gone , she’s DEAD!” But I knew she was trying to make me feel better, so I just didn’t say anything.

I wasn’t exactly looking forward to the weekly Family Frolic, what with everything that’s been going on. Thankfully, my parents brought Amanda with them. I was really glad to see her. She was kind of a guarantee that I wouldn’t just lose it. But even she was a little less Amandaish than usual. I think she thought she should be because of Sadie and everything.

Cat Poop started out by reminding us all that I only have nine more days here. As if I didn’t know that. Five weeks ago nine days in this place might as well have been a thousand years to me. Now it seems like nothing.

“The house has really changed since you’ve been in the… since you’ve been gone,” my father said. “I can’t wait for you to see it.” He had his hands in his lap, and he kept twirling his thumbs, which is what he does when he doesn’t want to be doing whatever it is he’s doing. I’m sure he wanted out of there as much as I did, and I kind of felt sorry for him. I guess it must be hard knowing your kid tried to kill himself.

“Right,” said my mother. She was being super chirpy, the way she is when she wants to pretend everything’s fine. “We put new carpeting in your bedroom. It’s a beautiful color. What color would you say it is, Amanda?”

Amanda looked at her. “Beige,” she said. “It’s beige.”

“Oh, I think it’s more sand,” my mother said. “Isn’t that what the salesman said it was called: desert sand? Anyway, it looks wonderful with the paint. Amanda, what would you call that shade of blue?”

“Blue,” said Amanda, looking at me and rolling her eyes. “I’d call it blue.”

I knew this was my mother’s way of letting me know I won’t have to look at any bloodstains when I go back. It doesn’t really matter if the stains are there or not, though. I’m still going to remember. But it’s nice of her to think of it.

Then Cat Poop said he’d discussed with my parents the idea of me going to a different school, so that I could have a fresh start. He wanted to know how I felt about that.

I said it was a lot to think about, and that I’d get back to them on it. I kind of like the idea of going somewhere new. It would give me a chance to start over, to be anybody I want to be. But that’s the thing: I don’t want to be anybody. I want to be me. I don’t know if that would be any easier at a new school or not.

I mean, yeah, I’m a little scared about the stories I’m sure are going around. Probably by now someone has a website up about me. www.jefftriedtokillhimself.com. With pictures. And a blog. And part of me would be totally relieved not to have to walk into my old school and see everyone looking at my wrists. Seriously, how long can you get away with never wearing T-shirts?

But would it really be any better in a new place? Maybe at first. But sooner or later someone would find out what happened to me. That’s just how it is. Some kid will know someone who knows someone from my old school, and pretty soon the stories will start flying around. Then I’ll walk into school one day and hear all of this whispering as I walk through the halls.

That’s what happened when Ginny Mangerman went away for a few months. Her sister told everyone Ginny was doing a semester as an exchange student in Australia, but it turned out she was pregnant and went somewhere to have the baby and give it up for adoption. By the time she came back, everyone knew what had happened. Someone thought it would be funny to cut out pictures of babies from magazines and paste them all over her locker. Ginny ended up dropping out, and now she works at a supermarket as a checkout girl. I try to be really nice to her when I get in her line, but she pretends she doesn’t recognize anyone from school.

It’s probably better to just go back to my old school and deal with it. Amanda still goes there, and I don’t want her to be the one who gets teased because I can’t face anyone. I know she could handle it, but she shouldn’t have to. Maybe we can both go somewhere new. Or maybe I can convince my parents to move to France. No one in France cares if you tried to kill yourself. In fact, I think they like you better because you’re all tragic.

This is all the stuff I was thinking while my mother was talking about how great it will be to have me back. Then I guess even Cat Poop got tired of hearing her talk, because all of a sudden he asked Amanda, “How do you feel about your brother coming home?”

I was actually curious to hear what she had to say, and not just because it meant my mother would have to shut up for a minute.

“I can’t wait,” Amanda said. “I’m tired of having to do the dishes by myself.”