Flying High in Exaltation

I used to take pleasure in staring at the stars, but now I resent how I must look at them
each night. I tug absently at the cuffs around my wrist which are keeping me in bed. “Like it’s
any use anymore anyways,” I sigh. I look around my dark room at nothing in particular and then
rest my head back down facing the window. I can hear the AC unit humming lowly and my eyes
begin to flicker back to sleep.

Meanwhile

“It’s too dark out, I can’t even see the lock, Jillian,” a small, dark-haired girl snaps.
“Look, maybe we’ve been here too long and should just do it tomorrow night.” “We’re already
here, Kallie, just get your lock-pick ready and I’ll shine my phone light,” says the tall, blonde
girl crouched next to her on the front porch of a sleeping house. Kallie rolls her eyes and starts
at the lock again while Jillian gets her phone light out. She tugs her jacket closer to her body
against the wind, “Please, no rush or anything,” Jillian mutters under her breath.
The two girls unartfully manage to pick the front door’s lock and break in. As they enter,
they smirk at each other and then begin searching around for any expensive pieces they can
grab. As they sneak upstairs towards the bedrooms, Jillian trips into a small table set in the
hallway. A faux-glass flower vase clatters to the ground, spilling water onto the floor.
“Fucking hell, Jillian! You’re supposed to be the one who knows what they’re doing,”
Kallie whispers angrily. “Okay, okay…I just didn’t see it,” Jillian hushes as she steps over the
fallen vase.

A clattering from down the hall snaps me awake. “Hello?” I ask loudly as I begin to
strain at my shackled wrists again. “Hey, who’s there?”

The two girls freeze and look at each other. Kallie gestures at Jillian, raising her arms in
confusion at her and nodding towards the two doors at the end of the hall. Jillian shakes her
head and whispers sharply, “We need to go.”

If it was dad, he would have said something by now. He always comes and undoes my
restraints right when he gets home. “What should I do,” I whisper to myself. If it’s someone else,
even if they’re felons, this could be my only chance. “Hello,” I yell loudly. “Please, please help
I’m in here!”

The two girls stop arguing as they hear a boy call out again from down the hall. Kallie’s
jaw drops slightly, “Jillian, he sounds like he’s in trouble…” “No…I mean yes, but I really think
we should just go.” Kallie looks at Jillian for a moment then turns and sprints down the hall
towards the boy’s voice. “Stop,” Jillian pleads as she hurries after her and tries to grab her arm.
Kallie jerks away and grabs the door handle on the left.
 2

As muffled footsteps stop with a soft thud into my bedroom door, I begin kicking into my
bed trying to get more leverage against my restraints. I look up with wide eyes as the door
swings halfway open and a young girl with dark-colored hair squints back at me. Another,
significantly taller girl peeks into the room and pushes herself slightly in front of her.
I begin pleading, “Please, help me get out. I need to get out…I need to find my mother.” I
hadn’t noticed till that moment how long it had been since I’d spoken as my voice was hoarse
and strained. What should I do? They’re not saying anything— “Hey,” the taller girl says,
interjecting my thoughts and snapping me back to the present. “Who…what’s going on?”
The dark-haired girl hasn’t moved.
“I’m James, my name is James and I’m being kept here and I need to get out,” I say
quickly. “Please, please you have to help me,” I say again as I try to make out her facial
expression in the dark. Silence. “Well who’re you, and what’re you doing here, then?” I snip.
The dark-haired girl looks up at the blonde girl and then over to me as she stutters, “My name is,
is Kallie and we just, we didn’t mean to…” The blonde girl interrupts Kallie, “Shut up! Alright
look, we’ll get you out of here but we can’t help you after that. Got it?” I look at Kallie
skeptically and she tries weakly to smile back at me. “Fine,” I say frustratedly, “just…can you
hurry?” Jillian rolls her eyes, muttering something under her breath that I can’t quite make out.
The two girls walk over and start to undo my shackles. They’re whispering to each other
but I can only catch snippets of what they’re saying: “I can’t believe you got me into
this…should’ve just left…not our responsibility…could’ve picked any other house…” I
awkwardly interrupt their quiet dissentions with a cough as they finish loosening my restraints. I
sit up out of my bed and wince as I rub my sore wrists. Looking up, I notice that Kallie and
Jillian have moved back a couple steps and are shifting uneasily. Silence. What should I do?
Jillian abruptly moves forward and grabs my arm, “Well come on, we all need to get the
hell out of here.” I jerk to a stand and begin following after her, Kallie in step, when the sound of
a door opening downstairs brings us all to a halt. A deep, muffled voice from downstairs calls
out, “James? … your bedroom door sensor went off is all. James?” “It’s my dad,” I hiss. The
stairs creak as he heads towards us and we all start moving at once. Jillian dashes into the room
across from mine on the right with Kallie in tow while I grab my phone from the bedside table,
shove it in my pocket, and try to act natural as my dad walks in.
“What’re you doing up, James, and how did you get out of bed?” my dad asks
contentiously. He crosses my room in just three strides, sits down on my bed and looks over at
me expectantly. I sigh and move towards my bedroom door, leaning against the wall closest to it,
“I’m sorry, I just haven’t been able to sleep recently. I can’t stop thinking about my mother.
Please, you have to let me go, dad. I need to see her.” My dad sighs heavily, “I’m not having this
conversation again right now, you understand me? I had to leave work tonight because I thought
you were in trouble. You know I can’t afford to be missing shifts, that’s why we agreed to
restrain yo—” “No!” I interject, “No, I didn’t agree to any of this bullshit. You lock me up when
you’re not around so that I can never leave and find her. What did you do to her, huh, dad?
Cause if you treated her the way you treat me I can’t really blame her for getting out.” My dad
starts to stand, shutting me up. We stare at each other for a moment, silent, and as he opens his
mouth to speak I lose control of my body and lunge at him. My dad crashes backwards into the
bed behind him and crumples to the floor while I turn and run out of the room. I don’t look back.

