Authors: Michael Thomas Ford
Suicide Notes (5 page)
I couldn’t sleep again tonight. I don’t know why. I’m pretty used to functioning without the little blue pill now, and it wasn’t like I was having bad dreams or anything. I just couldn’t sleep. So I went into the lounge, thinking I might finally write Allie that letter after all or maybe help Nurse Moon with her crossword. But Sadie was in there, sitting on the couch and reading a magazine.
“Don’t you ever sleep?” I asked her.
“Did you know that only about half of the eggs that get fertilized ever actually turn into babies?” she said, putting down the magazine. “And out of those, only about eighty percent are actually born. The rest get miscarried.” She counted on her fingers. “That means out of a hundred fertilized eggs, only forty are ever born.”
“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.”
The weirdest part was that after she was gone everyone else just went back to their pancakes, like nothing had happened. I guess maybe it didn’t seem like a big deal because they’re crazy too. Maybe this kind of thing happens all the time. But not to me.
“What was that?” I asked Sadie, who was sitting across from me.
She shrugged. “Who knows,” she said. “She just snapped.”
“Just like that?” I said.
“Sure,” Sadie said, like she knew all about it. “The last time I was here, a kid woke up one morning and thought he was Santa Claus. He came out with this pillowcase full of stuff he’d taken from his room, and started handing things out like it was Christmas morning.”
Next to her, Bone laughed. “That’s excellent,” he said.
“It’s weird,” I said, looking at Bone. It occurred to me today that I have no idea why he’s here. I’d ask him, but I really don’t care. Besides, there’s enough weird to go around as it is. He can keep his to himself.
“Whatever,” said Sadie. “Anyway, they’ll drug her up and she’ll forget all about it.” She picked up a sausage and waggled it at me. “Wee-wee-wee,” she said. “Wee-wee-wee.”
Bone cracked up. “Wee-wee-wee,” he said, joining in.
At first I thought it was kind of mean of them to make fun of Alice. But it wasn’t like she was there to hear them. And, anyway, maybe that’s how nutcases handle things like that. I wouldn’t know.
Only Juliet didn’t laugh. She just sat in her seat, picking at her pancakes. She had a blank expression on her face, like she was trying really hard not to think about anything at all.
Later on, in group, Cat Poop talked about what had happened.
“Is Alice all right?” Juliet asked him. It was a stupid question. Of course she wasn’t all right. She was nuts. But Cat Poop knew what Juliet wanted to hear, because he said, “She’ll be okay.”
Okay? How can she be okay? She set her mom’s boyfriend on fire after he did who knows what to her, she’s in a mental hospital, and she thinks she’s the piggy who went wee-wee-wee all the way home. That’s pretty much the definition of not okay. I shook my head.
“Are you concerned about Alice, Jeff?” Cat Poop asked me.
That was a good question, I’ll give him that. I mean, Alice and I weren’t friends or anything, but I did feel a little bad for her. After all, it’s not her fault she’s nuts, right? She had a lot of bad stuff happen to her. But like I said, we weren’t friends.
“I just want to make sure what she has isn’t contagious,” I told Cat Poop.
He pushed his glasses up, so I knew he was annoyed at me. “I think you know the answer to that,” he said.
“It’s a good question, though,” said Sadie. “What if Alice has some sort of virus or something that went to her brain?”
I looked over at Sadie, wondering if she was being serious. She winked at me.
“Alice doesn’t have a virus,” said Cat Poop.
“But there
are
viruses that can make your brain go all weird, right?” Sadie asked him. “Like Mad Cow.”
He sighed. “Yes, there are,” he said. “But no one here has a virus.”
I gave a fake sneeze. “Uh-oh,” I said. “I think I’m coming down with something.” Then I oinked. “I think it’s Mad Piggy!”
“Wee-wee-wee,” Bone said. Cat Poop looked at him. “Wee-wee-wee,” Bone said again. “I think I’m coming down with something too.”
Then Sadie started. She fake sneezed and said, “Wee-wee-wee,” along with Bone. The two of them were trying really hard not to crack up, and so was I.
Then Juliet stood up. “Shut up!” she screamed at us. “Shut the hell up!”
We did shut up. She’s never yelled like that, and it took us by surprise. Juliet glared at us, her hands clenched and her whole body shaking, like she was trying to make our heads explode using the superpowers of her mind.
“Stop making fun of her,” she said, really softly. “Just stop. It’s not funny.” Then she sat down again and looked at the floor.
Maybe she had a point. But come on. Someone yelling about being a little piggy going wee-wee-wee all the way home is kind of funny when you think about it. Sure, I feel bad for Alice, but that’s no reason to go all serious. You’ve got to laugh at stuff.
Anyway, I’m not like Alice. I’m not like the rest of them either. So excuse me if I get a little sarcastic about it when they do something nutty.
Alice is gone. Bone told us this morning over breakfast.
“They shipped her out to Morning View,” he said between bites of cereal. “I heard the nurses talking about it.”
“What’s Morning View?” I asked.
“It’s where they send all the nuts who are never going to get better,” Bone told me. “She’s a lifer now. I guess she wee-wee-weed herself all the way to a padded cell.”
“And then there were four,” said Sadie.
I looked at her. “What?”
“And then there were four,” she repeated. “You know, from the nursery rhyme.”
She started to recite in a singsong voice.
“Ten little soldier boys went out to dine;
One choked his little self and then there were nine.
Nine little soldier boys sat up very late;
One overslept himself and then there were eight.
