Are You Still There (27 page)

Stranger's Manifesto

Entry 25

Pain.

It hurts.

I hurt
.

From the center of my soul.

I'm a piece of shit.

A disgusting piece of shit.

There's a blackness leaking through my veins,

Infecting every part of me,

Pumping through my body

Like my heart is some kind of evil machine.

And it hurts.

I can't make it go away. The pain.

Nothing helps.

I can't survive like this much longer.

I'll do
anything
to make it go away.

41

EARLY MARCH

Simon is alive.

He held my sister hostage, the lunatic. He deserves to be dead.

But he also whispered in her ear. He told her he wouldn't hurt her. That she should close her eyes and she wouldn't see anything. That he was sorry, but this is what he had to do. That he didn't see any other way.

Sharpshooters are trained to kill.

But Dad is the boss. He got my text, and he'd been compiling and analyzing Simon's profile since day one. His gut feeling told him that I was right. This was Simon's very public attempt at a suicide by cop. But it was
his
daughter up there with a gun to her head. Could he take a chance that he was wrong?

Simon was shot four times within two seconds. One shot to each hand, one shot to each kneecap. Zero shots to the heart, brain, or stomach.

So he's alive. Probably wishes he's dead. But he's alive.

When they search his locker, they find a package on his neatly made bed. It's wrapped up with a bow. At first the bomb squad is called in to open it. But it's just a bunch of papers. Titled “Stranger's Manifesto (As If You Care).” It's a whole bunch of journal entries he'd written like free-form poems. Based on what Dad tells me about them, I think they were Simon's attempt to explain himself. The newspapers are saying he had a God complex. They interview some top psychologists who talk about sociopathology and narcissism and the desperation of our youth.

I collect everything. I read it once, and then I put it away in my own little box at the back of my closet. I know my parents will think I'm obsessed if they see it. But I don't ever want to forget what happened. I figure if I keep these things in a box, then I can look at them when I want to remember and allow myself to forget about it the rest of the time.

Dad brings home a copy of the last journal entry in the Manifesto. It pisses me off.

I've read all the stories, you know.

Same as you.

About school shootings and school violence.

And it makes me want to puke my guts out.

Same as you.

I am not
that
guy. I hate that guy. I want that guy to rot in hell.

That guy is the worst piece of shit bully there is.

I just wanted to catch your attention,

And I did, didn't I?

But no one would have ever been hurt

By my hand.

I promise.

By the time you read this I will be dead.

I don't apologize for scaring everyone.

No offense.

It was the only way to make people sit up

And notice.

I take offense. I take a lot of offense.

I feel sorry for Simon and I'm glad he's not dead, but I take a hell of a lot of offense about the whole thing. He deserves to be locked up for a long time. Maybe forever. The district attorney just announced he plans to try him as an adult.

Because Simon, for all his earth-shattering IQ scores, is a complete idiot. There are a hundred million better ways to make a change in school culture besides terrorizing everyone. Or trying to get your brains blown out in front of a thousand people. Now he's going to spend his life in jail, instead of trying to make a difference in a way that might really matter.

What a waste.

42

APRIL

Our helpline is expanding. Paisley wrote a grant, and we got funding to buy equipment for satellite “texters.” Those of us who are graduating this year can continue to support the Line in this way … from our homes and dorm rooms. Next year we'll be able to extend our hours. Janae and I are working on a “policies and procedures” manual to pass on to next year's recruits. Meanwhile, I'm enjoying the shifts. This one's almost over.

Ping!
It's my 8:55 friend.
Are you still there?

I'm here.

Nothing.

Next year we'll extend our hours, but for now we're here every night from four to nine.

Nothing.

If you like to chat late, I bet there are people you can reach out to. In previous texts you said you thought you were losing your best friend. Why don't you text her right now? Maybe you can reconnect.

Nothing.