Meanwhile

As Jillian races into the adjacent bedroom with Kallie on her heels, they both crouch
down behind a small bed that is sat in the middle of it. Both breathing heavily, Kallie starts to
cry silently to Jillian, “I’m sorry, we should’ve just left after you knocked that stupid vase over, I
don’t, I don’t know wh—” Jillian shushes her, “Kallie, please. It’s alright, okay? We just need to
stay quiet right now.” “But what if, what if…” Kallie stammers anxiously as increasingly loud,
stifled voices come from James’ bedroom. “Just, later, okay?” Jillian says impatiently as she
gestures for Kallie to stay put and creeps towards the bedroom door. She is only able to pick up
pieces of the argument: “You know I can’t afford to…we agreed to…No!...I can never leave and
find her…what did you do to her?” Suddenly a loud crash comes from James’ bedroom, and
before Jillian can react she sees James sprint out of the room towards the staircase.
“Kallie! Run, now,” Jillian yells. She gets up and starts sprinting after James. Halfway
down the staircase she looks back to see Kallie standing frozen in the doorway of James’
bedroom, her eyes wide. Jillian runs down the hall back to Kallie, grabs her arm roughly, and
turns to leave. That’s when she notices what Kallie was staring at. Not more than 10 feet away, a
slightly overweight man, probably in his mid-40’s and presumably James’ father, is lying
unconscious—or dead— on the bedroom floor with blood oozing out of a gash on his head.
Jillian quickly looks away and starts yanking Kallie towards the stairs.
“Shouldn’t we call someone? He might be…he could be…” Kallie asks as she stumbles
after Jillian. “Fucking hell, Kallie, no,” Jillian says as they clear the stairs and run towards the
front door. “What, you want to call the police? Call our parents? Who? Because as I see it, no
matter how fucked up this situation is, we broke into their house. It doesn’t look good. So unless
you want to risk jail time, I’d suggest keeping your mouth shut and focusing on getting out the
hell out of here.” Still gripping Kallie’s arm, Jillian pushes the front door open with her other
hand and runs straight into James who is holding a pistol lightly at his side.

I sprint out of my house towards my dad’s car and before I know what I’m doing I smash
its passenger side window in. No alarms go off because he had them disabled after the last time I
tried to steal his car to get away and the cops showed up asking questions. I open the car door
and glass falls lightly across the ground around me. Small drops of blood seep through my sleeve
from breaking the window and I’ve already managed to scratch up my bare feet from the broken
glass on the floor. “Already made it this far,” I say to myself as I reach into the glove
compartment and pull out my dad’s Glock 26. “No way I’m going back.” Taking in a deep
breath, I look at my dark house and think about what’s happened there. How can it look so
simple on the outside?
I run back up my front porch and reach for the front door when it swings open and Jillian
comes bursting out gripping Kallie tightly next to her. I stumble backwards a bit as they pull up
short, and their eyes shift to the gun at my side. They press backwards against the yellow siding
of my house and Kallie begins to break down, choking back tears. Realizing I’ve frightened
them, I put my empty hand up in the air and slowly place the gun into my back pocket. “No, no
don’t be scared, please. It’s just in case. I was only coming to make sure you guys were okay,” I
try to assure them. “But we do have to go...I’m sure the neighbors have heard us by now so we
don’t have much time.”
“No,” Jillian says, “We had an agreement. We get you out, you leave us alone. We can’t
help you anymore.”
“Please listen to me,” I beg, “That guy you saw is my dad and if the cops show up I’m
just going to end up back with him. I have to get out of here.” I look at them both in turn but only
the crickets’ chirps echo into the cold night. The trees rustle quietly in the breeze and it feels as if
time has stopped. I groan, “What should I do…what should I do?” I can feel myself beginning to
shake as I try to think of a plan B—or frankly, any plan at all— and just as I reach for my back
pocket I feel a small hand on my arm.
Kallie has stepped up close to me and peers through the shrouded light into my eyes, “If
you really need this, then will get you somewhere safe. I promise.” Her shy smile disappears
when Jillian steps over to the two of us, and Jillian looks at us both with displeasure. “Well,”
Jillian concedes, “let’s go then.” She pulls her mom’s car keys out of her back pocket and begins
at a steady pace towards the main road. Kallie and I follow in stride, and it’s not long before my
legs being to burn and my lungs feel tight. I haven’t run like this in so long; I haven’t been this
free in so long. My body wants me to stop but I can’t bring myself to, and I look around for signs
of pursuit but there seems to be no officers on the streets tonight. We reach a small, dark green
civic and Jillian fumbles with her keys. Kallie is still quivering with tears streaking her face and
shaky hands to match my own. We are in sight all terror, but there is no one around.
A jerk on my arm snaps me back to reality, almost as if I’d fallen into a trance. What was
going on? I look up slowly and see the civic running with its lights off, and Jillian is scowling
and motioning foully. I open the cars creaky backdoor and slip inside where it smells of
cigarettes and day-old sandwiches. The girls are whispering sharply to each other again about
something I can guess but not hear. As Jillian pulls away I buckle my seat belt, lean back, and
look out the window at the world passing by. Then, tilting my head up at the sky and stars, and
placing my hands on the seatbelt around me, I think how it’s all just like it was before.

I must’ve fallen asleep because the sound of a wailing ambulance wakes me up. It’s still
dark out. I push myself straight in my seat and jump slightly as I look up and see Kallie staring
nervously back at me. She turns to Jillian in a grieved tone, “He’s awake.”
I instantly try at my door but it’s child-locked. “What are you doing? What did you do?” I
demand, my hands trembling at the array of cop cars and ambulances we are nearing. The
scenery beings to blur around me as my head spins. “I’m sorry, we had to tell someone,” Jillian
confesses. “We figured a hospital could at least help a little, and they can’t hold you like the
police can.”
No. No, I won’t. Not again. I can’t risk being held at the hospital until my dad arrives. I
refuse to be suffocated by him anymore. I want to see the world, and I want to find my mother.
What should I do? I’m shaking my head and feel myself reach into my back pocket. Moving
swiftly, I press the nuzzle of my dad’s gun against Jillian’s back first, but then turn it toward
Kallie’s side instead. “Listen to me,” I say over their stifled cries. “Take me back to your place
and let me crash there overnight, just until the frenzy calms down, then I’ll leave at the crack of
dawn to my mother’s house and you’ll never have to see me again.” “And if I don’t?” Jillian
challenges me. “Let’s not do that, alright. Just drive,” I press.
Rolling her eyes, Jillian turns the car around at the next intersection and heads back the
way we came. We pass strangers stumbling up the sidewalk, and small shops with luminescent
“closed” signs hanging in their windows. Jillian takes a left at the next light, and with so little
cars on the road we arrive rather quickly to a quaint apartment complex with dirty children’s toys
littering the front yard. I hear the car doors unlock and slowly move my hand to conceal the gun
underneath my shirt. “You two better not be trying to play me,” I warn them as we all get out and
start walking towards a door on the far right. As Jillian goes to open the front door, Kallie stops
and spins around to face me. “We live alone, okay. So just get on with it and call whoever you
need to call,” she says precariously. “The guest room is down the hall to the left.” I almost walk
into the apartment but stop short, and turning to the two of them say softly, “Thank-you.” Kallie
had stopped crying.

