“Will
that be all?” The drug store cashier is ringing up my purchases: a 90 count
bottle of Tylenol P.M. and a 120 count of Benadryl. I am determined to not be
awake for my death.
“Yes,
that’s all,” I say. I can’t quite look her in the eye. Does she know what I’m
doing? I chance a glance at her and she is smiling. Her teeth are stained
yellow and she could do with brushing her hair but she seems completely unaware
of the purpose of these drugs.
I
hand her a twenty and she hands me my change quickly. For some God forsaken
reason a cheerful rhapsody plays throughout the stores speakers. She drops the pill
bottles roughly into a plastic bag and I head out the door.
Why
in the world does the last day of my life have to be so damn beautiful? The sun
is shining bright and there isn’t a cloud in the sky. A warm breeze runs
through my hair and despite a busy street I don’t even smell exhaust.
I
slam my car door shut, pissed at the beauty of the day. It seems even the world
is going to be cheerful about my demise. I throw the plastic bag into the
passenger seat, next to a brown paper bag containing a fifth of whiskey and
speed off down the road.
I
woke up yesterday morning to an email informing me that I am being dropped from
two of my classes because of grades and lack of attendance. That was the last
straw. I just can’t do this anymore…I can’t live like this, life shouldn’t be
like this. It feels like I can’t breathe anymore, like I’m half dead anyway.
I
decided to come home, here in Charlotte, one last time and do it in my old
room. My mom and stepdad have gone on yet another cruise and the house is
empty, so this has worked out perfectly.
I
turn on the radio and Lady Gaga’s new song Applause is playing; great…so now
the world is clapping at my dark plan. I slam the radio off, thinking about how
the last thing I need to hear is how Gaga lives for the applause when I’m
finally going to end all this turmoil. I embrace the silence of my car, push
the accelerator down and enjoy the thrill of racing toward my death.
I
pass the park that I grew up playing in on my left. Inspiration strikes and I
spin a u-turn in the middle of the street. Some guy in a red mustang blows his
horn at me and gives me the finger.
“Right
back at you, asshole,” I shout through my window before returning his gesture.
I
pull up to a handicap spot and park. I’m not handicapped, but I don’t care. Not
like I’m going to actually have to be responsible for a ticket if I get one.
I
get out the car, grabbing my whiskey, and for some reason my bag of pills, and
head toward the playground. Smelling the stench of the paper factory a block
down, I kick a can as I walk.
I
stop at the edge of the sand surrounding all of the play equipment. So many
good times happened here.
I
march toward the merry-go-round and toss my bags onto the sand out of the way.
I grab the yellow painted rails and start running. I run as fast as I can
pushing the merry-go-round faster and faster and just before I think I’m going
to trip over my feet I jump and swing my legs onto the platform. A gong like
sound vibrates around me as my sneakers hit the metal platform. I quickly lay
down looking up at the blue sky. I let the force of the rotation push me into
the platform. Spinning wildly, I try to spot on the trees, but all I do is make
myself dizzy. I close my eyes and it’s almost like I can hear mom telling me to
be careful as I spin around.
All
too soon, I lose momentum and sit up. I sigh as the thrill of the spin begins
to fade. I have half a mind to do it again but the jungle gym beckons me.
I
mount the green steps and turn to face the lake. Outside of the beauty of the
day the park looks depressing. I climb on top of the yellow tunnel going to the
other side of the play equipment. I situate myself so that I straddle the
tunnel, and I am facing the lake. I balance my whiskey between my legs, and put
the pills behind it for safe keeping.
I
look out at the geese and let myself reminisce about when I fed them with Momma
as a child. As I stand there looking over the lake again it’s like Mom is right
here, like I can hear her laughing at me as I throw bread into the lake and giggle
when the geese fight over the crumbs. That was before everything went to shit.
Hmm,
I’m not alone after all. There is a guy standing near the dock looking out at
the geese. He picks a stick off the ground, and chunks it fiercely at one of
the geese. The goose that the stick hit turns to face him and begins to swim
across the lake toward him. He backs up a little as the goose hit the bank and
then the goose charges. He takes off running with the goose behind him. If I
wasn’t hurting like I am, this would actually be funny.
Oh
crap, the man is running toward me. He takes the steps two at a time, and the
goose stops at the bottom glaring at him. He bends over, putting his hands on
his knees and pants. He’s mumbling to himself, sounding like he’s cursing the
goose.
The
goose settled itself at the bottom of the steps and is angrily waiting for him
to come back down. He stands back up and finally notices me.
