Broken People (15 page)

I opened Michelle’s email. It had a few paragraphs, and two attached
photos. I looked at the typed text, but couldn’t begin to focus. The photos at the bottom of the page got my attention. I scrolled down, and stared. My heart raced. I swallowed a lump in my throat, feeling as if I was swallowing a tennis ball. Filled with a level and type of emotion that I couldn’t identify, I immediately typed a response.

MICHELLE
RIGHT NOW. THIS IS AN EMERGENCY. 911. NO MATTER WHAT YOURE DOING, STOP. CALL ME.

I clicked send. Frantically, I searched for my phone. It was not on the table, n
or in my bag. Not in my pocket.
Where is my fucking phone
? Standing, frantic, I searched for my car keys. I was clearly losing my mind. Breathe, Kid, breathe. You got this.
Breathe in, breathe out, and don’t do anything stupid between breaths.
I emptied my pockets onto the table. I grabbed my bag, and dumped its contents onto the floor. Both piles were void of keys and phone. And it hit me. My keys were in the fucking trash can. And my phone was in the front seat of my fucking car.

I ran outside as fast as I could. I picked up the metal trash can. I turned it upside down and dumped it onto the concrete. Three days of trash fell from the can onto the sidewalk. All I could see was a mound of coffee cups and McDonalds sacks. No keys. I bent
down; bear hugged the trash can, and stood. Through the empty lot, I began to run as fast as I could, with the trash can in my arms, toward my car.  

About ten feet from the car, I heaved the can like a missile at my passenger side window. The window shattered, and the alarm sounded. As the alarm wailed, I reached into the passenger seat, and grabbed my phone.

Chapter 14

Heroine

MICHELLE.
Sitting in class was so boring sometimes. I was ready for this year to end, and for these people to fade away. I sat in class, ready for the new chapter in my life to begin, and to go off to college. To begin defining who I was, and start developing what it was that I was going to become, a doctor. The thought of being a doctor satisfied me deeply. It was more of a dream than anything. I wanted it, and I was accepted into a program in school to obtain it, but it was something that still seemed so unattainable to me. The excitement of finally becoming that person was more than I could imagine. When I thought of it seriously, it was difficult for me to do so without feeling, and sometimes even showing, tremendous emotion.

I heard my phone buzzing in my purse. It was a solid long buzzing sound. Someone was clearly calling. Finally, th
e buzzing stopped, and it went to voicemail. I decided after class I would check it, and see who called. Trying to decide who would call, I began to wonder what it might be about. No one called me during the day, ever. I had sent Kid an email this morning, after I found the pictures on my computer, but he never called. He would always text me, and tell me to call him. I began to scroll through names in my head of people that would possibly call me. I thought of no one that would, unless there was an emergency. My phone began to buzz again, a short buzz; clearly a text message. As I continued to wonder, it began to buzz constantly,
again.
Someone was calling. I stood, grabbed my purse, and walked to the teacher’s desk.

“Mr. Nelson, I have an emergency, I am sorry, I have to go to the restro
om,” I said smiling. I then looked at the floor, trying to look embarrassed.

“Go ahead, Michelle,” he said, wi
thout looking up from his desk.

I walked down the hallway, and to
the bathroom. I didn’t dare pull out my phone in the hall way. My phone had been taken by staff on countless occasions for not following school policy. I walked through the door to the bathroom, and pulled my phone from my purse. Looking at the screen, I saw that there were three voicemails. Clearing the screen and looking at the call log, I had seen that Kid called all three times. I also had an email from him, and a text message. I opened the text message. When I did, I saw that there were about fifteen messages, all about the same.

KID: MICHELLE EMERGENCY 911 CALL IMMEDIATELY NO MATTER WHAT
YOU’RE DOING A LIFE IS AT STAKE

My heart started to race, and I hurriedly pushed the buttons to call Kid. I was shaking, and
my body filled immediately with emotion. It rang once and he answered.

“Michelle, don’t say a fucking word, just listen. The picture, the picture of the girl. Who is she, do you know her?” His voice was different. He wasn’t screaming, but his voi
ce sounded direct and urgent, very matter of fact, and crisp. Like a police officer in an interrogation.

“
What girl
, Kid, I’m lost. I’m sorry, you’re scaring me. What’s going on?” I was standing there shaking from head to toe.

“Michelle, listen. God damn it, pay attention. The girl in the pictures you emailed me. Who,
specifically
, is she? Do you
know
her?”