The apartment was tight but in a cozy sort of way, and despite the worn down exterior,
inside feels safe. There are no dishes strewn about and it smells of fresh lavender and hash. My
sore muscles ache as I walk down the hall towards the guest room. The walls are lightly
decorated with paintings rather than photographs, and the guest room is bare save for the dark-
washed bedding and a fluffy pillow laying against the window’s seated view.
I pull out my cell phone and start dialing 911—wait, no. What am I doing? I shake my
head as I start over and dial my mother’s cell. To my surprise, she answers by the third ring.
“Hello?” a woman answers politely.
“Err, hi…this is, is this Carrie Dane?” I ask awkwardly.
“Formerly…it’s Hetfield now, and who is this?” Carrie questions, her kind voice tinged
with suspicion.
“Mom, it’s James,” I state blankly. I hear a sharp intake of breath over the phone and my
mother says dismissively,
“Right, your father called me earlier, said he’s looking for you.”
“Mom, I don’t want to go back with him. I can’t, please. Please come pick me up,” I
choke as tears threaten to spill across my face. It’s been so long since I’ve heard her voice.
“I can’t be doing this, James. It’s not what I signed up for, and I tried but your
father…he’s always been better with you,” my mother sighs. What did she mean by that?
I interrupt her frustratedly, “No, he hasn’t. He hasn’t always been better with me, or for
me. He’s aggressive and stubborn, and I know him and I know you, and I know you wouldn’t
have left unless something happened. I don’t know what it was, mom, but I need your help now.
I need to get away from him, just like you did years ago.”
There’s a moment of silence before she asks me, “Honey, have you eaten today?”
“Wha—yes, I mean it’s been a few hours,” I answer apprehensively, a crease beginning
to form on my forehead.
“Well,” she begins, “I think you should eat something. It might make you feel better.
Could you do that for me?”
 “Now?”
“Yes.”
I shake my head and mutter, “No.”
“No?” she pushes, “James, tell me why…”
“Because I’m not hungr—” I start.
“Tell me the truth,” my mother interjects, and then I snap back in a raised voice,
“Fine. It’s because I can’t, it’s not time, you know that. There are certain times to do
certain things, and eating is not one of them right now.” I usually don’t eat until around eight in
the morning no matter how hungry I am. I can feel myself start to shake again, why was she
antagonizing me like this?
“Exactly, James. You legitimately think you can only eat at certain times of the day, you
don’t have friends anymore because you push everyone away, and eventually you became
someone who didn’t love me. I couldn’t recognize my son anymore. That’s why I left.” She says
it so easily and matter-of-factly.
“You left?” I ask breathlessly. She continues,
“Just tell me where you are so your father can come get you and social services don’t
have to place you with a host family for another week.”
“I thought you- I thought dad kicked you out, or drove you out,” I stammer.
My mother lets out a frustrated sigh, “Your father was an amazing husband, James… and
I’m sorry, but after you were diagnosed I just couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t stand by and watch
you go crazy.”
“Mom…”
“You stopped being my son, James. You stopped smiling, stopped looking at me, stopped
talking to me,” she exasperates. “I had to divorce your father because after your diagnosis
everything changed, and all we did was fight about you. I’m sorry, baby, there was so just much
pressure building up and I felt suffocated.” I can hear her beginning to cry across the line and I
laugh abruptly, tears now streaking my own face,
“You felt suffocated? I am the one who’s been held against my will for the past however
many months, mom. How is that fair? Explain that to me.”
“You tried to hurt yourself, James. You tried to leave us and I can’t go through that again,
so you tell me what’s fair,” she retorts poignantly.
“I…did I really do that?”
“James…” she says, trying to calm him, but he cuts her off.
“Well if it’s true, then why has dad never told me about it?” I challenge. Silence. I can
hear her breathing shakily across the line. My own lips are quivering, unable to form a further
response, and as the silence stretches on, the phone slips from my hand. The air conditioner
buzzes low in my ears and my eyes stare unblinking out the guest bedroom window as I rack my
brain for answers. What should I do? What did I do…
After a short time, I notice faint muffles coming from the ground. My mother was
apparently still on the line. I squat down, pick up my cell, and stare with disquiet at the black
screen where her voice is spilling from. “Please understand and just tell me wher—” but my
mother’s voice cuts off as I hang up on her.

6
Meanwhile

The two girls hang back for a minute, staying outside on their front porch. “I can feel
you staring at me, Jillian. Just say it,” Kallie says, breaking the silence. Neither of them move,
and they both watch James as he ambles into the apartment and turns left into the guest room.
Jillian watches out of the corner of her eye until the door closes behind him, “I told you so.”
Kallie turns away from the doorway towards Jillian, “We couldn’t just leave him. Besides, he
had a gun in his back pocket.” “Yeah, he did Kallie, and maybe when we were standing on his
porch against the house it was a good call to go along with things. But…you saw how he was
when we got to the car,” Julian’s voice trailing off. Kallie looks down, shifting her weight, “I
know. I just couldn’t leave him there; not like that.” Rolling her eyes, Jillian turns and pushes
past Kallie into the house. “This is how it starts, y’know. You start doing shit you shouldn’t be
and not listening to your gut, and now, guess what? His problems are our problems until he’s
out of this place, and we have enough troubles already,” Jillian continues. “What?” Kallie asks
loudly, heading into the apartment towards Jillian’s voice. “I’m saying I’m not mad about what
you did, you made the right moves, but when we got to the car and he froze like under a trance,
we should’ve just locked the doors and left him out there,” she says roughly. Kallie takes a
moment to secure the front door behind her as she walks towards the small kitchen on the right.
“Jillian, he saw us and knew our names. If he goes to the authorities we’re screwed, so there
was no way we were going to leave him there to be picked up by the police.” Jillian nods slowly,
saying nothing. “You have to start trusting me again at some point,” Kallie stresses. A short
clatter from down the hall makes them both jump lightly on their feet. Silence. “I know I do,”
Jillian resumes quietly, “I just…last time I had this feeling things didn’t exactly end well, and
I’m not about to lose you too because I haven’t learned from my mistakes.” Kallie sighs heavily,
walks over and swings open the refrigerator. She looks inside it a minute, then, bending over,
pulls out an open bottle of wine. “I need a drink,” she says, motioning to Jillian to grab some
glasses. Jillian shakes her head, smiling, and pulls two teardrop glasses out of the cupboard
behind her.
Setting the glasses on the counter, Jillian walks across the room to the living area
where she turns on a speaker and connects her phone. “What do you want to listen to?” she
asks, turning back to Kallie. She shrugs as she pours the remainder of the wine evenly into the
two glasses, “Something relaxed, we need warm vibes in here.” She carries the two glasses into
the living area and hands one to Jillian as she slumps onto their couch. Jillian turns music on
low and sits down next to Kallie, “You’re right, we needed a drink.” They both sip quietly on
their sweet, deep red wine, the pigment tinting their inner lips. “Jillian…I know we should’ve left
once we got in the car and James froze up, but I couldn’t help but feel responsible for him in
some way. He seemed so lost,” Kallie says quietly. “Yeah,” Jillian admits, “speaking of, you
think we should check on him? He’s been in the back room for a while now. I don’t know if we
should go tell him we talked with his dad?” Kallie nods and downs the rest of her wine.
“Hopefully he accepts our help this time,” she notes as she stands. “Yeah, as if we haven’t been
through enough already,” Jillian adds dryly, finishing her drink as well.
As the girls get up and head down the hall towards the guest bedroom, they notice the
sound of muffled voices drifting unintelligibly from down the hall. Unconsciously, the girls begin
to tip-toe the rest of the way to the room, stopping quietly once in front of the guest bedroom.
They heard voices just a minute before, but now there isn’t a single noise coming from the room.
They look at each other for a moment, and Jillian reaches up to knock but Kallie stops her.
“What?” Jillian hisses. “I don’t know…just, what are we going to say to him?” Kallie whispers
quickly, “It’s not like our conversations have exactly been successful as of late.” Jillian sighs, “I
don’t know either, but I know we have to do something and this is the best I’ve got right now.”
Kallie bounces on her toes anxiously, looking down, “This one is on me, is all.” Shaking slightly,
she looks up and adds, “Just…what if something happens?” Jillian smiles morosely and, placing
a hand on Kallie’s arm to steady her, reaches to open the door with the other.