“Whoa,
I didn’t see you there, sorry,” he says. He looks confused by my presence and I
don’t care. I nod at him and he plops down. He glances at the goose and sighs.
“I
don’t recken’ it’s going anywhere, anytime soon,” he says. This is more of a
statement that a question so I don’t answer, I just look at him. There is
something vaguely familiar about him. He’s tall and gangly. He has red hair and
a face full of freckles. He’s a little awkward looking, like someone who spends
way too much time reading, and has bad acne. To most people he wouldn’t be too
attractive, but I’m not most people.
There
is a noise from his pocket and he pulls out his phone. He glances at it and
slams it down onto the hard floor.
“What’s
your problem?” I ask. Like his problems could possibly be worse than mine.
“Girlfriend
is standing me up again,” he says. He rolls his eyes and leans back against
bars on the side.
“God
this place stinks,” he says, taking a whiff.
“Yeah,
I know.”
He
takes a deep breath and looks at me. I wonder what he sees. I haven’t eaten in
three days and I’m sure he can tell. My face is sunken in and I look sick and
pale. I can’t look at him any longer so I look down at my hands. My nails are
short and ragged and my blue nail polish is chipped. The cuticles have bled
from my chewing on them so much. I push down on the sorest one and enjoy the
pain.
“What
are you doing here anyway,” he asks.
“Just
thought I would look at this park one last time,” I say, and I regret the
statement the moment it leaves my mouth.
“One
last time?” he asks.
“Yeah,
I’m moving,” I say. “I use to play here as a kid.”
“Oh
yeah, me too,” he says. “My parents use to bring me and my brother here for
picnics. We live just a few blocks down; it’s the first housing development on
the right.”
That’s
why he looks familiar. He lives a few houses down from me. I use to see him
playing basketball in his driveway with his dad when I was little. I never met
him, but I remember seeing him. But I quickly decided not to tell him we’re
from the same neighborhood. I think it’s best that we remain strangers.
“That’s
actually why I’m here,” he says. I didn’t realize he was still talking.
“I
was going to have a picnic with my girlfriend, but she texted me when I got
here and told me she was busy and couldn’t come.”
“Picnic?”
I say. “Kind of a smelly, depressing place for a romantic picnic, don’t ya
think?”
“I
was thinking more about no one being here, than the stink,” he says.
“How
old is your brother?” I ask. I’m trying to make sure he doesn’t go back to the girlfriend.
I don’t want to talk about significant others right now, actually I don’t want
to talk at all, but now that stupid goose has started circling us.
“He
would have been twenty next month,” he says, looking sad. Great, now I feel bad
for the guy.
“Sorry,”
I say. “How did he pass?” I can’t help my curiosity.
“He
drowned. We were on vacation at the beach and he got caught in a riptide. I
should have been out there with him. I was making a sand castle. I was 11, he
was 6.”
“Sorry,”
I say again, mostly because I don’t really know anything else to say. I’ve
never lost anyone before.
I
reach into one of my bags and pull out my whiskey. I unscrew the lid and take a
gulp. I start coughing and gagging immediately.
“Jesus
Christ, are you ok?” he asks, reaching out toward me.
“Yeah,”
I say, clearing my throat and getting myself under control.
He’s
too close to me now and I jerk away involuntarily. He looks confused for a
moment and then turns his gaze back toward the track.
“Have
you even had whiskey before?” he asks, glancing at my bags.
“No.”
“Well,
you shouldn’t have taken such a big gulp,” he says, laughing a little. “And
don’t you have to drive home?”
“Yeah,
so what do you care?” I ask, rolling my eyes.
“I
would just hate to look on the news tonight and see your face cause’ you
slammed your vehicle into a tree, or something,” he says, moving back to where
he was sitting earlier.
“Whatever,”
I say. That actually, wouldn’t be a bad way to go. Just drive my car into a
tree going as fast as I can. I shouldn’t wear a seatbelt either. This might
actually be better than my pills plan, quicker, and less of a possibility of
someone finding me and rescuing me.
“So
do you have any siblings?” he asks.
“Nope,
just me,” I say. I’m alone…always alone.
“You
live around here?” he asks.
“Kinda,”
I say. “My dad lives in Ohio but my mom lives a little ways away from here. But
I don’t really live here anymore; I’m just home for the weekend. I live in
Raleigh, I go to State.”
“So
your parents are divorced?” he asks.
Jesus
Christ, this guy is nosey. And I can’t take it anymore. The goose has started
his third round on us and I can’t possibly sit here with the nosy guy any
longer. I grab my bags, hop down, and start toward the stairs, but the goose
charges at me and I jump back up.