A few minutes later I'm walking out after my shift, and my cell phone buzzes in my pocket. I take a peek. I knew it.
Hey Gabi! Are you there?

Beth! I'm so glad you messaged me. I've been missing you. Physics is kicking my butt. I need a study partner.

Me too. Want to come over on Thursday to cram for the test?

Sure.

“Dad?” I'm waiting up for him when he gets home.

“Yeah,” he answers, making a beeline for the chips and salsa.

I've got to come clean. Deep breath. “I know the combination to your safe.”

He rips open the bag with his teeth and barely looks up. “I know.”

“You do?”

His mouth is full. “Yeah.”

“Oh.” I run this over in my head for a while, and I wonder if Dad left those playing cards there on purpose for me to read. I must look totally confused, because he shoves another chip in his mouth and gives me a big wink.

43

“At least it's within driving distance,” I tell Miguel. We're sitting on the sand at the beach, hip to hip, and I'm burying my feet under the warm grains.

Miguel nods, but he keeps his face forward, looking at the waves rolling in, one after another, crashing on the shore.

“And you can transfer there after you get your AA if you want,” I point out for the tenth time. I got in to UCLA, early admission. I posted my acceptance letter in the center of my ceiling, so I can look at it while I fall asleep. Mom has been surprisingly supportive.

He nods again. “You've mentioned that.” He keeps his eyes away from mine, and it worries me.

I am so ready to be done with high school. And to move out of my house. And move on to college.

I am so
not
ready to leave Miguel. Or Chloe.

I watch the waves for a while, loving how the rushing of the waves fills our ears and makes it easier to sit without talking. I'll start at UCLA as an undeclared, but I'm thinking of majoring in social psychology. Something about psychology tugs on me. I want to understand people. Why people do what they do. Plus I hear UCLA runs its own crisis phone line. I just might apply.

I lean into Miguel, resting my head on his collarbone. “Are you sad?”

“Why would I be
sad?”
There's a challenging tone to his voice. “You're going to college. It's what you want.” He sounds mad, almost.

I lift my head up. “Are you pissed?”

“Pissed?” And suddenly I can hear humor creep into his voice, way down, like he's trying to swallow it. He answers me with a thick accent. “I am not familiar with that term. I do not need to take a piss.”

I sock him in the arm, hard. “You're too much.”

“Too much? I am too much man for you?” He wraps his arm around my shoulder. “No such thing as too much.” And then he drops the accent. He says softly. “I'm just enough.” When he turns toward me, I see that his eyes are moist. He lowers me onto my back and kisses me. The grains of sand settle in around me, and I try not to think about how much of the beach I will take home in my hair. The sun beats down on us, but in a nice way, like a blanket.

He pulls away so that we're nose to nose. “And you are just enough. I love every inch of you.”

He kisses me again, deep and long, and suddenly I don't care about the sand in my hair. All I want is for this moment to last forever. His sweet taste in my mouth, his solid body pressed against mine, him wanting me. Loving me.

We'll stay together
, I promise myself. I know people say that all the time and don't stick with it.

But we will.

“Come here,” Chloe whispers when I walk up to the house. She's got that secretive I'm up-to-no-good look I know so well.

I brush the beach sand from in between my toes. “I've had enough trouble to last me ten years. Stay where you are.”

“I'm celebrating. I've been single for a whole month, and I'm loving it. Help me celebrate. It'll be fun,” she promises.

I love that she's single. It's so good for her.

“I hate fun,” I tell her, trying not to laugh at her shirt. It reads “Eff Ewe See Kay Owe Eff Eff.”

“It involves chocolate.”

“Now you've got me.”

She pulls me into the bathroom by the hand. “Feel like some secret chocolate consumption for old times' sake?”

“What the hell. I've broken just about every other rule in the book.”

“Can we agree this was a stupid rule?”

“Totally idiotic.”

She pulls out two hard See's Candies lollipops.

“I love these!” I squeal. “They last forever.”