“Yes, I go to school with her. She’s a friend, she lives down the street. Is it bad? What did you see?” I was afraid he had seen something bad when he looked into her eyes and
read
her. I stood, continuing to shake, wondering what was going on.

Again, in his sharp, matter of fact voice, as if he we
re interrogating me, he asked, “Michelle, again,
fucking listen
. Focus. Is she at school today?”

I thought. Well, she normally sits over by th
e… “Uhhm, no, she isn’t, why?”

Clear and crisp, he spoke, as if he were a police officer barking out orders at a crime scene, “Michelle,
shut up and listen
. Just listen.
This is fucking important.
I need you to do something. Now listen. That girl in the pics. That’s the suicide girl I have been telling you about, Shellie. She wrote me an email a few minutes ago. I am afraid she is going to kill herself this morning.
Like now.
You need to leave school and go, as fast as you can, to her house. See if you can find her. Do not call police, if she hears sirens, she may do it immediately.”

Filled with confusion, I spoke, stuttering, and stammering for words, “Kid, …..that girl is…..
Britney
. She lives down the street….she goes to school with me. It’s
not
Shellie, what’s wrong with you?
You’re scaring me
.”

“
Mother fucker,
Michelle, Britney changed her name when she emailed me. She changed it to Shellie
. Right now, go!
She may be dying. Stay off your phone, don’t text or call, don’t wreck your car. And don’t call police until you arrive. Find her Michelle. Find her. You have to find her and stop this.” He was frantic, and sounded as if he were in tears.

I pulled into the driveway with no recollection of leaving the school or driving. I shifted my car in park, and jumped out. I ran to the front door of the house
, and checked the handle. It was locked. I beat on the door, screaming Britney’s name. I turned from the porch and ran to the side garage door, to see if her car was in the garage. I looked through to window, and as I did, over the top of her parked car, I saw her. The images played in my mind as if they were in slow motion. Britney stood on top of a ladder, kicking her legs, with a light blue rope around her neck. I tried to open the door, it was locked as well. I beat on the door and screamed her name. She didn’t notice. I kicked the door as hard as I could, over and over. The door made cracking sounds but didn’t open. I got back away from it, ran toward it as fast as I could, and kicked it, right beside the handle. The door flew open.

Running around the back of the car, I saw her hanging there, and the ladder rocking back and forth. I ran to the ladder, grabbed the bott
om, and held it still. Screaming her name, I hurriedly climbed the ladder, grabbed Britney’s waist, and tried to carry her up the ladder. My legs burning, I pressed harder and harder, until I had all of her weight against me, and the rope was loose. I sat her down on a step of the ladder, balancing her there. She was limp. Hysterically, I removed the rope from her neck, screaming her name. As I stood on the ladder below her, I grabbed her body in my arms, and tried to carry her down the ladder. Somehow, the ladder collapsed, and we both fell to the floor.

She lay flat on the floor, lifeless. I shook her, and screamed her name. She did not respond. I ran to the car, and got my phone. Frantically, I called Kid, and ran back into the garage as the phone was ringing.

“Did you find her…?” Kid asked, excitedly.

“Kid, she was hanging. Oh my God, I got her on the floor, Kid. I got her on the floor. She’s on the floor, Kid. She’s not hanging.
She’s on the floor.” My voice was strangely quiet and cracking. I began sobbing uncontrollably; tears were rushing down my face. My entire body shaking as my lifeless friend lay on the floor in front of me. I would give anything for her to live. Anything.
Please God, do not take this girl from this earth. Not now. Please God, help me make the decisions that I have to make to save this girl from dying. Help me be strong, God. Please. Help me through this.

“
Michelle! Hang up. Do CPR. Call 911. And get paramedics there, right now!”

I hung up and called 911. Britney remain
ed lifeless on the floor. I couldn’t tell if she was breathing, and if she was, she wasn’t doing it very well, or on her own. As the 911 operator talked, I heard nothing. I kept talking to Britney, asking her to never leave me. I touched her cold pale face, and fixed her hair. I prayed for God to give me the strength to perform his will. I heard sirens in the distance. The sound of the sirens got louder and louder.

Police officers were the first ones in the garage, and the paramedics were right behind them. In a matter of minutes, paramedics, police, and firemen were fi
lling the garage. Someone opened the big garage doors, and there were people everywhere. This was so confusing. Someone handed me my phone. The 911 operator was gone. They covered Britney’s face, and hooked a machine to her. I cried, and cried, until the crying turned to sobs. Everyone was talking at once.