I shakily stand and move to the window by the small, dark bed as memories of the last
year begin to flood my vision. I can feel my chest tightening in panic and hear low, distant
mumbling as the girls, presumably, discuss what to do about me now. They’re probably going to
call the police or try to get me admitted again. I begin to sway and my eye-sight blurs for a
moment, so I sit down on the window seat and place my head between my knees. “Just breathe,
you’re fine,” I tell myself as I rock slightly. Yet, the more I try to calm myself the less in-control
I feel. Sharp images from forgotten memories quickly envelop me. There is a faint ringing in my
ears and I feel paralyzed, both in mind and body. Squeezing my eyes shut, my hands now moved
over my ears, I try to cry out but I can’t make a sound. “Please, please…” I whimper, out of
breath. I scoot backwards on the window seat and pull my legs up against my chest with my
hands still covering my ears as memories begin tearing through my mind; the panic rising in me
now coursing through my veins like poison.

19 months ago
A curvy woman with light blonde hair is rearranging James’ bedroom furniture to
accommodate an old, dingy sofa chair. James’ Dad, Alan, sits on a hospital bed that is taking up
most of the room, and an air-conditioner unit on the window is buzzing despite the light covering
of snow outside. “This has to work, Alan,” the blonde woman sighs, “he has to talk to us again,
or…”
“Or what, Carrie?” Alan interrupts, his heel bouncing steadily against the floor,
“you’ll have him admitted again and rack up more bills we can’t pay? There’s no way they’ll
keep seeing us and I’m not moving again because you ‘can’t handle him.’”
“Right, it’s my fault, not the fact that our son is literally crazy,” Carrie snaps back.
Alan gets up, moving towards Carrie, and grabs her arm roughly as he jerks her
towards himself. “You speak about my son like that again, and I’ll have you out of here before
you can spit out another false apology,” Alan says quickly. “I’m not dealing with it and I don’t
want to hear about it anymore, Carrie.”
Carrie tries to push him off, “Let go of me, Alan—you’re hurting me.” She can’t get
his grip to budge though, so she stops struggling, just staring at him defiantly. After a moment,
Alan lets go of her arm, a red mark from his hand lingering on her bruised skin.
Alan takes a step backwards and rubs his hands over his face as James’ mom rubs her
arm gingerly. “I’m sorry…” Alan sighs deeply, “Carrie, I…”
“Save it for someone who gives a shit,” she glowers, turning towards the door.
“Y’know,” Carrie adds, looking back over her shoulder at Alan. “Maybe I will leave. Then we’ll
see how well you can ‘handle him’ without me around,” she mocks. Silence. Carrie continues out
the bedroom door, but just as Alan goes to say something to stop her, they both stop short
because of a faint sniffling sound, only now audible. They look around, simultaneously calling
out James’ name, and soon find him in the bedroom closet crouched underneath his hanging
clothes. When the closet door opens he sits up a little, bracing against the back wall, and tries to
wipe off his tear streaked face.
“I’m…,” James’ starts but can’t finish.
Carrie crouches down so she’s at eye level with James and smiles apologetically,
“What were you gonna say, huh honey? I’m sorry if we scared you,” Silence. “Look, I know we
were being loud, but please just talk to us. What are you thinking?” his mom urges. James
avoids her eye, looking shakily up at his dad, “I’m.. not.. crazy.”

Though it’s only been a couple seconds, I feel like I haven’t breathed in minutes. I can
feel the hard border of the window-seat digging into my back and my eyes are still squeezed
shut, trying to block out the memories running before them.

13 months ago
“Does he really need to take all these pills?” Alan asks frustratedly as he sorts
through the growing pile of past-due bills.
“As I tell you every goddamn month, yes. You’re the one that is so insistent on us
keeping him out of the hospital, so if we want him to stabilize we have to listen to the doctors and
hope the meds work,” Carrie responds tiredly.
Alan stands and grabs a beer from the fridge before sitting back down at the table
scattered with bills, “Yeah, well maybe if you worked more than twenty hours a week things
wouldn’t feel so impossible,” he retorts. “I just can’t see how we can keep affording all these
medications for him. Surely he doesn’t need all of them, you know how pharmaceutical
businesses are—they’re always trying to make a profit from people these days…”
Alan continues on as Carrie shakes her head weakly. “Alan, it’s not like that, he has
psychosis,” she tries to interrupt but he isn’t listening.
“…It just makes me sick how they’re willing to scam even the mentally ill for
whatever they’re worth, y’know baby?” Alan says, looking up at Carrie with his beer in one
hand and a receipt in the other. She is crying, silently, with her head now resting against her
forearms on the counter. “Carrie, hey, what’s wrong?” Alan asks as he walks over and places
his hand on her far shoulder.
She sniffles loudly, “What if you’re right, what if the drugs don’t work? What if this is
it? Baby, I… our son has barely spoken to me these past four months and now he won’t even
make eye contact with me.”
“I know—” he begins but Carrie cuts him off.
“No, you don’t, Alan. He talks to you, he hugs you, he loves you, but what about me?”
she protests angrily, sitting up. Carrie looks away from Alan out the kitchen window, “It’s like
he’s not even my son anymore.”
Alan’s hand slowly drops off her shoulder, and eventually he walks back over to the
table. Silence. He picks up his drink, finishes it, then abruptly shatters the empty bottle against
the edge of the table. Carrie jumps in her seat at the sudden noise and lets out a small cry as
Alan turns and grabs another one from the fridge. “Cheers, baby,” he says despondently, “I’m
leaving you.”

