Going On

Noelle

“I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I needed to be.”

-Douglas Adams, The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul

I wondered if I could staple myself to death.

My eyes remained on the the stapler in the corner, next to the pile of extra forms for the losers who didn't have their paperwork in order. I snorted. What genius decided to put a fucking stapler in a suicide recovery club?

Probably someone who's suicidal.

I tapped my foot impatiently, my eyes focusing on the shiny black stapler. It seemed to be beckoning to me, begging me to go and test it out. On my skull, maybe.

I sighed. I doubted that I could staple myself to death, even if I tried. And while I knew that there was no way in hell that I could actually use a measly stapler to kill myself, the thought continued to float through my mind. That would be such a dramatic way to go. If I killed myself while at a suicide recovery meeting, no one would ever forget that. Ever. It would be a good way to go. Solid.

"What happened to your dear daughter, Mrs. Grace?"

"Oh, she stapled herself to death at the Youth Center. Put on a damn show for those recovering idiots. A performer, my daughter was."

The boy cleared his throat. My head snapped back toward him when I realized that I was more focused on the process of stapling myself to death than talking to some other suicidal kid. I almost felt bad, but I quickly pushed the thought aside. I caught him glance at it earlier. He was probably thinking the same thing.

"I don't know what we're supposed to do..." I mumbled nervously.

"We should probably talk about our... Experiences, I guess? I don't know, should I start?"

I swallowed hard. "Yes." I didn't feel the need to tell him that I had no intention of telling him about my own experiences.

"Well, I normally do really good in school, right? So then I started getting really anxious and I couldn't deal with it and I just kind of... Lost it, I guess. I guess you could put it that way. I tried to jump off a bridge."

That could my attention. "A bridge?" Yes, of course a bridge! Why hadn't I thought of that? It's so classic. So... Poetic.

"Yep, a bridge. You know the one in the middle of town?" Theo gestured absently toward wherever the bridge would be. I didn't mind to mention that I was pretty sure the bridge was in the other direction. "I jumped right the fuck off of it. I mean... Sorry for my language. I jumped off of it, I mean. I just didn't sink, and it's hard to force yourself to drown. So I survived, I guess. I mean, most of me. Some of me is still dead, I think, if that makes sense."

I shifted uncomfortably and looked at the ground. "That makes so much sense..." I mumbled.

"Yep. That's it, pretty much. I mean, I guess some other stuff played a part too, like all those annoying high school couples and stuff. I don't know, maybe it's just me."

I didn't answer, other than to silently add 'jump off a bridge' to my mental list of ways to kill myself. I had to choose one before Friday, when my parents would go out of town. Three more days.

"I mean, I don't know, I guess. I say that too much. You know what else I say too much? I say 'I'm okay' way too much. That's such a wasted thing, you know? Like, a lot of people, especially me, would kill to be 'okay.' To just have everything go the way it was supposed to for once, to have things line up. But because their aren't fireworks, we just use 'okay' for everything. I need to stop doing that," Theo continued on. It seemed to me like he wasn't talking to me anymore, but more talking to himself. I was okay with that.

I wrapped my sweater tighter around me. Theo looked at me like he was expecting me to say something--anything. I bit my lip hard.

"Sorry... I didn't... Uh... I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable, or... Or anything."

"It's okay, I.." I stopped in the middle of my sentence. I could see his eyes watching me intently, as if trying to pull answers out of me. My hands began to sweat. My heart beat faster. I didn't have to see my own pale face to know a anxiety attack was coming.

I gripped the armrests of my chair.

Theo slowly leaned forward and touched my hand, making my flinch out of instinct. "Hey, it's okay," he said softly. "Do you need water?"

I quickly shook my head. My eyes shot back to the stapler again.

"It's okay. I know that face. I've had it before. What do you need?" he asked.

I didn't answer. I leaped up from my seat and ran for the door, trying to ignore the eyes following me.

"Hey, you can't leave yet!" the teacher yelled.

If I were in a better state of mind, the things I would say to him...

It wasn't until I reached the door that I realized that two grown men (which tags labeled 'volunteer) were standing there, waiting. As soon as I tried to make a break for it, the men stepped in front of me. But whoever said I was smart? Instead of taking a hint, I tried to run right through them, only to realize that they are much stronger than me.

That is exactly how I ended up getting picked up by my underarms and carried back to my seat at a suicide recovery club.

And that is why I met a nice boy named Theo, and threw up on his shoes.

Where was that stapler, again?