He’s
laughing at me and it’s pissing me off. I turn around and give him the best
“screw you” stare I can. He stops laughing and looks away. I can’t help but
feel a smug sense of satisfaction.
“How
do you suggest we get rid of this stupid thing?” I ask, gesturing to the evil
goose. “Do you have anything we can throw at him?”
He’s quiet for a second or two and
then stands up and pulls Reese’s Pieces out of his pocket, and holds them out
to me.
I
take the bag, putting my bags under my arm, rip it open with my teeth and start
pelting the goose with them. It squawks at me, in anger but starts moving away.
I pursue, enjoying this more than I probably should. With each piece of candy
that nails the bird I feel a little better. The bird moves into the lake and
starts swimming away. I throw the last few pieces at him, grunting with the
effort to launch them far enough the hit the stupid thing. Finally there’s no
more candy and as I look at the empty bag, it’s as though I am as empty too. It’s
as though I was throwing pieces of myself at the goose, and now that I’m all
out, I have nothing left to offer and I’m useless.
I crumble the little bag onto the
ground and start off dragging my feet on the walking path that circles the
lake.
“Hey, wait up!” I hear the carrot top
running toward me, but I don’t turn and look at him. I really wish he would go
somewhere and leave me alone. I just want to walk this path one last time. I
remember walking hand in hand with mom and dad when I was little. Around this
lake we would go, talking about our days and enjoying one another’s company.
He catches up with me and matches my
pace.
“So…your parents are divorced?” he
asks. He would jump right back into the conversation. Can’t this guy take a
hint, I don’t want him here.
I sigh and look at him. He’s
watching me attentively, more so than anyone has ever watched me before and
there is something about the look that makes me believe that he actually wants
to hear my answer.
“Yeah,”
I say, popping my knuckles.
“You
get along with your mom?” he asks.
“Ha!
You must be joking,” I say louder than I meant to. “She remarried a few weeks after the divorce and he’s an
asshole.”
“Oh
he is, is he, how so?”
“He’s
so controlling. He’s this super conservative Christian guy and he’s all about,
‘you don’t wear this, you don’t do that, you don’t dance, don’t, don’t, don’t,’”
I say rolling my eyes.
“I
am sensing a little frustration here,” he says, laughing a little.
“Oh,
you think that’s funny do you? It’s a living hell!” I say, throwing my hands in
the air, as we reach the end of the lake and turn to cross to the other side.
“Why
don’t you stay with your dad then?”
“First
off because he’s all the freaking way in Ohio. And second, because he’s just as
bad; he didn’t remarry, but he’s got a different girl friend every other week.
When I stay the night all I can hear is them screwing in his bedroom.”
As
I think about my parents, I look down at my bags and my stomach clenches. I
don’t want to talk anymore, I just want to die.
“Whatcha
got in the bags?” he asks gesturing toward them.
I
feel a wave a panic pulse through me and I push off on the balls of my feet and
sprint away. I don’t hear him behind me and I find it both satisfying and
depressing.
“Hey!”
I hear him calling out after me, but I keep running. As I approach the other
end of the lake, I’m completely out of breath and I stop. I put my hands on my
knees and gasp for air. I let the precious air fill my lungs. I’m gonna miss
the sting of cool air in my chest after I’m dead.
“What
the hell?” he says jogging up beside me. He puts his hands on his knees, like
before and starts trying to catch his breath. “All I did was ask what’s in the
bags. If you didn’t want to answer me, you could have just told me to mind my
own business.”
I
glare at him, but he doesn’t look away. He looks at me with determination, as
if he is saying that he’s going to hold his ground on this one.
“Whiskey
and meds,” I say, still slightly out of breath. “That’s what’s in my bags,
whiskey and meds.” And part of me wants him to know what I’m going to do with
them. Part of me wants him to ask me why I have whiskey and meds, but I know he
doesn’t care, no one cares.
He’s
quiet for a moment. I hear the base of a passing car thumping. He’s quiet for
too long, and I start to feel even more anxious.
“What
are you thinking?” I ask.
“Just
about my girl; I think she’s cheating on me,” he says.
Figures…I’m
having a crisis and all he can think about is his stupid dick.
“It’s just that she’s always busy lately. She
cancels our plans and she seems different…like she doesn’t want me to touch her
or something.”
I
start walking again and he follows me. I look at him and I can tell he’s
waiting for me to say something.
“That
doesn’t sound good,” I agree, sighing.
“Do
you have a boyfriend…or girlfriend?” he asks, putting his hands in his pockets.
For
some reason I find this amusing and chuckle.