Meanwhile that same night, 13 months ago

I can hear my parents fighting again, with dad drunk and mom crying. My ear is
pushed against the living room wall that is adjoined to the kitchen. I’ve been eavesdropping on
them like this for a few months now, hiding crouched behind the couch, and I’ve learned that the
end of their love has been by my hands. When I eavesdrop, I can’t hear everything they say to
each other, but I hear enough. I hear them now, “He doesn’t need all of them…makes me
sick…”, “the drugs don’t work…he loves you, not me,” “not even my son anymore.” That last
one hurts. “Am I not?” I ask myself out loud. But then a loud crash from their room spooks me
and as I jump backwards away from the wall, I slam my side into the frame of the couch. As
noise across the wall swells, I scoot away from the couch and run into our first floor bathroom.
Breathing heavily, I turn around towards the mirror and stare at my reflection blankly. “Who am
I? What good have I done? And where are all our goddamn pills...” I question under my breath,
as I start quietly opening all the cabinets and feeling behind things. Of course, my parents locked
up anything remotely dangerous in our house a while ago, but I still had to check. A car horn
honks outside and every noise inside my house seems to cease. A moment later, I can hear my
parents mumbling from the other room again, unconcerned with the outside world. It was
probably just my neighbors across the street, anyways. I tip-toe back upstairs to my own room
and look out the window at the street lights lining the road; most of them are busted. One of my
neighbors is smoking on their porch. I stand there and watch as he finishes it then smokes
another, waiting until he goes back inside his house before going back downstairs.
I don’t even have to reach the living room, though, to hear my mom is really crying
now. The noise of her grief was challenged only by the clattering of glass being swept across the
kitchen floor. “I’m sorry, mom… I’m so sorry,” I mutter, slumping against the wall. I can’t do
this to them anymore. Pushing myself upright of the wall, I look down at my baggy gym shorts
and t-shirt, shrug, and head out towards the front door, trying the handle but it’s locked.
“Fuck,” I whisper frustratedly. I’m running out of time. I tip-toe around to our back door and
slowly open it, the screen whining shrilly in defiance as I do. I’m not worried though, my parents
are far too occupied with themselves right now to notice anything.
Once outside, I don’t even bother to close the back door behind me. Either way,
they’ll know what happened to me soon enough. I turn left and run around the outside of my
house to the sidewalk. I stop running as I past the sidewalk, and leaning against the old oak tree
by my mailbox, I wait. I watch across the street as a young girl walks her dog around the block,
and cars rumble past under the dim street light. I smile at the small dog as it bounces happily
down the sidewalk, and I wait for them to disappear around the corner before moving. I step out
into the main road and walk as if in a dream towards the center of it. As I lay down on the cool
pavement and feel the cold tinge my skin with goosebumps, I think about how unreal it all feels.
“I’m not here,” I whisper to myself and close my eyes.
A blaring horn jerks me back to reality but I don’t move out of the way. Instead,
crouching up from my back slightly to see, I watch as a small, dark blue car darts around me, the
drivers’ eyes blazing with fright. “How did she see me?” I wonder out loud, but before I can
finish my thought a pair of hands grip me tightly, jerking me upright off the ground. I start to
scream and try to fight, but waver as I notice it’s my dad. He assures me everything’s alright and
grips me tighter as he moves his forearm under my left arm and across my chest, his hand
holding on to my right shoulder. He half-drags me back into our house this way, while the
pressure of his wrist against my neck starts to make me lightheaded. My mom is inside collapsed
by the living room window, and had apparently been watching that whole time. She’s shaking,
though I don’t know if that’s because of me or the argument her and my dad were having. I
wonder if she saw that car almost kill me. I wish it had.

Mom left because of me… because of that. How could I not remember it before, and why
do I feel like there are still parts I’m missing? “What should I do?” I moan, almost silently. A
splitting headache doesn’t help as tears begin trickling, wetting my face and collar. It’s as if
every one of my muscles are tense, and I can hear only the ringing of silence over the voices in
my head.

