When Reason Breaks (22 page)

“Damn,” she says. “I look like shit.” She takes the bottle of pills with her.

She leaves the bathroom and pauses at her sister's bedroom door. Lily must be exhausted. She often wakes up early, even on weekends, but last night was a late one for everyone. Mom ordered Lily to bed at some point but was too busy arguing with Elizabeth to know whether Lily obeyed. When Elizabeth stormed out of the living room, she found Lily sitting on the stairs, her hands over her ears and tears in her eyes. Her mom was right behind Elizabeth, so she escorted Lily upstairs.

“I love you. I'm sorry,” Elizabeth says softly before heading downstairs.

She leaves a note on the fridge and heads outside with more than enough time to get to the woods. That's where she'll go. She walks unhurriedly and considers which route to take. Her town is eerily quiet. Few cars pass her and she sees only one other person walking in the distance: a girl in jeans, a white coat, and knee-high white boots. Elizabeth doesn't recognize her. She's too far away and her hood is up, hiding her face.

The only students headed to school today are the detention delinquents and the drama geeks who will show up super
early to prepare for the matinee of whatever they're performing. If this girl is going to school, then she's taking the shortest route. She must be a drama student. The delinquents are never eager to attend detention.

Elizabeth checks her watch. She's got plenty of time. She turns away from the girl walking in the distance and decides to take the long way.

Ms. Diaz arrives at school with five minutes to spare. After getting out of the car, she walks to the school's side door entrance.

Locked.

“Come on,” she mutters. As she walks around the perimeter of the school to the front entrance, she says, “It's going to be one of those days.”

Ms. Diaz enters the school and spots a few students in the lobby, waiting to sign in for Saturday detention. Elizabeth isn't there like she should be. After yesterday's events, Ms. Gilbert spoke to Emily and Elizabeth at length. Emily will be out of school for a few days, and Elizabeth went home after receiving her punishment.

Ms. Diaz glances at her watch and speed walks to her classroom to grab a stack of papers to grade during detention. When she walks into the room, she hears the crunching sound of paper under her boots. A letter was slipped under the door, along with a larger manila envelope. The last letter she received was before the holiday break.

She picks them up. “Read First” is written across the front of the letter. “Read Second” is written on the larger envelope. She walks across the room and puts her bag, keys, and the larger envelope on top of her desk. She rips open the first envelope, pulls out the letter, and reads.

3/7

Dear Ms. Diaz
,

First, I want to say thanks for letting me write to you and for listening to me this way. I know it may have been weird, but having you as a silent audience has been helpful and comforting at times. I should have written to you more. Maybe it would have helped. But, it's too late for maybes and what-ifs
.

On the first day of school, you asked about where we dwell—how we navigate the world. Do you remember that? I told you then I didn't think I was succeeding at figuring things out. Yesterday, everything became clear, and once that happened, I knew exactly what I needed to do
.

You said in the spring we'd go deep into the nearby woods to write poetry. I've been there; it's beautiful. I've also been reading Emily Dickinson's poetry and about her life. She has a poem that starts, “This World is not Conclusion.” I agree. I believe there's more for us beyond this life, and I hope it's a tranquil, forgiving place
.

I need peace, and I'm not willing to wait any longer
.

I'll be in the woods. I'm letting you know because I want to be found sooner rather than later, for my family's sake. My death will be painful enough for them. I don't want to be discovered weeks or months later when I'm a rotting corpse. This way, you'll find me sleeping, my spirit freed
.

Ms. Diaz's shaking hands drop the letter on the floor. She pivots and runs full speed across the classroom, down a short maze of hallways, and through a set of double doors that lead to the grass field. She starts to dart across the field to the wooded area when she hears her name called.

She turns around and stops in her tracks at once. The move—coupled with the shock racing through her system—almost sends her tumbling to the ground. She's stunned to see Elizabeth nearing the double doors.

Ms. Diaz runs back and grabs Elizabeth by the shoulders.

“What are you doing here?” she demands.