“I
had a boyfriend, but he broke up with
me a few days ago.” Three days ago to be exact.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Do you mind if I ask why ya’ll
broke up?” he asks.
I
look down at my hands again and start scratching
“He
said he couldn’t handle my moods anymore,” I say, softly to the ground.
“What
did he mean by that?” he asks, and I can hear the concern in his voice. This
surprises me so I look up at him. Our eyes meet, and for some reason I feel
heat rise in my cheeks.
“He
said I’m all over the place. He says sometimes I am great to be around but most
of the time I’m a drag. He told me that I’m too negative, and I act like I’m
angry or sad all the time,” I say, looking back to the ground.
“Are
you?” he asks.
“What?”
“Are
you negative, angry and sad most of the time?”
“No!”
“Ok,”
he says holding up his hands in surrender, but the concern hasn’t left his
face.
“What
about your parents? Are they together?” I start moving toward the swings.
“No,
they’re divorced. They never really recovered after my brother died,” he says,
sadness replacing his concern.
“Oh,
I’m sorry,” I say, feeling sorry for the guy again. ”So do you live with your
mom?”
“No,
my dad,” he says. “I use to live with mom in Maryland, but mom never really
recovered after my brother…you know, and so it made since for me to come live
with dad; he’s a psychiatrist, so it makes life interesting.”
“Oh.”
Great, I would end up talking to the son of a psychiatrist on the last day of
my life. “I bet he sees some pretty strange stuff,” I say, ignoring the twinge
in my stomach that has nothing to do with me or how I am feeling.
“Yeah,
he can’t really tell me much, cause’ of the laws and everything, but what he
does tell me is strange and really
interesting. “What’s that face about?”
he asks, laughing a little.
“Shrinks,”
I say, rolling my eyes. I hadn’t realized my discomfort had leaked through.
“Well,
it’s my dad that’s the shrink, not me,” he says, laughing.
“What’s
your name, anyway?” I ask, hoping to change the subject, that and I’ve been
talking to this guy for far too long to not even know his name.
“Zech,”
he says. “What’s yours?”
“Kaylee,”
I say.
“Well,
it’s nice to meet you, Kaylee.”
“Likewise,
Zech,” I say, and I actually mean it.
“Really?”
he asks, with a chuckle. “…even if I’m a shrink in the making?”
“Even
if you’re a shrink in the making.” I’m actually smiling.
“You
have pretty smile,” he says.
My
stomach clenches and my heart starts racing. I hate my smile. I have crooked
teeth, because my mom refused to get me braces, and my lips are too small. He’s
probably just making fun of me.
“So
you go to State? Do you like your classes?” he asks.
“I
don’t know, haven’t been in a while,” I say, my voice sounds as dead and hollow
as I feel.
“Why
don’t you go to class?” he asks, and again I hear concern in his voice.
“I
just don’t feel like it, ok? I say, and I can’t keep the irritation out of my
voice. Everyone has an opinion. Before the administration sent me that email
yesterday, my advisor sent me an email wanting to know what was going on. Apparently
a few of my professors not only dropped me from their class but have told my
advisor about me not showing up to class. As if dropping me wasn’t bad enough,
they had to go blabbing to my advisor too. And my stupid R.A. keeps telling me
I need to get out more. She keeps inviting me to hang out with her and her
friends, as if I’m some charity case.
“Ok,
I’m sorry,” he says with his eyebrows raised and raising his hands in surrender
again. I reach the swings and plop down heavily into one. He stands next to me,
staring.
“Whatever,”
I say. “It’s not like anyone actually gives a shit.”
“I’m
sure that’s not true. What about your friends, don’t they wanna know why you
haven’t been to class.”
“Ha,
they are too busy to deal with me,” I say.
“To
deal with you?” he asks. “What do you
mean by that?”
I
don’t want to answer so I start to swing, just a little bit.
“What
do you mean by ‘they are too busy to deal with you?’” he asks again.
“Oh
Jesus, don’t go all shrink on me now,” I say rolling my eyes.
“Sorry,”
he says. “I guess, it’s really none of my business. He gets quiet again, and
sits down in the swing next to mine.
“So, are you going to answer my question?” he
asks.
“What
question?” I don’t even remember him asking a question. I got to get out of here.
We have come full circle now, so I stop and turn to face him.
“The
one about your friends, why do you think that they are too busy to deal with you?” he asks.
“Oh.
Um...” I find myself hesitant to answer. “Pretty much the same reasons my
boyfriend broke up with me. They say that can’t handle me being so depressed
all the time,” I say and regret my honesty immediately.