Roughly 10 months ago

“You need to get over this dream you have of a perfect family and realize that we need to
make sacrifices right now, even when it comes to our marriage,” Alan shouts. He takes a drag
on his second cigarette of the morning before continuing, “You think I don’t wish we could have
dinners together every night and always sleep side-by-side? Huh?” Carrie is sobbing as she
looks up at Alan from the crumpled tissues in her hand. She tries to respond but falters, slowly
laying her head down against the stacked pillows on their master bed. “Carrie!” Alan shouts
again, gripping her forearm and jerking her up into a sitting position. Still holding her arm
tightly, he leans in close as he speaks with liquored breath from the night before, “You think I’m
joking, baby? Does it look like we can afford a night nurse, because if so you give me the word
and I’ll hire us one. But as I see it, our son needs someone around him 24/7 right now, and we’re
the only ones who have applied. So get your ass up or get out.” Carrie jerks her arm out of
Alan’s grip, rubbing the bruising skin tenderly, and stares steadily back at him.
“I might remind you how we were both home not long ago and still, James managed to
almost get himself killed. So you tell me what good working opposite schedules is gonna do other
than push us further apart?” Carrie challenges.
“For Christ’s sake, Carrie…” Alan starts, pushing himself up off the bed, but Carrie
doesn’t give him time to finish.
“No, Alan. You don’t get to minimize that horror or my feelings about it, you hear me? I
want our boy to be safe just as much as you do, but we aren’t qualified, baby. We need help.”
Alan shakes his head as he paces the room, “Yeah, help we can’t afford. We’re his
parents, Carrie. There’s no one better for him than us, and no place better for him than with us.
Don’t you feel that, too?” Alan is no longer angry but grieved, his throat tightening with the
effort to speak. “We could— we can just restrain James’ arms to his bed at night and sit with
him until he falls asleep so that he knows he’s safe, and we’ll know that he can’t run off while we
sleep. Besides, his episodes usually happen at night, and that’s better than what they do in the
crazy houses anyways,” he continues.
“Oh right, when ‘we sleep,’” Carrie retorts, “you mean when we’re fighting?”
“Carrie, don’t start—” Alan snaps crossly, stopping short as Carrie moves towards the
edge of the bed to get up.
 “I don’t want to be like this anymore, Alan, please,” Carrie sobs, her feet now dangling
at the end of the bed. She presses her forehead into her clasped hands, with her elbows resting
against her knees, “What should I do?”
“You should trust me, Carrie,” Alan urges, “I’m doing my best to take care of our son.”
He’s stopped pacing.
Without looking up, Carrie scoffs, “You’re best? Alan, you want to tie him up like some
animal at night. I mean, fuck. What is that?” She shakes her head as she continues, “Where is
my family, Alan? Where is my husband who cares for me and my son who loves me?” Carrie lifts
her head up, still shaking, and looks helplessly over at her husband.
Alan walks over and opens the drawer by his nightstand, pulling out a flask of whiskey
and downing a couple shots. “So, I’m not your husband anymore, is that what you’re saying,
huh? And what, James is just…?” he asks, shaking his head.
Carrie winces slightly at his words and begins pleading, “oh god, Alan…oh god…I can’t
live like this anymore. Please God, I want my boy back…my son. The son I raised. The son I
love.” As she finishes, she dissolves again into her tears.
Alan slowly walks back over to Carrie and calmly kneels down in front of her so they’re
eye-to-eye. “Baby, look at me,” he begins softly. Carrie, refusing to lift her head up much,
instead spins her eyes almost into the back of her head so she can look Alan in the eye. Alan
continues slowly and firmly, “I want you to look me in the eyes so you know I’m being serious. If
you don’t love James now, than you don’t love your son, and if you can’t or until you figure that
out, you won’t be staying here.” Alan rises and pulls Carrie up with him into a stand, supporting
and trying to steady her as she sways in a dizzying feeling of nausea.
“What should I do?” Carrie sobs, more to herself than her husband.
Alan, keeping Carrie up with his left arm, turns her chin towards him with his free hand,
“Just, whatever you chose to do, make sure you’re happy with it because in the end a lot of us
aren’t.” Silence. A sound by their cracked bedroom door, of which they now know was James,
averts Alan’s attention away from his wife for a moment, and as their eyes break contact, Carrie
breaks her silence.
“What should I do…what should I do…my baby boy, I can’t…,” and as her words
become lost in her grief, Alan releases her and she falls, hitting her knees hard on the bedroom
floor.

I fall forward off the window seat as I jerk back to reality and a splitting pain shoots up
from my knees and palms as they strike the floor. Breathing heavily, I crawl to my right towards
the bed. Then, grabbing my cell phone, I note how only three minutes have passed.

Gripping the dark sheets, I pull myself up onto the guest bed, swearing as more blood
oozes from my knees. Silence. I stare at the phone in my purple-tinged hands and, to my
surprise, it lights up with a familiar name. I let it ring until it stops. After a moment, the phone
screen goes black but it is soon aroused by the same caller.
“About time you called,” I say as I pick it up.
 “James, for fuck’s sake, you need to stop this, you hear me? You’re not making things
better for yourself,” his dad responds, the sound of traffic echoing in the background.
“I’m not trying to make things better, dad, I’m trying to make them right,” I interject
plainly.
“Son, you’re not making any sense. Please James, the cops, they’re already tracking your
phone and they’ll be there soon, and I’m gonna be there real soon, too,” Alan continues.
“I should’ve stopped all of this months ago, and I guess I wasn’t strong enough then, but
I’m not scared anymore, dad. So call whoever you want because pretty soon it isn’t really going
to matter anymore,” I respond.
“James, what do you mean?”
“Did I try to kill myself, dad?”
“James…”
“Mom says I did.”
“We can talk about this when we’re together, alright?”
“I might do it for real this time, dad, but first I need to know the truth.”
“Fucking hell, no, no—James, you… you don’t get to do that. You don’t get to just throw
that around, you hear me?”
“No, you tell me now, and you tell me what happened with mom that night too or we’re
done talking, and it’s clear you know I’ll do it”
“Fine,” Alan finally concedes, “but you have to promise me something first.”
“What?” I ask slowly, the bed creaking slightly as I lean forward.
“Promise me you won’t hang up until I finish,” he bargains.
“Fine,” I say reluctantly, “but start talking.”
“It was midday and your mom and I were both home, but you managed to sneak out of
the house while we were arguing,” Alan begins. “At that point, we had suspected for a couple
days that you were skipping your meds, and I suggested an alternative way to dispense your
drugs that would allow us to know for certain you were taking what you needed. Your mother
disagreed though, as she wanted to trust that you could take them as directed by yourself.”
As I listen to my dad, I vaguely remember a time when I tried to stop taking my pills. I’d
either hide them in my mouth or puke them up after my mom left, but that wasn’t the same week
I tried to run into the street…at least I didn’t think it had been. A dizziness washes over me
again.
“We were being loud,” Alan continues.
“Yelling,” I interject.
“Right, we were yelling, so we didn’t hear you leave the house. Honestly, we didn’t even
know something was up until we heard a loud crash followed by a blaring car alarm. Your mom
immediately jumped up, calling your name as she raced towards the sound, and I followed close
after her. Once outside, we saw our car with the driver’s side window broken in. There were
blood smears on the handle and inside on some of the upholstery and steering wheel. You
must’ve planned on driving off but had grabbed the wrong keys. Your mom froze on the spot,
while I raced inside and called 9-1-1. The cops turned our drive-way into a crime scene, and a
search party was sent out for you, with dogs and everything,” he pauses, “You still there?”
“Yeah, yeah I’m listening,” I respond quietly, my mind spinning. I thought I tried to jump
in front of a car at night? And since when were the police involved? I can’t focus. Suddenly my
waking terrors return, and graphic images begin fighting for my attention.
Roughly 11 months ago…
I collapse against the cool, concrete wall of a public bathroom, blood dripping down my
left arm as I hold it upright against my chest. Trying to slow the bleeding, I slip off one of my
socks and wrap it around my swelling knuckles. I berate myself for being able to shatter a car
window in one swing but not being able to grab the right goddamn keys for it. The vile smell of
the bathroom, accompanied by the knots in my stomach which are being worsened by the distant
sirens, gives me a dizzying nausea.

