The Suicide Letters

The First Letter

I'm not a morning person. I guess I could have put that in my letter, but I didn't think about it. I'm really not, though. I'm cranky and disheveled, and a complete mess. I hate hate hate mornings. I love nights, and being up when no one else is. That feeling of being the only one awake in the neighborhood. 

But mornings? No.

I walk downstairs in my socially inappropriate shorts and a tank top and pour myself a tall cup of black coffee and slide down the cabinets until I'm sitting on the floor. I start drinking it and wondering when I started drinking it black instead of with cream and sugar. At some point I just developed a taste for it. I get made fun of for it a lot, but that's the way it is. It tastes like mornings-bitter.

My older sister Katrina comes whirling into the kitchen and grabs a fru-fru juice drink from the fridge. Katrina is almost eighteen, and she's graduating in a few months. She and I have always had a weird relationship because we're only about two years apart. At times we're really close, but at other times we're at each other's throats. It changes based on the hour.

She eyes me on the kitchen floor and scoffs, "We have to leave in ten minutes, Mel."

She uses my nickname all the time, but as soon as I even think about using hers, she freaks out. 

I sigh and get up, stretching my limbs and setting my empty cup on the counter. "Okay, okay. I'm going to get dressed." I got up earlier and took a shower, I just didn't feel like putting my school clothes on. I walk upstairs and put on jeans and a long sleeved shirt, and put on makeup before grabbing my backpack and running my fingers through my hair. It'll dry wavy. Or at least it will if it feels like it. It has a mind of its own, my hair.

I run downstairs and Kat is by the door, tapping her foot impatiently. I roll my eyes and look down at my watch, "I'm only a minute late, Kat."

She opens the door, "Don't call me that," she snaps and I sigh. She is impossible. I follow her out to her car. I know if it were up to her she wouldn't drive me to school every morning and she'd make me take the bus.

But mom and dad make her, so she does. But she's still mad about it, though.

We drive to school in silence and I almost fall asleep against the car window. When the car stops, I jerk my head up, and get out before Katrina yells at me for leaving marks on the window from my forehead. 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

"Alright, get into your groups and swap letters, and I'll be coming around to mark down that each of you have done it," Mrs. Harrelson states and I slide out of my seat and walk back to the table two behind me.

I sit down next to Levi and slide my paper over to him, and he just looks at it on the table. His black curls brush the tip of his nose as his face is downcast, and I watch as he takes it in between two fingers and slides it into his notebook filled with black and white drawings and words.

He pulls out another piece of paper and shoves it towards me, never once looking at me or touching me. 

I take it from him and look down at it. It's handwritten, but that's okay because I can actually read his writing. It's blocky, but parts of it are almost scribbled, and there are a lot of parts that are scratched over or erased.

At that moment our teacher comes over and checks that we've both done our work, and then she walks away.

I tap the page, contemplating reading it now or later. Before I can decide, she speaks again.

"Tonight I want you guys to read your letters, and write another one. Write about yourself, but also ask questions about the other person. Learn as much about them as you can." She starts stacking things up her desk, and I know we're done.