Forget Me Not (9 page)

I was so afraid she’d found out about me

and Davis that I felt cold sweat trickle down my spine.

Was she going to corner me in the bathroom

and nail me to the wall?

When we got inside, she pushed me

into a huge handicapped stall,

and I was surprised to find three

other Ravenettes waiting there.

Maybe they’d all get a piece of me.

But they didn’t even glance my way.

They just took prescription pill

bottles out of their purses,

obviously stolen from home,

and emptied them into a Styrofoam

to-go box.

Darla shook up the contents

like microwave popcorn.

Then she opened the lid

and everybody took a handful.

She pushed the box toward me.

I shook my head.

Whiskey was one thing,

but we could end up dead.

This was

Russian roulette.

I pictured myself overdosing

and nobody being able to tell

the doctors what I’d taken.

Darla pushed the box toward me,

more insistently.

“If you want to play with the big girls,

then
play
with the big girls.”

“No!” I said.

“I told you she was a wuss,”

said Lauren Payne, Darla’s second-in-command.

Darla rolled her eyes

like I was a little child.

“It’s nothing dangerous, Ally.

We’re not stupid.

It’s just something to keep us going.

You don’t want to be falling asleep

when the party’s just getting started.”

I still hesitated.

“Or maybe you do.

Never mind.”

She started to pull the box away,

and I heard myself say, “Wait!”

If she could do it, I could do it.

So I took a handful of pills.

Washed them down

while the other girls stared.

It was only later,

very much later,

that it dawned on me—

I never saw them

swallow theirs.

I remember Dad yelling

when I got home.

He could tell I was stoned.

His words were a hammer beat,

inside my head.

Had to get out of there.

Ran to the school.

Was that how I ended up dead?

Was I so messed up

in the head that I walked

off the roof of the FAB?

Why don’t I remember that?

Maybe you don’t have to do it

on purpose to get here.

“If you’re all suicides,

then what’s your story?”

I ask the Hangman.

“You don’t seem like

the self-destructive type.”

“I’m not,” he replies. “I fell.

Unfortunately

I had a rope around my

neck at the time.”

“Who put it there?” I ask.

“I did. But I didn’t want to die.

I just wanted to get somebody’s

attention. You know all about that,

don’t you, Ally?”

I remember the dance.

How the floor seemed to spin.

How I was afraid I’d take off and fly away.

How I wanted strong hands to hold me down.

How I let Will rub himself on me

because I hoped Davis would see,

but he just kept ignoring me.

So when Will asked if

I wanted to go outside

to get some air,

I said yes, because I needed

room to think and I had

to get the hell out of there.

“I didn’t really want to die,”

I tell the Hangman,

though I still

can’t remember why

I jumped.

“I didn’t want to die either,” he says.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m still dead.

But don’t underestimate me.

I’m not like the rest of them.”

It’s that special ed

teacher again,

pushing Oscar Smith

across the floor.

He contorts

and utters

a silent scream

that the teacher

never hears.

Looks

right at the Hangman.

Oscar’s eyes fill with fear.

“Can he see us?” I ask.

“Of course he can,”

says the Hangman.

Grabbing Oscar’s head,

he turns it toward me.

“Oscar Smith and Wesson

used to be a resident

of this hall,

but he didn’t have

the balls to stay.”

Oscar tries to pull away,

and that’s when

I see it—

the dent in his head

where the bullet

made its intrusion

into his skull.

The Hangman laughs

as Oscar is rolled away,

crying.

“Remember, Ally,

there are worse things

than dying.”

Back in my room I lie awake all night,

tossing, turning. Getting out of bed,

I look out the window at the sky,

say a silent prayer, and bang my head

against the glass. Hear my father’s voice

as he complains about the cost of bread,

ingratitude, why Mom can’t make a choice

to leave the couch. She’s stuck to it like glue.

I hear him threaten he’ll use some force

to get her moving. Says he’ll show her who

is boss. I hear him stumble as he falls

into a chair, too drunk to follow through.

I sneak out of my room and down the hall.

Heading for the door, I hear him cry.

Hear him whisper even as he bawls,

If there really is a God, then why

did Frankie have to be the one to die?

Why did Frankie have to be the one

to die? He was the family’s golden child.

Beloved brother, athlete, student, son.

Would they be happy for a little while

if I died too? I think about Mom’s feet,

as they faltered on the cold, white tile—

her hand, as she laid it on my sheet,

her thin lips as she whispered, “Please don’t go.”

The crying of a voice filled with defeat.

