I went left again.
It wasn't really my choice at that point.
I came out of my house that dreaded Sunday morning, this time with pants of course.
And I found myself thinking of her and her cigarette and how her hair didn't smell like apples.
It smelt like cigarette smoke and shampoo. Even when it was greasy.
So I went left and she was already there.
Sitting under one of the overgrown trees, she was taking clumps of grass out of the ground and throwing them at the tracks.
I sat down next to her.
- I'm not depressed, okay?
"Okay"
I shrugged.
- I was just having a crisis and I needed someone to talk to.
"You'd like my therapist."
I laughed and started throwing clumps of grass too.
She looked at me, curiously.
- You have a therapist?
"Yep."
I threw another clump of grass.
"I'm actually supposed to be there right now."
She laughed.
I stared at her.
She stared back, still laughing.
"You have a pretty laugh."
She stopped laughing and cleared her throat.
- Then why are you here?
I shrugged.
She sighed and got up, and of course I got up with her.
"My little brother used to have a therapist."
I nodded.
"He showed up to dinner one night in a skirt. Ten years old, in a skirt. My dad went bonkers."
"Oh. That's not so bad. I tried to kill myself."
She stopped walking
- you did?
She asked me. Except she didn't say you did like how others said it. She said it excitedly. As if I'd told I had gone to Paris and she was telling me how cool that was.
- what was the reason?
"People always ask why I tried to kill myself, no one ever asks my mom why she decided to make a life."
- so you did it just because?
"I don't see the point in living. It's harder than dying and I'm quite the lazy person. So I tried to do the world a favor and dispose of myself, a burden. What do I get in return? A therapist once a week and depression pills."
She nodded.
"I'm not even depressed, either. I'm just realistic. But, I guess there's no difference."
- the most realistic people are always the most depressing.
She said this in a tone of agreement.
"I may be depressing to others, but I myself am not depressed."
I thought for a bit.
"Maybe they're the ones who need to take depression pills."
- would you do it again?
She looked hopeful. Did she want me to kill myself?
"What? Kill myself?"
- yeah
"Maybe."
- Would you ever do a double suicide?
"Why? You thinking of killing yourself?"
She nodded
- My brother did. He was thirteen years old. You know how he did it?
She looked bitter, but not sorry. As if she had to tell this story a million times before.
- He did it with my daddy's hunting rifle. He painted his face with my mothers makeup. Really pretty, too. He came to my room and asked if he could borrow a dress. I was fifteen. I nodded. I think I said something along the lines of 'it won't fit me anyways or 'sure, I'm too fat for dresses.'
I waited for her to go on.
- So, dressed in my dress and masked in makeup, he wrote right on his forehead with bright red lip stick;
MEN HUNT. ONLY WOMEN DRESS UP.
My dad would say that to him and knock him around each time he would "get out of hand."
She sucked in a deep breath, and so did I.
- Then with my dads hunting rifle he shot himself.
right
in
the
middle
of
his
forehead.
And I don't know, I really don't know how he managed to do it, but he shot himself so that the bullet went right between the words of what men do and then what women do.
Right in the middle. Just like him.
I exhaled a breath and looked over to see her biting her lips, hard. Her brows furrowed together. Her eyes trying to suck in the tears that accumulated.
She then laughed.
She laughed.
She laughed and sniffled and rubbed her nose.
And all I wanted to do was hold her.
Hold her arms that hung limply from her bony shoulders.
Hold her waist that was small, and had hip bones jutting out.
Hold her ribs that protected whatever it was that it had to look like armor to protect.
Hold her small face.
With her purple eyes, all droopy.
With her chapped lips that she had to walk to school without chap stick on too many times in the winter.
Run my hands through her greasy hair that smelt like her Newports and dollar store shampoo.
So I did it.
I held her arms and her face.
And looked into her droopy eyes,
And traced the grooves of her chapped lips.
And when I ran my fingers through her greasy hair;
I was quite surprised because a chunk of it,
Fell out.
