No Answer

My name is Mary Allena O’Seanlif, and by the end of this story, I shall be dead.  Not the sort of thing you want to hear at the beginning of a story, but you can’t blame a writer for what the characters say.  So how, if I am dead, can I be writing this story you ask? Well, let me tell you.1

Growing up, my father was a strict military man.  He disciplined us harshly, but never once laid a hand on us.  We were all terrified of him, but it was mostly the impression he had on us.  My father was a man of full height, 6’3.  He was built like a rock.  We were all scared of him, but loved him nonetheless.  We all lived cozy under a roof in Downtown, Manhattan.  “Us” being my mother, two smaller sisters, and myself, including my father.  2

We all had jobs in the house, which we alternated monthly.  You always did your chores; there was never a question about it.  My chore of the month was the dished.  I remember one day in the summer, when it was sweltering hot outside, all my friends were out swimming, and I was stuck doing – yup, u guessed it – dished.  I guess I was daydreaming, because somewhere along the line, I dropped a cup and broke it.  One of my mother’s good cups.  It roused me out of my daydreams, and I shrieked as I saw my own blood on my foot, dripping from the deep gash in my knee.  Good thing no one was home, I am a pretty loud yeller.  The sight of blood simply terrifies me.  Panic soon overtook me.  What was I going to do? It was one of the good cups! The best we had! I had to hide it.  Ignoring the blood that was now dripping onto the floor, I rushed to the trash, and thrusted the pieces I could gather as deep into the trash as I could.  I stood up, and sighed, pacing back and forth between the steps and the kitchen floor.  Then, with sudden fear, I stopped pacing.  It was Monday! Trash day wouldn’t come for two more days! What if someone found it?3

“No, that’s not possible,” I murmured aloud to myself.  4

“What’s not possible?” I heard a man’s voice say behind me.  5

*Fear of the truth*6

Sudden fear gripped my chest, as I turned around and started straight into my father’s eyes.  They were curious, but not angry.  At least not yet.  Should I tell him? Or should I leave it hidden, and hope no one would find it?  A battle of on-going questions raged inside my head as I stood there, in my purple tank top, jean shorts, with blood dripping from my knee, to my foot, and finally to a small puddle on the tile floor.  My father looked at me with very curious eyes, and his eyebrows raised.7

“What’s not possible?” He asked again, this time getting a little impatient.  I made a quick decision not to tell him anything.  8

“I was saying that it wasn’t possible for me to fall, and cut my knee like I had.  If Beth Anne had been here, or worse, Johnny, It wouldn’t have been possible for me to look them both in the eye again.  They would say I was a clumsy fool,” I stated, amazed at how quickly the lie came to me.  I almost never lied.  9

Beth Anne was my best friend in the entire world.  We had almost everything in common.  We had both detested guys in 6th grade, both gotten our periods in 7th, and had a crush on the same guy in 8th.  The only thing we didn’t have in common was our looks.  She was always pretty, and big chested with long blond hair and blue eyes.  I was a stick.  Flat, brown hair, and dark eyes.  We were total opposites, but we still were friends.  We made a promise to never let any guy come between our friendship.  Lately things have been going great, but then Johnny came along.  10

I almost sighed audibly as all these memories floated to me in an instant, under my fathers piercing gaze.  Johnny is the sweetest, cutest boy I have ever known, in the two years I’ve been at St. Oak’s High School.  It seems to most that he has always had an eye on Beth Anne, but I don’t think that’s the entire story.   11

“Well,” My dad said, “Good thing they weren’t.”  He understood my thinking, to a point.  I knew it was a very logical lie, if one cares to call a lie “logical”.  My father was one of my only confidants, for I had never been popular.   Sure, I had Beth Anne, but I could only talk to her about some things.  12

*The Discovery*13

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said, while nodding his head.  We were surely a sight to see.  The giant, my father, and me, standing there with slowly drying blood still dripping down my leg.  14

Well, to make a long story short, I got cleaned up, and the incident left my mind.  On Friday, my father called me to his room, and handed me the pieces of the cup, and told me to explain myself.  I stared at the pieces in my hand, then at the cut in my knee, which was healing nicely.  With tears streaming down my face, I told him the entire story.  He sent me to my room, telling me to think about what I’ve done.  I know a lot of parents say that, but when my dad says it, he means it.  Especially when it’s said to a high school student.  He came in later, and gave me an almost two hours speech on honesty and truth, and let’s just say, I felt his words.  15