“Ma’am, what relation are you to the victi
m?” the police officer asked me.

“I’m her friend, I found her hanging by that bed sheet that’s tied to the garage,” I said, quietly, pointing to the bed sheet
hanging from the garage roof.

“Ma’am, what time, specifically
, did you find her?” he asked, in a monotone voice. He was actually holding a small note pad in one hand, and a pen in the other.
Was this really happening?

I looked up as
they were moving Britney out of the garage, and toward the ambulance on a stretcher. I turned and started walking that direction, clutching my phone in my hand. I could hear my car running in the driveway. I hadn’t shut it off when I got here. I didn’t care, and kept walking toward the ambulance. I was halfway down the length of the driveway as they were loading her inside the ambulance.

“Ma’am, we need you to answer
some questions.” the officer said as I was walking away.

“Ma’am. Ma’am. Ma’am!
” he started to scream and followed me.

“
Fuck you.
Fuck your retarded questions. I’m going with
them,
” I pointed toward the ambulance. “You can ask me all the retarded questions you want at the hospital.”

“Ma’am, I am sorry,
you aren’t allowed back here,” one of the paramedics said, as they were strapping Britney into the ambulance.

“Fuck you,” I said as I shoved my phone in my back pocket, grabbed a handle, and pulled myself in. Both paramedics looked at each other, and raised their eyebrows. “She’s my friend, I found her, and I am riding with you to the hospital. You want me out, throw me out,” I said, wiping tears from my face. I wa
s still shaking and exhausted.

Someone shut the back doors to the ambulance, and it began to roll forward. One of the paramedics began connecting an IV, electrodes, and wires to Britney. Her face was covered in a plastic mask. The other param
edic looked up at me and spoke.

“You’ve got a lot of guts, getting her off the ladder, and performing CPR. That took tremendous drive. It speaks volumes of what type of person you are inside. Not many girls would have maintained a level head th
rough all of that. You did good Michelle,” he said in a very soft, appreciative tone.

Kid
, I needed to call Kid. I reached in my back pocket, and called Kid. I held the phone to my cheek, and waited for it to start ringing. As soon as the paramedic noticed me on the phone, he shook his head from side to side.

“Ma’am, you can’t use
that in here, the machines…,” he said, still shaking his head.

“Fuck you,” I said to the sec
ond paramedic as Kid answered.

“Not you Kid, they told me to hang up. We’re in the ambula
nce, and headed to the hospital.” As soon as I began to talk, the reality of the situation hit me, and I began to cry uncontrollably. As tears were dripping from my chin, Kid began to talk.

“Michelle, you did great. You did all you could. Did you giv
e her CPR?” he asked, quietly.

I nodded my head, and realized I wasn’t
speaking. “Yes,” I responded.

“Is she alive?”
Kid’s voice was soft and kind.

I shrugged my shoulders and thought. I had no idea. I assumed that she was dead, but I had hoped that she was alive. She wasn’t moving. I looked at the paramedic, moved the phone from my face, and asked the question. “Sir,
is she breathing?”

“She is alive, ma’am,”
the other paramedic answered.

“Is she breathing?”
I asked again, realizing that was
not
what Kid asked.

“Ma’am, she’s alive, and we’re trying to keep her that way, get o
ff the phone, please, ma’am,” the first paramedic asked.

“Kid, she’s alive, yes. They’re telling me I have to get off the phone. I will call
you from the hospital, okay?”

“Okay. Be well, Michelle.
”

I hung up, and pulled the phone from my face. It was dripping water from me crying. I wiped the screen on my pants, and looked down at my combat boots. I took the back of my hand, and wiped my face free of tears. Putting the phone back in my pocket, I noticed for the first time that the second attendant had a tattoo on his forearm. “USMC”. He probably spent his early years in Iraq, doing what he could to help fight for what he believed was right. Or, at least, what he was ordered to fight for. He fought for the United States to remain United. And now, he was fighting for Britney’s life. I realized as I looked at him that I was going to spend my entire life, after college, doing versions of what they we
re doing right now, every day; saving lives. A feeling of warmth surrounded me. I prayed. I looked back at the attendant with the tattoo, and asked, “She’s going to be alright, isn’t she?”