I made a choice to come back. Should have known,

to them it couldn’t matter. Didn’t make

their lives the least bit better. They don’t show

the slightest sign they’re glad I didn’t take

the easy way out. God knows I have tried

to make it up to them, but I can’t shake

the feeling that my mother may have lied

to herself when she wept for me that day.

Their lives would be so simple if I’d died.

That’s too damn bad, Dad, ’cause I’m here to stay,

and here’s something I would really like

for you to ponder when you feel this way.

The reason my brother isn’t here tonight

is because Frankie
chose
to end his life.

Frank, big bro, I’d really like to know

what you were feeling on that day in March

when you decided you just had to leave.

You couldn’t stay another minute more.

They told us that you took the curve too fast,

went flying over rock and cliff and rail.

It happened on that dark and lonely road

where the girl you loved had met her end.

Your pencil left no mark on the page

to tell us why you thought you had to go.

Your tires left no marks on the road,

but your absence leaves a hole in all our lives.

I overheard our father ask the cop

if he thought you even tried to stop.

Remember how our mother used to be?

She’s gotten worse since you’ve gone away.

She lies on the couch and smokes and drinks.

She sleeps there, eats there, seldom showers now.

Talk show hosts are her only friends.

Dad works late at the shop, and then

he comes home drunk and slips into his den

of ratchets, wrenches, pinup poster girls.

As for me, I took some sleeping pills.

That didn’t work out quite the way I’d planned.

I guess I really didn’t want to die.

There are still some things I’d like to do,

a special girl I’d really like to know.

You said you’d never leave me here alone,

even if it meant you had to wait

another year for me to graduate.

You were going to be an engineer.

I would make my living on the stage.

I’d study Shakespeare and direct some plays.

I’d get a role in
Streetcar.
You would sit

right up in front and cheer me at the close.

We’d be the first ones in our family

to go to college, visit NYC,

fly in a plane, make something of our lives.

Stay sober long enough to see the world.

I feel my life unraveling like yarn.

The strands come loose, and then they fly away.

What happens when I reach the end of it?

Make a knot and hold on, or let go?

Dear Frank, I think about when I was ten.

I’d follow you to soccer practice; then

I’d follow you to hang out with the guys,

who called me Shadow, but you didn’t care

that every time you turned, you saw me there

studying you, hoping I could watch

you long enough to imitate your walk,

your stride, your talk, your manliness, your air.

I tried to follow you to the science fair.

Turned out that wasn’t quite the gig for me,

but I stuck behind you when you joined

the band and went with you to music camp.

When you missed that curve, did it cross your mind,

that I might

be following

behind?

Dear Frank, you were the guy I counted on

to tell me what you thought I ought to do.

Ally slipped away so far, I doubt

she will make it back without some help.

She’ll need someone to show her the way out

of the dark and hopeless place she’s gone to.

Do you think I’m supposed to be the one?

I hoped if I waited long enough,

Ally would get tired of Davis and

his fame, his game, his lame attempts at “cool.”

Eventually she’d see it was an act,

that there was nothing beneath the mask

but self-obsession. I’d be ready when

she finally realized she wanted more

from life, from love—that she had settled for

someone who loved himself, and self alone.

She’d look around and she would finally see

someone who really loved her. Me.

I really need some brotherly advice,

to figure out what I’m supposed to do.

I feel your presence haunting every room,

and yet you never give me any sign.

I talk to you and never hear a response.

I write to you and never get a reply.

I go out to the road, the place you died.

I cannot find you and I wonder why

I can see the souls around the school,

the place where I tried to end my life,

but out here on the road where you went down,

I never even get a glimpse of you.

I yell at you and scream and rant and rave,

but you are just as silent as the grave.

Ally

afraid, alone

hurting, hiding, biding

never can go back

me

Sister

timid, guarded

sitting, knitting, praying

quiet girl in black

nun

Rotceo

hungry, unsatisfied

holding, kissing, groping

always gets his way

loverboy

Julie Ann

trapped, bored

forgetting, conceding, letting

she never gets away

girlfriend

Hangman

dark, dangerous

playing, plotting, punishing

ruler of the hall

demon

And a cameo appearance by

Elijah

brave, bold

knowing, helping, showing

he risks it all

friend

The last bell has rung, and the students are leaving the buildings, flooding toward the buses. The hallway is quiet now as we all sit, looking out onto the quad at the students hooking up, making plans, calling friends. The students who all still have lives.

SISTER


This is the hardest part.


HANGMAN


Shut up.


JULIE ANN


You get used to it.


ROTCEO


No, you don’t.


ALLY


They can all leave, and we never can. We’re stuck in high school for eternity. This really is hell.


SISTER


It’s not hell. I don’t think God would kick us when we’re down.