“My punishment starts today,” Elizabeth says, shrugging out of Ms. Diaz's grasp. “I was going to skip it, but then I remembered that I promised you I'd show up no matter what.”

“Where are you coming from?”

“Home. Where else would I be coming from? Well, jail, I suppose, but they only gave me a ticket, which I think is technically an arrest, but there were no handcuffs or anything. And I've got the suspension and mandatory counseling with the school psychologist. No more chitchats with Ms. Gilbert.”

Ms. Diaz stares at the rambling girl and starts to walk backward.

“No. No. No,” she says, shaking her head. “Oh my God. It's someone else.”

“What? Ms. D, are you okay?”

“No,” she says. She shoves her hand inside her vest pocket, walks forward again, and presses her cell phone into Elizabeth's hand. With her other hand, Ms. Diaz pulls Elizabeth close by the collar.

“Listen to me. Call nine-one-one. Tell them we need an ambulance. Send them to the clearing in the woods. Tell them a student is committing suicide. I'm not sure how.”

“What?”

“Call nine-one-one! Do it now!” Ms. Diaz yells and then runs as fast as her legs and heart allow.

Ms. Diaz tears across the partially snow-covered grass. Her body moves instinctively, propelled by adrenaline and fear and a desperate need to defy space and time.
I need to run faster. Go faster. Why do the woods seem so far away?

Elizabeth stands in shock, watching Ms. Diaz race toward the trees. Did she hear her right? She stares at the cell phone in her hand. When the words register, she dials nine-one-one, presses the phone to her ear, and clears her throat. After a single ring, she starts to panic.
Come on, come on, come on, answer the fucking phone!

“Nine-one-one. What's your emergency?”

“A student is committing suicide in the woods near the high school. We need an ambulance. Please hurry.”

“What's your name?”

“Elizabeth Davis. Please hurry.”

“How old are you, Elizabeth?”

“Sixteen. You need to send an ambulance!”

“The ambulance has already been dispatched, Elizabeth. Please stay on the line and try to answer my questions.”

“Okay,” Elizabeth says shakily. She looks behind her. She's near the door, but if she goes inside, she might lose cell service.
Should I go to the woods, too?
Maybe what she sees will help the operator. She spins around slowly in a circle. No one else is outside. Tears spill down her face.

“Elizabeth, who is in the woods?”

“A student from the high school,” she says, choking back tears.

“What's the student's name?”

“I don't know. I just know someone's there.”

“How do you know?”

“My teacher told me someone's there and to call nine-one-one. I don't know anything else,” Elizabeth says. She tears off her scarf and unzips her jacket. She bends at the waist and puts one hand across her stomach. Whoever is out there is hurt. Maybe screaming and crying for help. Dying. And no one can hear. Elizabeth knows. No one heard when she fell from the tree. She's sobbing, holding the bottom of the phone back to spare the operator her tear-filled, choking sounds.

“You're doing great, Elizabeth. Stay with me.”

Elizabeth moves her free hand from her stomach to her mouth in an attempt to trap the noises fighting to get out of
her. She looks up and sees Ms. Diaz getting smaller as she moves farther from school and closer to the woods.
I can do this. I have to do this. I'm the only one here. Ms. Diaz is counting on me. Whoever is out there is counting on me
. Elizabeth stands up and wipes her eyes and nose with the back of her hand.

“Are you with me, Elizabeth?” the operator asks.

“I'm here,” she says shakily.

“Good. What's your teacher's name?”

“Ms. Diaz. She teaches at the high school. Somehow she knows someone's there. I don't know how.”

“Where is your teacher now?”

“She's running into the woods,” Elizabeth says as Ms. Diaz disappears into the mass of brown trunks.

Ms. Diaz hops over stumps and clears away branches with her hands. She feels a sting across her cheek, another across her forehead—scratches from branches she couldn't deflect in time. Still, she runs. Her legs pump. Her heart races. Her lungs ache from running in the cold. She runs and prays:
Keep going … faster … faster … Please let me reach her in time … Please God, don't take her … Not now …

She reaches the clearing, the place where a few trees didn't grow and a person can lie down comfortably. And there she is on her back, her right arm extended, a few inches away from her body, her palm up, her fingers curled. A water bottle lies on its side not far from her hand. Her left arm is closer to her body. She wears jeans tucked into knee-high, white winter boots and a puffy white coat, zipped to the top.
The hood is up, the strings pulled tight, to fight off the cold as she dies.

