When I Contemplated Suicide, by Mary (2)

When I Contemplated Suicide

Mary undressed. She put her clothes in the hamper and stood under the water. Watered blood swirled down the drain. She scrubbed herself with her hands. Soap bubbled on her skin and oozed with the blood and disappeared into its same drain.

The door opened. 'It's just me,' said Sammy. 'I'm getting your clothes.' He took the hamper and left.

In the back yard, Sammy set some newspaper alight in the fire pit; he stoked it with scattered oak sticks and brush. When flames were jumping he threw her clothes in. Panties and bra first. Easiest to burn. Then the shirt, the hat, and the shorts. The backpack. Shoes and socks on top. He started chewing on a toothpick. Smoke rose high above the neighborhood. He wondered if anyone would call the fire department. He flicked his ruined toothpick into the fire and started on another one.

Four toothpicks in, he noticed Goldie watching from the patio door. Like she was expecting him to go to prison, or join a gang, or leave to war. They stared at each other. Firelight teased the soft curves of his face.

He ascended the patio. She slid open the door.

'Is she going to be alright?'

'I don't know.'

'What happened?'

'Don't know that either.'

'I'm going to go check on her mother.'

'Wait. Hold off on that.' Sammy lifted his cap to scratch his head and eyed the fire. 'This is something that never happened. We can explain away the injuries, but this kind of situation gets harder to control the more people know about it.'

'She's her mother. She has a right to know about what's happened to her daughter.'

'A right, sure. But is it good to know?'

To this she said nothing. She gently felt his hair.

'Please just tell me she'll be alright.'

'She'll be alright.'

'I'm so proud of you, Sam.'

-

Mary wore one of Sammy's shirts. It fit her well. Captain America held his shield before him. Her thighs felt cold in his gym shorts. She hadn't yet put on his flip-flops.

Bruises on her neck. She felt over them with her now clean hand. They pained to the touch.

The constant drip of water from the shower head battered the tub floor.

She leaned over the sink and vomited. It was after the water washed the last of her vomit down the sink that Sammy returned.

'You can use my toothbrush.'

Sammy leaned against the jamb and watched her spit, brush, spit again. They went into the living room. Sammy gave her a tall glass of water. She held it but didn't drink.

'Come on. You need water after that.'

She sipped some. She mechanically followed him to the sofa and sat beside him in the middle. He slouched on his hand and regarded her.

'Who was that man?'

Mary stared at the rug. 'I don't know.'

'Why was he trying to kill you?'

She looked at him.

'What'd you do with my shorts?'

'I burned them.'

Before he could ask why, Mary ran outside. The glass spilled water onto the carpet. She jumped from the patio and kneeled into the ashes in the pit. Sammy came out and watched her incredulously as she began digging through the ashes.