I’m sprinting towards the fencing that surrounds the public park I was hiding at and
begin sneaking along the edge of it until I reach a main road. Turning away from the sound of
nearing sirens, I sprint down the street until I come upon railroad tracks. My breath becoming
sharp, I stop running and sneak over to a maintenance shack parallel to the tracks, crouching
behind it. I hear cars bouncing across the tracks and rumbling down the road as I stay crouched,
waiting.

Soon the blaring sound I have been waiting for breaks through the mundane noises of the
street, and I slowly stand as I watch the bright headlights approach. I wait until the safety bars
lower and traffic slows to a stop on each side. A train doesn’t ask for second chances, it just
carries on and takes out whoever or whatever is in the way. I’m always in the way.

“Okay, just checking, we made a promise, remember?” James’ dad continues before he
has a chance to respond further, “So at this point, a police dog had picked up your scent from the
blood that was smudged within the car and followed a faint blood trail to the public bathroom at
the park near our house. Your mom and I both wanted to go with the police’s search party to find
you, but one of us had to stay in case you called or came back, so we decided I would go with the
police while your mom waited at the house. The police had a lot of questions, James, and it was
difficult on both of us. They accused us of and insinuated a lot of unnerving things.”
“Was it you who stopped me?” I ask.
“No,” Alan divulges, “of course not, James, you had a decent head start. I’m just grateful
you were alright, and that you’re alright now, too.”

Roughly 11 months ago…

As the train blares louder still, I step forward onto the tracks and turn towards it, the
headlights are near-blinding and small rocks bounce against my feet as the ground beneath me
rumbles. I can faintly hear shouting around me but don’t care, I’m not here for them. They’re
probably calling the police, calling for me to step off the tracks, and if that helps them sleep at
night that’s fine, but we both know that it will be too late by the time the police arrive and the
ambulance gets to the scene. That’s why it’s such a successful choice for suicide victims—that
and leaping from an extreme height, but I’d like to think I’m not that cliché.

The train operator must have noticed me when I walked out of the shadows of the
maintenance shed and onto the tracks, as the blaring horn and shouts were soon accompanied by
loud screeches of contention from the brakes. I close my eyes, now seeing only the bright colors
and dancing shapes that cross my eyelids, and as the noise intensifies into its own kind of
silence, I submit myself to it.

I’m on the ground again—tackled, I think. There’s a stranger crouched next to me and
another standing over me with a phone to their ear. They’re both sweaty and pale. I assume they
are a couple of “heroic” onlookers who decided it was a good idea to intrude on another man’s
life. Neither of them speaks directly to me, and I can’t make out what they’re saying to each
other. I try to interject but quickly realize the wind has been knocked out of me. Frustrated, I lie
back, unable to do anything else at this point, and stare enviously at the sky above as
approaching sirens fill the air.

I shake my head, disoriented for a moment, “Right, right, anyways…” I prompt my dad.
“Well, I overheard the police officer’s radio that there had been an incident at the train
track crossing not far from our house. I immediately assumed the worst and lost it; it felt like the
wind had been knocked out of me. It wasn’t until we arrived on scene minutes later and I saw
you, bloody but in one piece, that I was able to take a full breath again,” he recalls dejectedly.
“And?” I press.
“And what?” his dad asks.
“And what about mom? What happened to her?”
“I told you, it was difficult on both of us.”
“Difficult how?”
“James.”
“We made a promise, dad: I don’t hang up and you tell me the truth—all of it.”
“Your mom… you have to understand, this wasn’t the first time we’d had trouble with
the law regarding you and she just wanted you to be safe. I thought, and still believe, that you are
safest with us. But after that nightmare, your mom didn’t trust herself and she certainly didn’t
trust me. I couldn’t blame her though, I mean you had gotten hurt on our watch, almost
permanently,” Alan says as he turns onto the street adjacent to the one Jillian and Kallie live on.
“But James, you can trust me, okay? I know your mom left but I’m here, I’ve always been here,
and I’m never going to stop taking care of you.”
“So it wasn’t my fault…” I mumble under my breath.
“It was what?” my dad asks.
“Nothing, nothing just, are you on your way here?”
“I’m close.”
“Are you bringing the cops with you?”
“I called them James, yes, but I’m driving separately. Please just wait for me to get there,
alright?”
“Okay.” Silence. “Hey, dad?”
“Yeah?” Alan asks tentatively.
“I have to hang up now but I’ll see you soon,” I answer and then end the call before I
hear his response. He’s going to be here soon. “What should I do?” I ask myself as my chest
begins to tighten again. All my old memories are rushing back and I struggle to stay focused as
they tear me apart inside. I flop my upper-body backwards onto the guest bed in exhaustion and
land on something hard: my dad’s handgun. I had completely forgotten I still had it. I sit up
slightly, reaching underneath myself for the pistol, and hold it out in front of me as if I’m going
to shoot the empty wall in front of me. After a moment, I lower my hands and stare numbly at
the weapon they’re controlling.
I can hear the girls moving around down the hall as they head towards the guest bedroom,
and I begin to feel trapped. I push myself off the bed and onto my feet, wincing as my knees
straighten out, splitting open their newly forming scabs. I stand tremoring in front of the window
and stare at the growing light of another waking morning. Determinedly, I shift the gun into my
right hand and, reaching up, push the nuzzle against my temple. “What should I do?” I groan in
the closing silence. I try to dry my cheeks while staring near-despondent out at the forming
colors that edge the sky. “Stop crying,” I whisper exhaustedly. I breath in slowly and hold my
breath, my eyes still locked on the sky. Night has almost ended and the stars are soon to be
erased by the light. I know the girls have shuffled quietly all the way over to this room, but the
door hasn’t moved. They’re whispering again. I feel lightheaded and my chest and lungs begin to
ache until I can hold my breath no longer. I decide to let it all go, resting my finger against the
metal trigger, my eyes are torn from the sky as I my dad’s car jerks into the yard. The driver’s
side door swings open and I watch him as he tumbles out, straightening up as we make eye
contact. Silence. Reality feels frozen for a moment until I hear the door handle creak behind me.
Still looking out the window at my dad, I shift my arm and the last words I hear before firing are:
“…just, what if something happens?”

