Death of a Nightingale

CHAPTER 6: THE OTHER SIDE - NESS

It's strangely cold today. I don't even feel bad fully-indulging in my tea addiction. Peppermint with a dash of lemon all night long. You'd think that during the night shift, I'd be drinking coffee, like most people. But I actually don't like coffee. It's bitter. I never got it.  So I wait for the water heater to do its job. It's taking its sweet time. The new kid stares at me and we do that awkward, tight-lipped eyebrow raise thing that is a copout for not knowing what words to pick. Like, yeah I can't believe that it takes an entire 4,35 minutes for this thing to boil water either. Or right? Tea. Mhm. So many things we could say here, that all say absolutely nothing at all.

But genuinely, he should have some manners. When you just started a job you don't hog the office coffee maker or tea kettle. You wait your turn. That's just common sense to me. New kid, his actual name being Thomas Newman...  no I didn't make that up, looks like he's twelve. There's a bit of fuzz on his upper lip that looks like two-day-old sour-dough starter. He proudly told me earlier that he's trying to grow a beard in. Good luck, buddy. It'll be a while. And now Thomas yawns. What a newb. This is the night shift, honey. Get out while you still can. Thinking about having to teach this child makes me want to roll my eyes. But I do, in fact, have manners and even let him fill his tea up first. I don't think my slight annoyance shows. "Ness!" Matt croaks my name from the other room like a magical summons. "Coming." I reply, although judging by how slowly little Thomas pours his tea like he's creating a Picasso, I'm not actually certain when that will be. "You have Emma on the line."

Ok, time to hurry up. I take Thomas's slightly shaking hand and finish his tea for him before I pour my own. "Sorry," I explain. "But we're a suicide hotline. If we don't pick up on time people lose their trust in us."And that's true. Lifeline has been around for almost a decade, but I really whipped it into shape four years ago when I started creating a protocol of rules to abide by. All staff go through training, but there are just some things that help more than others. Those you only understand with experience, which sadly, I have.

I rush to the other room and sit down in front of my screen. Everything is on Zoom these days. Even some of our suicide calls. I press the button and the screen shines to life. "There she is. My nightly favorite." I chime with familiarity. Emma is one of my regular callers. She started to call and immediately hang up eighteen months ago when She was still a "He." Her words. Not mine. Today she looks worse for wear. A big shiner on her cheek. Next to me, Thomas gasps and I want to smack him like a horsefly. Empathy is good. Pity is not. "Hey, Ness." I smile at her; I've been told it's reassuring. "I waited all day until you got to the office. Sorry. I needed to call. I'm so sorry." I shake my head, hand on my chest. Calm and slow. One step at a time. The rules that I wrote are on the board in front of me. "No need to apologize. Bad day?" The poor girl doesn't have to nod. Tears sprout from her eyes and drip heavy down her pretty cheeks. She's a stunner, but somehow she doesn't know it. Big gorgeous eyes and lashes I've always been a bit jealous of. Top and bottom. "Your dad again?" I ask gingerly and more tears rush out.

"He told me I can't go to Thanksgiving like this. It would be embarrassing. I should just kill myself. It would be easier for everyone. He said he doesn't know what he did to cause this defect in his 'son'." Another audible gulp from Newman behind me and I'm half-tempted to scold him right there. I breathe with Emma. Calmly. Not averting my eyes. Being perfectly present with her. Then I ask, "You know where his reaction comes from, right?" She nods. "Fear." I nod. Mad at her father, mad at a world where a teen can't become themselves on their own terms. "And you know that has nothing to do with you, right?" Emma nods again. We've talked through this a few times. But talking and day-to-day life can be starkly different. "Thank you." She huffs.

"No need. Is he hurting you again?" I take my time with this next part. "Do you want to report it? Or do you want me to?" I can see her breath hitching as she violently shakes her head. True fear. "No! That would blow up the family and everyone will just blame me, and then he was right all along. You know?" Oh, the argument of the self-fulfilling prophecy. I wish parents would visit us once a month and see what kind of pressure they put their children under and what it does to them. Especially teens. How many suicides and attempts could be avoided through communication and less fear. It seems so very simple. And yet...

I've always been great at relating with my callers. I'm young, barely in my twenties, so I understand most of their immediate questions and concerns. But also because of my dad. I know we all have 'Daddy issues' but for me, it wasn't anything like that when he was around, it was about how he left. He was a wonderful father. Kind, funny, playful. Before we moved and repainted the old house, he and I had a day of hide-and-seek paintball. It was the most fun I've ever had. Splotches of color everywhere. It took two months before I picked the last of the yellow, shiny speckles out of my curls. They were still reflecting the sunlight during his funeral.It was his suicide that marked me. I wanted to help others avoid this fate and avoid what that leaves behind. That feeling of the person not wanting another moment with you. That pang of pain and that anger and grief. The weird details that stick with you of their way out, instead of their life and moments with you. When I now think of my father, the first thoughts aren't chasing him with my paintball gun. They are the fact that I was in the next room when he took his life. They are that the receipt of the cough drops I bought him was still in the plastic bag he used to take his life.

So I dedicated my life to working here. Lifeline. I've done amazingly. Our numbers are wonderful. Every EMT and Firefighter knows each of our names and they adore us. The pay is pretty shitty, but luckily my mom is a doctor and we're solid. We're not great. But we'll be ok."Emma? I can report him for you. We can place you in a shelter for a while." Emma thinks. Heavy. "I'll be ok tonight. Promise." Believe them at face value. The rule in front of me shines right into my view. I nod. "Check-in call tomorrow?" I ask. It's our little ritual. She agrees. Wipes her tears and I get a small smirk. She looks at my tea. "Did you forget the milk today?" She's very attentive and correct. I like my tea with a little bit of milk. Like a nice London Fog, but with Peppermint. I can't help myself and glance quickly at Newb-mustache-in progress and tell her, "I was in a rush." She smiles. That's great. "See you tomorrow." And the screen fades to black.