My life moved on, I went out with Johnny, and we officially became a couple.  Beth Anne was crushed, and stopped speaking to me.  So I met other friends, moved on.  I was totally and completely in love with Johnny, and he was as much in love with me.  We were inseparable.  He had had a lot of problems in his life.  His mother had left at a young age, and his alcoholic father raised him.  But still, he always managed to get happy about the little things.  But you see had had this little….problem, for lack of better words.  He had a dark side, a side no one understood about him.  I doubt it if anyone ever saw it anyways, besides me.  But slowly and slowly, I fell in love with Johnny.  We went everywhere, and did everything together.  We were totally and completely in love.  He was a junior, and I was a sophomore.  We spent every minute we could together.  But during his senior year, things started to change.  16

*The Beginning of the End*17

He met new friends, and started hanging out with a new crowd.  We still hung out some, so I wasn’t worried as much.  But it would still get to me.  Every night I would soak in the bath, trying to let all of my problems just soak off me, until my father would bang on the bathroom door, screaming about how in the military they didn’t have the luxury to get hour long boiling baths.  They took Ten-minute cold showers.  So I obeyed him, and day after day, things got progressively worse.  I started hanging out with my old friends again, the ones I had left behind when Johnny had become my only life.  They were hurt, and a little angry at me I could tell, but time healed that.  Everyone welcomed me back with open arms.  Except for Beth Anne that is.  My best friend was no longer even a friend.  I still couldn’t even grasp that thought.  Well, at least that hadn’t changed. 18

But everything else had.  Johnny started hanging out with other girls, and I became more and more depressed watching him with other people, other girls, and not me.  Didn’t he love me? I had to find out.  I called him, and we made a date for Friday night.  He was, after all, still my boyfriend, and I loved him more than I thought I knew how.  Maybe that was the problem.  19

Friday afternoon, I started getting nervous.  I instantly mentally kicked myself.  This was Johnny I was talking about, the guy I had been dating for over 2 years!  Not some blind random date.  I started the bath water, and got in.  Halfway through my bath, the phone rang.  I quickly jumped out, dried off, and picked up the phone after three rings.  20

“Hello?” I answered hesitantly.  21

“Iz Maarry Der?” Someone’s voice slurred over the phone.  22

I recognized it instantly as Johnny’s, and I knew he was drunk as anything.  I heard music in the background, and a lot of voices, so I knew he wasn’t alone.  23

He had called me to cancel, and his excuse? It was that he was sick.  I knew in a second it was a straight off lie, something we never did.  If he was sick, it was only because he had drank too much.  As soon as he said it, some girls yelled in the background.  24

“Come on Johnny! Come Play!” one girl yelled sweetly in the background.  I realized he must be as Ishakabibble’s – a place to play pool, a restaurant, and also a local hangout.  I hung up the phone, and went back to the bathroom, totally defeated.  25

*Not Real*26

The next few days were a complete blur to me.  I went through all the normal routines of my life – school, homework, and soccer practice.  I did everything normally, but I was a zombie.  Nothing mattered to me.  One day, I began composing a letter – a suicide letter – for everyone.  I spent all day going over the words.  When I got home, I booted up my computer, listening to it hum and whirr.  The letter, which had been running through my mind all day, flowed through my fingers into my keyboard, and in no time, was done and printed.  27

*The Letter*28

The question was, where would I put it?  My mind was made up, this was my decision, and there was no turning back.  I picked up and set down the letter several times, finally deciding to leave it in the printer tray.  I ventured down the stairs, thankful for the empty house.    No father, mother, or sisters.29

“Thank somebody” I said aloud, because I no longer believed in God.  I had always been a devout catholic,  but lately, there was no help for me.  God had not come, and I was forgotten.  30

I glanced around, noticing the variations of sharp objects in my kitchen.  I casually selected one, and without further thought, stabbed it at my wrist, and pulled downwards. Everything flashed before me.  Johnny, Beth Anne, my father, my mother, my sisters, and all my friends.  I fell to the floor.31

*The Recovery*32

When I awoke, there was such a blinding light that I had to shut my eyes almost as quickly as I had opened them.  They gradually got used to the light, and I realized where I was.  33

A nurse came in, and it finally hit me.  Why wasn’t I dead? Why was I in the hospital? Couldn’t God at least allow me the privilege to be dead, if He wouldn’t give me anything else?34

*Unsure of the End*35

I started crying as she explained that Janie – my youngest sister, had come home from her friend’s house, and in a panic had called 911.  She also said that I had been clinically dead for 45 seconds.  In one moment, I hated my sister for saving me, loved her for what she did, I hated the world, I had no self-control, and jealousy overtook me.  All of these emotions in a split second.  I blinked my eyes, realizing the nurse was still talking.  36

“…slit wrists…rehabilitation…medication….help….counseling in the future….”  I could barely comprehend it all.  She started asking me questions.   Would I want to get better? If not for myself, then for someone else?  That’s what she asked me.  I glanced around the hospital room, at the flowers and pictures people had brought me, and I honestly couldn’t answer her.  37