The girls rush into the guest bedroom as the shattering of falling glass replaces the
resounding gunshot. My arm falls to my side as my dad falls to the ground. My body is shaking
and tears are still slipping down my cheeks, but I don’t feel scared anymore. Jillian and Kallie
step slowly around me as they approach the window. Kallie stops short at my side, her face pale,
but Jillian continues forward, her eyes locked on the blood beginning to pool around my dad’s
crumpled form.
“He’s dead…he’s really fucking dead, James” Jillian stammers.
I know she’s speaking to me but I can’t understand her. “I can finally breath,” I say
listlessly. Kallie still hasn’t moved. The blaring sirens pierce the silence and I turn my head
slowly to look at Kallie and she meets my gaze. “You called the police on me?” I ask quietly
with tears still falling. A squad car pulls up to my house and two officers jump out and draw their
weapons. “I thought we were…I thought you were different.”
“James—” Kallie starts but is cut off.
“Shit, the police are here! We have to go, Kallie—” Jillian begins.
“No one is leaving but them,” I interject, raising my dad’s gun again I fire through the
broken window at the two officers approaching the apartment. The first officer drops, his partner
fires back but soon drops unmoving to the ground, too. I stare out the window at all the blurring
colors of black and blue and red and green and so much red. It isn’t until Kallie starts screaming
that I snap out of my haze, and looking down as she runs over towards the window, I see more
red.
“Oh god, oh god…no, no please,” Kallie cries, her voice breaking as she collapses into
the pooling blood on the bedroom floor.
 “Kallie, I…,” I stammer. Jillian is struggling to breath as blood spits from her mouth,
mirroring the blood seeping out of her wound from the bullet that was meant for me.
“What did you do, James? What did you do?” Kallie begs.
“I didn’t…I don’t know, Kallie, I didn’t mean for anything to—” I start.
“—to happen?” Kallie interjects, “Yeah, James, I didn’t mean for this to happen either,
but it did and it’s on you, James. It’s on you and it’s on me and I…I don’t want this, I can’t do
this,” she chokes as tears begin spilling down her face. She’s holding Jillian’s body against her
own as it shakes with her sobs.
My dad’s gun slips from my hand onto the floor as sirens again fill the air, and looking
out the window I see more red as an ambulance pulls up. The paramedics jump out and start
grabbing their gear from the back. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry but I only wanted to protect you,
from my dad and now from these intruders. Please, we have to go,” I say to Kallie as I bend over
and reach a hand out towards her. She doesn’t move, only looking up unblinkingly. I take in her
blood stained clothes and look at the purple-tinged circles filling the space below her beautiful,
dark eyes. “Kallie, please,” I urge while the sound of a stretcher rolling along the pavement
slows to a stop as nearby shouts fill the air. They must have seen what I’ve done. More sirens
follow, as reinforcements arrive on scene. “That’s it, we’re going Kallie, I’m not leaving you
here,” I state as I grab her from under the arms and yank her away from Jillian’s body.
“No, I won’t leave her,” Kallie cries definitely, but as she looks up and sees more police
cars approaching and officers jumping out with guns drawn, she lets me pull her to her feet.
Once she’s steadied, we both turn and run out of the guest bedroom, down the hallway
and few stairs towards the front door. I check through the peephole before opening it and see two
officers approaching. “Fuck,” I swear under my breath, “We’re gonna have to find a different
way out. Is there a window in the bathroom?”
Kallie shakes her head, “Our best bet is through the master bedroom, but it’s adjacent to
the guestroom window so they’ll probably see us climbing out.”
“Our best bet though, yeah?” I confirm as I turn us back down the hallway and into the
master bedroom. We exchange glances as the officers begin pounding on the front door. “Come
on,” I rush, sprinting over to the window and pushing it open. “Ladies first.”
Kallie looks at James hesitantly, “You’re coming with me, yeah?”
“Of course.”
“Right, of course,” Kallie repeats under her breath.
“And I’m sorry, Kallie, but thank you. He wouldn’t listen to me, just like he wouldn’t
listen to her, but now he hears us both loud and clear,” I add. She doesn’t say anything and all we
can hear are the mumbles of frantic paramedics just outside until the sound of police breaking
through the front door echoes down the hall. Kallie starts climbing out the window feet first
while I support her, then grabbing her hands, I slowly begin lowering her out the window to the
ground; it’s not a far fall.

James is lowering me to the ground outside of my apartment when I hear shouting from
behind him inside the house. He drops me the rest of the way, my heels striking the ground
before I fall backwards onto my butt. As I scramble to get up, I hear guns firing and then feel wet
drops hit my face as James’ body flings halfway out the open window. His eyes are rolled into
the back of his head and blood covers his chest as one of his arm swings helplessly against the
apartment siding. I reach my shaky hand to my face, wiping off the drops of blood as my eyes
begin to tear and my throat becomes tight. Struggling to breath, I stumble away from the window
and start running away from the apartment through the neighboring backyards. I keep running
until my hyperventilating forces me to stop and, collapsing onto the soft grass beneath me, begin
dry heaving. Now lightheaded and sweaty, I take a moment to look around me and see that I’m
sat between two houses, both only just waking up to the growing light. I look down at my clothes
and see only blood. The image of Jillian’s limp body flashes in my mind and I can still feel her
weight against me. Sirens are still wailing in the distance, and I’m sure the police saw me
running but it doesn’t seem like anyone is looking for me, at least not yet. What should I do? I
feel crazy.
The more I think the worse everything feels and I begin to cry while trying to organize my
racing thoughts: “His dad loved him but not his mom, and his mom loved James but not his dad,
and James loved her more than his dad, but it was never enough for any of them to stay…and I
keep thinking that I understand love but then figuring out that I don’t.” My body still shaking, I
slowly pull myself to my feet and stagger towards the sidewalk. With the sirens still ringing in my
ears, the stench of blood and bile filling my nose, and tears blurring my vision, I walk.

Several days later…

As I wait for the next bus to arrive, a stranger sits down next to me and, noticing my
tears, asks if I’m alright. Without turning to look at them, I respond quietly, “He said he was
sorry.”
“What? Who did?” the stranger asks, confused.
“I’m sorry, too,” I continue softly, my hands now visibly shaking. I squeeze them tightly
together in an attempt to control this but it only makes it worse.
“Look, are you sure I shouldn’t call someone—” the stranger starts.
“How can someone…” I stammer. “I mean, do you know that weird thing that happens
when you say a word too much? Like, if you say anything repeatedly enough, it slowly begins to
sound weird in your mouth and to your ears, and it can eventually even look weird written out as
if it’s misspelled. The letters become meaningless in the formation of a no longer coherent word
and I just need to know…”
“…know what?” the stranger asks anxiously.
“How many times do you think you can say ‘I’m sorry’ before it’s meaning is lost?”
“How many times have you said it?”
“How many times have you?” I ask pointedly, now turning to look them in the eye.
“Right, uh,” the stranger clears their throat, “so…”
“So everything’s bad on the face of it,” I conclude.
“Yes, or perhaps just too early to say,” the stranger offers.
Smiling sadly, I look away from the stranger up to the clear sky above, “It’s never too
early. Something always happens.”

THE END