“Are
you depressed?” he asks.
“No!”
His
phone makes a noise again and he pulls it back out of his pocket.
“My
girl wants me to come over,” he says, smiling.
“Okay,
I need to get home anyways,” I say. It’s time to do this, I think to myself. I
look out over the lake and see the goose swimming out smoothly across, leaving
a gentle path in his wake. But I don’t leave. Instead I start swinging hard. I
pump my arms and legs back and start to gather momentum. I feel the burn in my
arms and I pull hard and go higher and higher. I’m going to fly. I’m going to
go past the tops of the trees and leave this world. I’m going to leave
everything behind. Loneliness, sadness, anxiety, pain; I’m leaving it all on
the ground, as I sore back and forth on the swing.
I
let go and leap into the air. I spread my arms high and reach up toward the
heavens. I’m coming, I think to the sky. But gravity takes its toll and I fall
toward the ground. I land catlike on my feet.
Zech
has been watching me the entire time. I straighten up and look at him.
“Bye,”
I say. I feel dead inside already.
I
pick my bags off the ground. I open the bag with the pills, shove in the empty
paper bag and my whiskey, and quickly tie it closed.
“I
guess I’ll see you around or something. I come here quite a bit and it would be
cool to see you again,” he says.
“Yeah,
whatever,” I say, and I start for my car. I drudge along slowly, looking at the
ground. “Yeah, I’ll see you around,” I say.
“Ok,”
he says.
I
turn away and start walking to my car. This is it, I think to myself. I’m going
home and doing it. I’m gonna swallow all these pills and drift away into the unknown.
I don’t care if there’s a heaven or a hell or whatever place I will end up in,
anything has to be better than feeling like this.
But
there is a part of me that wants him to call out to me, to stop me, to tell me
not to do it. I want someone to care. I want someone to want me to live. But I
know that’s not going to happen.
“Hey! Hey, Kaylee,” he is shouting across the
parking lot. My heart nearly stops and I turn and see him jogging toward me.
He
comes up and stands in front of me and I think about telling him. Telling him
what the pills are really for, telling him that I’m going to do it, I’m going
to kill myself.
“What?”
I say. But even as I say it, I know this is a waste. He’s not going to save me,
no one can save me.
He’s
quiet for a moment, as if he’s thinking hard about something.
“You
wanna come hang out at my place?” he asks.
I
feel my mouth drop open and I can’t help but stare up at him.
“Huh?”
is all I manage to say.
“You
wanna come hang out with me, at my house?” he asks again, laughing a little.
“What
about your girlfriend? Isn’t she waiting for you?”
I
want to go, but I don’t want to. I think about my options. Do I get in my car,
drive off and end it all? Or do I go with him and then end it all? Or do I go
with him and tell him my plan and hope that maybe he stops me? What would he do
if I told him? Would he put me in some kind of loony bin?
“She
can wait? I wanna hang out with you.”
It
seems impossible, but apparently someone actually wants to spend time with me.
“No
thank you.” I say and turn my back on him.
I
feel tears start to come. I fight them with all of my might, but they fall down
my cheeks. The warm breeze of the day rushes through my hair again and for the
first time I smell honeysuckle mixed in with the putrid smell of the factory.
My
mind runs through this day. The spin of the merry-go round, the goose, this
guy, him walking with me, me running, him still choosing to follow me, the
swing, the wind in my hair and the burn of my muscles; for a few moments today
I was alive.
“Hey!”
I yell. I turn and run toward him. It’s my turn to pursue. He’s at his car, an
old tan, granny looking Oldsmobile.
“I’m
sorry,” I say, sniffing and wipe the tears off of my cheeks, as I stop in front
of him.
“Are
you ok?” he asks.
“No,
I’m not ok.”
He
looks totally confused and lost.
“There’s
food at my place,” he says.
“Huh?”
“There’s
food…at my place,” he says again, looking extremely uncomfortable.
“Come
on,” he says gently, jerking his head toward his car. “Let’s go eat and you can
tell me why you’re not ok.”
He
walks to the other side of his car, opens the passenger door and waits for me
to get in.
I
clench my bags to my chest and stand there looking at him. He must think I’m
completely insane but he doesn’t say anything, he just stands there, holding
the door open and waiting patiently for me to get in.
I
move my feet forward, but no to the passenger door. Instead I walk to the front
end of his car, toward a trashcan. I stand in front of it and look down at my
bags that I still have clenched to my chest. I drop the two bags into the
trash. They clunk into the bottom and I know that I will not be making another
purchase like that ever again.
I
turn back and face him and smile.