Eight little soldier boys climbing up to heaven;
One fell down and then there were seven.
Seven little soldier boys chopping up sticks;
One chopped himself in half and then there were six.
Six little soldier boys playing with a hive;
A bumblebee stung one and then there were five.
Five little soldier boys on a cellar door;
One fell in and then there were four.”
She stopped. “It goes on until they’re all dead,” she said, spreading butter on a piece of toast. “But right now we still have four.”
“What happens to the other four?” Bone asked her.
Sadie took a bite of toast and grinned. “We’ll have to see,” she said.
“You guys are sick.”
It was Juliet. She was sitting a few seats away, her eggs and bacon getting cold on her plate. She hadn’t touched them. She was looking at us, and all of a sudden she started to cry.
“Why do you have to be so horrible?” she said.
Sadie put her toast down and wiped her mouth on her napkin before answering her. “Maybe because that’s how we deal with it,” she told Juliet.
Juliet shook her head. “You’re all just afraid,” she said. “You’re afraid you’re going to end up like Alice.”
“I’m not,” I said before I even realized it. Everyone looked at me. “I’m not going to turn out like Alice,” I repeated.
“You already
are
like her,” Juliet said. She was staring at my hands, which were resting on the table. Actually, she was staring at my wrists, which were still bandaged. “You just don’t know it yet.”
I put my hands in my lap. “What I know is that nothing was going to stop Alice from being crazy,” I said.
“And what’s going to stop you?” Juliet asked me.
To tell the truth, I was getting a little creeped out by Juliet. At first I thought she was just delusional. You know, with the whole Sex and Violence thing, and her crush on Bone. But now I think there’s something even more wrong with her. It’s like she thinks she can see inside people. She just comes out with this weird stuff, and you can tell she really believes it.
Well, she’s wrong about me. She can stare all she wants, but she’s never going to see inside me, because there’s nothing in there. Everyone could tell that Alice was loony tunes. I’m not blaming her for that or anything, but she was. I, on the other hand, pretty much just had one bad day and now everyone is making me pay for it.
“Don’t listen to her,” Sadie said. “My guess is that she’s the next to go.” She gave Juliet a look. “How’s it going to happen, Juliet?” she asked. “How are you going to go?”
Juliet stood up and slammed her chair against the table. As she stormed off, Sadie and Bone laughed. After a second, I did too.
“That chick is out there,” said Bone.
“Seriously,” Sadie agreed. “I wonder what she’s in here for. That whole bulimia story was a crock.”
“She told me,” Bone said. “I guess she thought it might make me love her or something if she shared.” He rolled his eyes.
“So?” Sadie said. “Out with it already. What’s little Miss Juliet’s curse?”
“She’s a junkie,” said Bone.
“Get out,” Sadie exclaimed.
Bone nodded. “No, she is. She was all into heroin and stuff. I guess she ODed a couple of times.”
“Wow,” Sadie said. “I’m actually kind of impressed. I thought for sure she’d be into something really girly, like cutting herself.” Then she looked at me and said, “No offense.”
“I didn’t realize there was a ranking,” I said.
Sadie frowned. “What do you mean?”
“A ranking,” I said. “You know, what’s crazier than what.”
“Oh, sure there is,” Sadie said. She sat back in her chair. “First you have your generic depressives. They’re a dime a dozen and usually really boring. Then you’ve got the bulimics and the anorexics. They’re slightly more interesting, although usually they’re just girls with nothing better to do.
Then
you start getting into the good stuff: the arsonists, the schizophrenics, the manic-depressives. You can never quite tell what those will do. And then you’ve got the junkies. They’re completely tragic, because chances are they’re just going to go right back on the stuff when they get out of here.”
“So junkies are at the top of the crazy chain,” I said.
Sadie shook her head. “Uh-uh,” she said. “Suicides are.”
I looked at her. “Why?”
“Anyone can be crazy,” she answered. “That’s usually just because there’s something screwed up in your wiring, you know? But suicide is a whole different thing. I mean, how much do you have to hate yourself to want to just wipe yourself out?”
“Maybe that’s just about wiring, too,” I suggested.
“I guess sometimes,” Sadie agreed. “But sometimes it’s more than that.”
“I don’t know,” Bone said. “I don’t see anything so special about wanting to kill yourself.” When we didn’t say anything, he looked up at us. “Not that I’ve ever tried it. I’m just saying.”
“You’re just saying that
because
you’ve never tried it,” Sadie said. She was quiet for a minute, and her eyes got this faraway look in them, like she was remembering something wonderful. “You don’t know what it feels like,” she continued. “You don’t know what it’s like to make that decision—to go from thinking about it to doing it. Most people can’t do it.”
“So you’re saying you should get first prize because you did it?” Bone said. He laughed. “You’re crazy.”
Sadie looked at him. “That’s exactly what I am,” she said, then laughed. “But I’ll have to share that prize with Jeff.”
She looked at me. “What?” I said.
“You win, too,” she said. “You tried to kill yourself, too.”
I knew everyone had been thinking that. I mean, how could they not, what with the bandages and everything? But hearing Sadie say it out loud was kind of a shock. I shook my head. “I just did something stupid.”
Sadie turned away. “Sure you did,” she said.
I couldn’t tell if she was making fun of me or not. I sort of don’t think she was. And I don’t think she wants to share her prize with me. She wants to be Queen Whack-job around here. Or maybe she knows that I’m not like her and the rest of them.
I’m not one of her ten little soldier boys.
