Miss Me Not

I didn't open the book though. Instead, I allowed the events of the day to run through my mind like a filmstrip. Mitch's death played havoc with my mind as I morbidly wondered how he'd done it. I'd given suicide so much thought that I was convinced that an overdose was the only way to go. Donna would have had a fit if I would have made it messy, and I figured a clean death could be my last parting gift to her. Maybe then she'd finally forgive me for all my past sins. For a while, I'd entertained thoughts of doing it on the awful floral print sofa in the front room which would have been the ultimate exclamation point. Suddenly, it occurred to me that all my thoughts seemed to focus on how I would have done it, not how I was going to do it. The oddity of my thoughts truly puzzled me as I lied there contemplating it all. Strangely enough, what I think I felt was relief, but how is that possible? I was pissed this morning when Mitch ruined my plans, and now I'm relieved? Did that mean I never would have gone through with it? I was just a hack the whole time. A fraud.

Chapter Five

The next morning I still felt like a fraud. My epiphany didn't suddenly change my life so that now there would be birds chirping happily outside my window. The sun beams didn't beckon me to dance beneath them, and it certainly didn't change the limited greeting Donna gave me as I entered the kitchen and grabbed my typical breakfast from the refrigerator.

I returned her greeting with Coke in hand before sliding in my earbuds. The music drowned out all other noise, but I knew from past experience Donna had nothing else to say. I gathered up my backpack while Donna tossed away her empty yogurt container and placed her spoon in the dishwasher. We left the house together without a word and within a few minutes she pulled up in front of my school.

"Bye," I said, stowing my earbuds and iPod in my backpack as I climbed out of the car.

"Bye," she replied, picking up her phone as I closed the door. I watched her talking on the phone as she drove away. If I cared, I would have wondered who she talked to when she wasn't with me. I would have wondered if she ever laughed or even smiled at a witty comment, but I didn't care, so I didn't wonder.

First period was filled with note taking while we watched a movie on the reconstruction of Europe's ravaged cities after World War II. I doodled on my page, listening with half an ear. It wasn't just me. Most of the class whispered and texted each other throughout the movie. Mitch wasn't mentioned in the whispers, and no one uttered the word suicide the entire period. I wasn't surprised. People were fickle and attention spans were short. Today's juicy nugget was how some junior named Pam had gone down on two jocks behind the bleachers in the gym. Gossip was a weird beast. Everyone always scoffed at being labeled a "gossip," but they had no qualms about passing damaging information along, which is the ironic part. All the whispering, glaring, pointing and judging makes them no better than whoever or whatever it is they're gossiping about.

Before I put my foot down and stopped going to church, I'd seen gossip rear its ugly head many times. Religious people were big on saying the "tongue is a mighty weapon, so use it wisely," and then forsaking this claim when the music director slept with the minister's wife or when the youth minister did what he did. The plain and simple fact was everyone sinned. Either they were good at hiding their sins, or they weren't. I fell in the latter category. My sins had been featured front and center, on display for everyone to judge.

The rest of the morning passed much like first period had. No "Mitch" mentions, but tons of how wide Pam's mouth is. James was waiting for me outside the cafeteria when I joined him.

"Hey," I said, munching on the barbecue chips I'd bought from the vending machine.

"Hey," he said in a lackluster voice.

"Same old crap?" I asked, not needing to clarify.

"Yeah," he said, pulling up his sleeve to reveal a bruise in the shape of a handprint circling his wrist.

"Bastard."

He nodded, accepting the only form of sympathy I knew how to give.

"Just till grad," I said, attempting to be reassuring.

"I guess," he answered, pulling the sleeve of his hoodie back down to cover the mark. He stared off at nothing, lost in thought.

"You want to hang out after I get out of tutoring?"

"I thought that was a one-day thing?"

"Nah, Whore Cat is making me do it all week," I lied.

"Oh," he said, still distracted. "I can't come over anyway."

"You sure?" I asked.

"Too big of a risk. It's better if I just go home."

I didn't pry. I knew from personal experience that the last thing he needed was me nosing into his business. We spent the rest of lunch in silence. After awhile, he seemed to relax a little, and his shoulders didn't droop quite as much. Like I said, we were silent comforters.

"See you tomorrow," I said, slinging my backpack over my shoulder.

"See ya," he said, heading toward the science building.

My afternoon classes dragged after lunch, and I found myself watching the clock more than normal. It loathed me to admit that I was excited about tutoring. It was like someone had granted me an hour in Willy Wonka's Chocolate factory. It was wrong to think of it like that, but for the brief hour, I was allowing my feelings a pardon from the tight lockdown I normally kept them under. For one hour, I was going to let myself talk to someone in something other than one-word answers. For one hour, I was going to enjoy myself. I was going to be normal.

Dean was waiting for me at the same table as yesterday, only he was already sitting on the side we had shared.

"Hey, ready for some more World War II?" he teased.

"Uh, sure," I said with a mouth that felt like it was suddenly stuffed with peanut butter.