“Exactly. Let's park it in the shower and suck down a lollipop.”

“Why not? The shower is the perfect place for a secret indulgence.”

We sit and suck, sharing ideas for my room decoration. The walls have been blank now for weeks, but I don't mind. It feels clean. Fresh. When inspiration hits, I'll recognize it. Then we sit and devour our lollipops, not really talking, but that's okay. Because the quiet lets me listen to all the sounds the house makes. The sounds that are comforting and familiar and all around us. The drip of the bathroom sink, the one Mom has been after Dad to replace forever. The shushing of water in the pipes, meaning Mom has a load of laundry running. The ticking of the clock in the hall. And footsteps. Footsteps coming closer.

Out of old habit, my heart rate accelerates. I hear the hand on the doorknob, the turning. Chloe and I freeze, our lollipops stuck in our mouths, our cheeks bulging.

“Girls? You in here?”

Chloe brings her finger to her lips in an exaggerated
shh
, but because her bulging cheek makes her look like she's got a tumor, I burst out laughing.

“We're here, Mom. Come on in,” I call, but the words come out all warbled because of the lollipop.

She pokes her head in, and I watch her face register what is happening here. And then she climbs in with us.

“Can I come in?” she asks, but she's already halfway in. “You don't have another one, do you?”

“Just so happens I do.” Chloe reaches into her back pocket and pulls out two more.

Mom accepts one and unwraps it slowly. Her knees are drawn up to her chest and suddenly she looks young, like her years have magically vanished. “I feel like we're sneaking a smoke.”

“A smoke?” Chloe clutches her heart all dramatic-like. “Mom, you never smoked!”

“Of course not.” Mom pulls the lollipop out of her mouth and stares at it. “And I never had sex either.”

It takes us a moment to get over the shock of her talking about sex, because aside from the save-yourself-for-marriage lecture she gave us in middle school, she never says that word. And then the ridiculousness of her statement hits us, and we laugh like we haven't laughed in years. So loud, in fact, that Dad comes into the bathroom and pokes his head in the shower. “Looks like I'm missing a party in here. Girls only?”

We invite him in, Chloe hands him the remaining lollipop, and we sit there sucking our lollipops, squished and uncomfortable with our legs folded in and up, but somehow it doesn't matter a bit.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thank you to the real Line, a crisis hotline where I worked as a “Listener” throughout college. I can't acknowledge my fellow Listeners by name due to our mutual pact to maintain confidentiality, but they know who they are. (You know who you are!) However, I'm not sure they're aware of what an impact they had on my life. Sure, I joined the Line to help other people. But the friendships, feeling of connection, and sense of purpose the Line gave me probably helped me at least as much as we helped our callers. I had spent the first year of college looking for my people, my family away from home. When I joined the Line, I knew I'd found them.

I'm no longer on a helpline, but I have my own personal Line—people who are there for me every day. My family. My husband, Rob, whom I love more every day. My kids, who make me laugh and cry and bring meaning to my life. My parents, in-laws, siblings. My wonderful circle of friends. (You know who you are!)

I would like to give a huge shout-out to all the unsung heroes working to make a difference in our schools and communities every day. You're largely under-recognized (and underpaid), but you shouldn't be! A special shout-out for the Hornets, Wolverines, Panthers, Comets … and for all the good work you're doing for your students! Thank you to the staff at VCOE, SELPA, VCBH, CLU Community Counseling Center, Casa Pacifica, Interface, Clinicas, Apiranet, and United Parents.

Thank you to the folks who helped bring this book from an idea to a reality—Wendy, Diane, Danielle, and Kristin for whipping this book into shape; Jordan and Ellen for making it visually appealing; Mike and Annette for your marketing manpower; and Deborah, Julie, and Lisa for helping to get this project off the ground.

RESOURCES

If you (or someone you know) are having thoughts of harming yourself or someone else, help is out there. You are not alone. See below for some resources: