Suicide Stories

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Just felt like writing this down.
Happened one day after school.

Submitted: June 09, 2013

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Submitted: June 09, 2013

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5.30.2013

As I sat there, sitting on the concrete ground, my back against one of the many poles holding up the overhang, knees bent up so I could rest my book upon them, I started to realize something. Or rather I started to fully acknowledge something.  I’m still at school.  In the back of my mind, I knew I was here far longer than I should have been. The majority of the usual crowd that hung around, waiting for their parents to ride up in their white mini vans and whisk them away from the horrible House of Knowledge—that would do them all some good to actually pay attention to— were gone. It was just me and one other girl who sat on a bench. Silly humans and their logical sitting habits.  I hadn’t allowed myself to come to terms with this realization that being at school, which gave me virtually nothing to do but read my book, was the perfect excuse for not doing anything directly productive.  When I was at home and reading, there were a list of more important things I could be doing, like finishing laundry or cleaning the kitchen, gnawing at the back of my mind.  These were responsibilities I didn’t care enough about to put my book down for, but did care enough to fell a little badly about avoiding just so I could lose myself in literature’s imaginary world.  After a short internal battle, and a few worried looks from passing teachers, I decided to break down and call my grandmother.  Amazingly, she didn’t pick up, which probably meant Grandpa was supposed to pick me up.  I called the house to make sure she hadn’t fallen asleep or something, but of course no answer. When I finally decided to call my dad, it turned out I was right and Grandpa was the one meant to pick me up.  Waiting for my grandfather to make his way from Neptune Marine to my school, I stayed and chatted on the phone with my dad.

“OH MY GOD wanna hear what I found out today?” I exclaimed.

“Sure.” My dad replied, not without interest.

“Ok. So,” I immediately lowered my voice, not wanting to sound like a gossiping prep unable to miss out on telling a good story.”Today in first period, when I walked in, I noticed my teacher had been crying, and she was wiping and blowing her nose.  I thought that was kind of strange, then I noticed ‘Pray for Gage’ was written on the board in her handwriting, so I got curious.  My friend Melanie and I were talking about it a bit and we got worried it was something really bad.  In second period, I had Roxanne ask her what it was all about, and guess what it was.” As my story progressed, my voice thickened with sadness at the impending tragedy I would be explaining.

“What?” His voice had too much enthusiasm for him to be simply humoring me.  Making an effort to bond with my father was like a shooting star, rare and painfully precious. So, he took advantage whenever the occasion presented itself.

“So , apparently, Gage’s dad and step mom had split up and his dad went over to her house, or whatever, Tuesday to ask if they could get back together, and when she said no he pulled out a gun and shot himself in the head.”  It was the second time I had relayed this story to someone today, and I never felt any less guilty for begrudgingly sounding like a gossip.  It just seemed so disrespectful.

We then launched into short argument —me and him against society— about horrible it must be for Gage, and why people would get so low that the only solution was to end their life.  Our topic of conversation gradually drifted to family and school related things.  I was still on the phone with my dad when grandpa pulled up and I hopped up into the car without as much as a pause in my run on sentence.  After driving for a couple minutes, my dad decided he had work to do, and bid each other farewell until he arrived home from The Shop (Neptune Marine).  Once off the phone, and after saying hi to Grandpa, I noticed I had left my bookmark on the side walk at school and forgot about when I got into the car.  I wouldn’t ordinarily care, because my bookmarks were usually anything flat and small that I could fit in-between the pages. But this was no ordinary bookmark. This was a stainless steel shepherd hook bookmark with a little skull charm, very Day of the Dead, dangling from it.  Ironic, that id lose this special present from my father, because I was distracted, bonding with him over the phone.  The irony was surely to be lost on him, so id either [A]avoid the problem until he forgets he gave it to me(more probable), [B] Make up some story about how a friend was admiring it and dropped it behind the bleachers(more creative), or [C] Tell him what really happened and tough through  the equal parts sadness and disappointment filled looks I would likely receive from my dad over the next few days(more practical).  Chances are, I would put off this multiple choice question for so long that I would choose [A] by default.

 


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