Ms. Diaz pauses for a second and whispers, “Emily.” She races to the girl's side and falls to her knees. She unties the strings and pushes the hood back to get a full look at her face. She's pale but not entirely colorless. Her hair is brushed straight back, pulled into a small ponytail that sits at the base of her neck.

Ms. Diaz bends over, scoops her arm under the girl's shoulders, and lifts her a little. She screams: “Emily! Emily! Wake up! Wake up! Emily! No!”

At the same time, she checks for signs of life: breath, a pulse, a response to the screaming. She unzips the coat halfway and places her hand on Emily's throat. She thinks she can feel a weak throbbing. Emily's eyes are closed. She's not completely cold, not completely warm. There's no blood seeping through her coat or clothes. Death is claiming her from the inside. Ms. Diaz doesn't know how to stop it.

She can only do what she's seen people do on TV and in movies. She isn't sure if it'll help, but it's all she can do. She draws in a deep breath, tilts Emily's head back, pinches her nose, and places her mouth over the girl's. She exhales, pushing air hard into Emily's lungs. Her upper body moves a bit. Ms. Diaz does it again and again and again and again.

Sirens scream in the background, getting louder as they get closer.
They're almost here
. Ms. Diaz continues to breathe into Emily. Feet pound the earth, but it can't be the paramedics yet. Elizabeth races through the trees and into the clearing.

“No, Elizabeth, go back. You shouldn't see this.”

“Oh my God,” Elizabeth says and covers her mouth.

“Go back!”

Elizabeth kneels on the other side of Emily and takes over breathing into her, not waiting for Ms. Diaz's permission. They take turns. One breathes … in and out … again and again … while the other one prays.
Please, God, let this work
.

They hear voices and boots breaking branches as they tear through the woods. “They're here,” Elizabeth says. She stands and yells, “We're over here! We're over here!”

Ms. Diaz hears their voices, but not the individual words. She's focused on breathing … in and out … again and again. Strong hands easily lift her from under her arms and place her to the side, a few feet away, so the paramedics can get to Emily.

Ms. Diaz rolls on her back and unzips her vest. She massages her throat and chest with one hand and clutches the earth with the other. Her lungs ache and allow only short, rapid breaths. The cool air fuels the burn in her throat and chest. Her head throbs and her heart pounds. She pulls at her turtleneck. She's sweating and wants to rip it off, to stop it from strangling her.

Someone yells, “Are you okay?” After a few times, Ms. Diaz realizes one of the paramedics is talking to her. She nods yes. When he asks, “Are you sure?” she insists, “Yes, I'm fine. Don't worry about me.”

Elizabeth kneels next to Ms. Diaz and holds her hand.

Emily is moved this way and that. Her coat is gone and
parts of her white sweater are cut open. There are tubes and bags and needles. At one point, she's rolled on her side so they can slide a board beneath her.

As Emily is turned, she faces Ms. Diaz and Elizabeth. A tube sticks out of her mouth. Strands of hair have escaped from the ponytail and fallen on her pale, bruised cheek. Elizabeth wants to reach out and circle the strands behind the girl's ear. Emily's amber-flecked brown eyes are partially open, but Elizabeth can't tell if they continue to see.

And then, in an instant, she's gone—hoisted in the air and carried away.

In the back of the ambulance, the paramedics work on Emily. Every second matters. They poke and prod her, shine a light in her eyes, and monitor her weak heartbeat. They force air into her lungs and liquid into her veins. They keep in touch with the hospital. When they arrive, Emily is passed to another crew of workers. Her stomach is pumped, but some of the poison has already seeped into her system. Not enough, though. She will survive. Her parents are called. They're on their way.

Time seems to pass at a brutally slow pace as Emily sleeps in a bed in the intensive care unit.