The next few months passed like birds, flying around my head and into the sky, leaving nothing behind but clouded memories and whispered words. I hardly recognized the faces that watched me while I lay in the hospital, and I don’t think they recognized me either. I heard them say “I never saw it coming”, or “What was she thinking?”, and I’m glad I was covered with tubes and unable to speak, or I would have been forced to come up with an answer I didn’t have. The reality is, in life you don’t see it coming and you don’t always know what you’re thinking, much less why you’re thinking it.
Soon after I was able to walk, I received a letter that marked my life forever.
The court date was scheduled for August, the 14th, and I was under house arrest until the proceedings. The charges were attempted murder. Of myself. I’d never realized it was illegal to commit suicide, but my mind was in such a state that I wasn’t shocked. My family was horrified, and my apathy only made that worse. If I could have thought clearer, then maybe I would have cared, but all that I could process were strings of words and lonely sentences that left and never came back.
The morning before the court gave its verdict, I lay in bed, unable to sleep, with Johnny Cash playing on my old stereo. Pale blue light filled my room, thick like the blankets over my legs. My window was open, letting the mist curl my hair into short, dark ringlets.
I hadn’t left my house in ages it seemed, but I really didn’t mind. Seeing the same four walls every day made it easier for me to numb the pain and ignore the questions that screamed in my mind when I least expected them. They got louder when it was silent, so I always had music playing, often the same tracks, repeating themselves over and over, comforting me and ushering me into the few minutes of untroubled sleep I could manage. Another song mingled with the one playing on my stereo. My mind tried to put them together and they made a sort of gross, sugary melody that made me smile. I checked my cell phone; it was Sherry. “Put on a sweater and come out, I’m waiting for you.”
I jumped out of bed and grabbed a sweater, then ran down the stairs and out of my house. There she was, I hadn’t seen her since the year before. School had taken her away from me, making my life all the more miserable. The last time I’d talked to her was the night I tried to kill myself, she had begged me to not give up. I ran into her and she held me. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I had to.” I sobbed. “Hush.” Her voice was calming to me. After a few minutes she opened the car door and we left. I held her hand and when we’d passed the boundary, the thick black band on my ankle started to beep. She drove me to an open field and we walked into the middle of it. “There, Natalie. Do you see the sun?” “Yeah.” I answered, looking at the gold gleaming out from over the horizon. It changed the sky from faded indigo to a brighter blue. “Do you see the flowers?” She asked. I answered again and felt the purple and red wildflowers around my feet. “Good.” She finished. That was all she said that morning, and when a police drove up behind us, she walked me to the car and never let go of my hand until I was off, looking behind me at her black outline, surrounded by the bright, enormous sun.
