I drove to school the next morning not looking forward to the day at all. I tried to focus as my car was on the overpasses, careful not to drive off of it. It would be so easy. It would be quick. The ground had to be at least 20 feet below. I could make it all stop now if I didn’t turn the wheel at all, if I kept my foot on the gas. It could look like an accident. But, Patrick would probably figure it out. I tightened my jaw and I steered my car and tapped its brake properly along the curve.
I dreaded walking into Mr. D’s classroom the next morning. I didn’t know what to say or how to act in front of him now. I wanted to ditch class and not deal with it at all. But there were a few problems to that—1. Where would I go? It wasn’t like I had any place to go. Driving around all day didn’t seem like the wise thing to do, given my current frame of mind. 2. I’d likely get caught in the attempt, which would make problem 1 pointless. 3. Mr. D would probably think the worst. Although, I was pretty sure that Patrick would have talked to him already. He would still probably freak out thinking that I killed myself Sunday night instead of Saturday. And lastly, number 4, Patrick would probably freak out too, thinking the same thing. I didn’t want to happen.
No. I had to go to physics, to school. That much I knew. This is why I didn’t like people knowing my business! I didn’t know how to act. Now, I definitely wasn’t invisible. I was really self-conscious. What did they expect from me? What version of me did they need to see? I didn’t have it in me to be perky, that was never me anyway. Did I have it in me to be…well, normal? Normal for me, at least? I wasn’t certain. It took so much just to hold myself together and get through getting up. I didn’t know if I had the energy for it. I felt like I barely had the control to steer the car correctly on the curves.
I sat in my parked car in the school lot. I tried to muster the power to get out and go to class. Maybe I could just recline the seat back and lie there, hiding. I contemplated my options, or lack thereof, trying to talk myself into moving. I banged my head against the back of the headrest when my cell phone rang. Who the heck would be calling me at…7:15 in the morning? It was 7:15?! The first bell was going to ring in five minutes.
First period would start at 7:25. I didn’t remember the last time I wasn’t already on campus by this time, I guess I had been sitting my car for over 20 minutes and didn’t realize it. Now, that’s procrastination.
My phone rang again. It still startled me. I looked at the caller ID and it was Patrick.
“Hi.” I answered. I was so exhausted even though the day had just begun.
“Liz? You okay?” He sounded worried.
Okay is a relative term. Okay, compared to… Being in class? Auditions on Friday? The carnival? After the carnival? Yesterday?
“Liz? Where are you?” There was urgency and anxiety in his voice. I guess I waited to long to answer.
“Sorry.” My feeble attempt of an apology. “In the parking lot.” I exhaled deeply.
“You sound…” He started to say, but seemed to change his mind. “Are you okay?” He asked again.
I tried to dodge the question. “I didn’t realize I was running late.” I had to go to class or Patrick was libel to ditch class himself to make sure I was okay. Or worse… Mr. D would notify the school or my parents. Agh. No, that can’t happen. “I’ll be right there.” I took a deep breath and headed to class.
This didn’t mean that I was ready to face Mr. D or knew what I was going to do. It only meant I couldn’t not go to class. The alternative was worse.
I felt my pace slow even further as I walked deeper onto campus. My temples started to throb. I pulled my hair out of the pony tail that it was in. I felt a little better, releasing the tension of my hair. I ran my hands through my hair, letting it fall over my face. The first bell had rung and my pace didn’t change. I approached the 300 building, which housed the science classrooms and was even more afraid to go to class. Well, afraid to face Mr. D.
And there he was. Standing at the classroom door. Great. Mr. D had to pick today to stand at the door and say hi, a ritual he did at least once a week, sometimes more. He said it was his way to say hi and chat a little with all his students. Perfect. I should have known he’d do this today—after I hung up on him. There was no avoiding him. Maybe this was my subconscious reason for stalling in the car. The closer it came to the bell ringing, the less time he’d have to just chat.
I reached the door. “Good morning, Liz.” He greeted me as he did all the other times before, but there was something searching in his eyes.
I couldn’t look at him anymore. I stared at the ground and mumbled. “Morning.”
“Wait.” He rushed to say. I paused a moment. I couldn’t help it. Respect for elders was an automatic response for me. “How are you doing?” I knew he was asking me more than the question usually meant.
I froze, shoulders slumped and aching to get to my seat and have this day over. “I’m here.” I whispered.
“I’m glad.” He sounded so sincere. He wasn’t just saying it to be nice. I allowed my eyes to glance up at him without moving my head. I saw him smiling softly as if to say things would get better.
Usually, science class sped by, today it crawled. Even though I could hear Mr. D helping other groups around the classroom, I felt his eyes burning into the back of my head. Between worrying about Mr. D watching me, my head swirling and still not exactly being in the best of places, mentally, I wasn’t much of a lab partner. If Patrick asked me something, I’d answer. But it would take me a while to respond. He was patient and didn’t push. I was glad, I didn’t want to feel like I had to be defensive around him.
Mr. D stopped by our desk to check on our progress. I still couldn’t look at him. I stared at my work. “How’s it going?”
“We’re almost done.” Patrick told him when I didn’t say anything.
Mr. D squatted down to look at me at my level. It was really hard to avoid him now. He talked in a low voice that only Patrick and I could hear, “Liz, if you ever need to talk…I’m always willing to listen. Or…” He pulled a card out of his shirt pocket and placed it in front of me. “You can talk to them. I just want you to talk to someone. I don’t want you to do…” He looked up and scanned the classroom to make sure no one could hear. “Do anything rash.”
I felt my face flash hot and my stomach twist. I didn’t really care what my skin color was. I always thought of it as having a year-round tan, a deep tan. I never thought skin color defined me or anyone. But it was times like this where I was glad that my skin had a lot of pigmentation, you couldn’t tell when the blood rushed to my face.
I knew he was worried, probably more so than my parents would be, not that I wanted to test that theory. I stared at the card and nodded slowly. “Thanks.” I whispered.
Staring at the words on the card Suicide Hotline made the reality sink in on how close I was to that precipice. I felt every muscle in my body tighten. I could see that Patrick noticed because his body weight shifted in his chair and inched closer to me. His head snapped in Mr. D’s direction.
Mr. D spoke again with a little nervousness in his voice. “I’m sorry, Liz. I didn’t mean to upset or push you. I just want to make sure that you’re okay. Whatever you need. I’m here to help.”
I slowly lifted my gaze to him. I tried to sound normal or at least detach myself from the moment. “I know. Thanks.” I sounded robotic. “Sorry I hung up on you.” There was no point to explaining why I did it. He knew. They both did.
The façade that I had put on to appear that everything was fine, even though I knew I wasn’t really fooling Patrick, had shattered when Mr. D handed me that card. I felt myself falling again. But I was at school. School was supposed to be safe, my refuge. I didn’t want to feel this way here—in the middle of class. I needed to snap out of it. I knew I had to, but I felt the whirlpool swarming around me. My hands balled up into fists as if that would literally help me get a grip.
Patrick had to sense the chan
ge in my demeanor. “Hey, you’re okay. I’m here. You’re here. That’s good.”
I took a long deep breath. I looked at the hopeful smile on his face. Patrick, the optimist. I could feel the current of my depression start to wane a little. He was right. Baby steps. I was here, I made it through the weekend. I would take what I could get. I could get through the rest of the period. The day would be a different type of survival though. I wouldn’t have to face Mr. D. I counted on being numb to get me through. Yes, that should help me muddle through each class.