Tale of Two Suicides (Revised).

There are some things that, at a certain time,
you don't consider significant enough to remember.
Then, looking back, all those small things you'd overlooked before
begin playing a part in a much larger picture.

We were both pretty content that day, so when she asked me not to say anything
I agreed. Then she showed me her scars,
and the gashes carved on top of them.
I felt like I needed to do something --
maybe hug her or run and get help or just simply ask 'why'.
But I couldn't tear my eyes away.
There was so much blood . . .

She didn't know those people,
but he did,
and whatever they said hurt him.
She couldn't do much to help; he ran into the bathroom, locked the door.
She thought he'd been in there, cutting,
'cuz it took so long for him to finally come back out.
But when she scanned his arms, they were both clean.
She must have been relieved . . .

At that time, the words on her abdomen didn't feel familiar.
It never occurred to me 'til now that they'd been reverberating in her head for more than two years.
Yet I thought I had helped her through that ages ago.
She should have been okay, shouldn't she?

The relief went away.
That next day, he was sleeping much more than usual.

She broke down whenever they called her that name.
Then, after awhile,
the kids seemed to lose interest in picking on her,
and started leaving her alone.
And since then, she insisted she was doing better.
Even as she showed me what she did, we still smiled weakly at one another.

She had to shake him a lot before he woke up.
Then he went back to the bathroom and started puking stomach acid.
I guess it isn't hard to say that that was when she realized
something was wrong.

At first, I couldn't hear what she said.
That it had taken her two tries,
because on the first one, she'd lost too much blood and passed out before finishing.
It was really painful.

It was a Sunday, so everyone was home.
He was afraid to tell his father about what he had done -
afraid that he would be angry.
But he confessed everything to her.
He started crying . . .

I kept my mouth shut so she wouldn't hate me.
Now, I know I was being stupid, but Then, I was scared.
Part of me didn't believe what had happened, the other part denied it.

Once the tears had stopped, they told their dad that he tried to OD.
Their dad yelled, and cried, and hugged him.
He asked why he did it, but he said he
"just wanted to die."

When the staff had to go to that meeting, I didn't expect that anyone really died.
When I heard her name, I pretended I didn't know it.

She saved his life that day
. No one thanked her, or talked about her accomplishment, but it didn't change anything.
Her whole family's really proud of her for being so brave.

I was too ashamed to go to services, so I sat at home instead,
and when my mom asked if I knew the girl who killed herself, I shook my head.
I was sure it wasn't her funeral anyway.
There were a few times I'd seen her around campus.
No, that painted face in the casket wasn't hers.
She wouldn't be wearing that pretty face if she were dead.

He's on Suicide Watch, now.
She insures that there's someone around him 24/7,
receiving a tip from the hat of enlightenment.

Now that I think about it, and remember those small things, the more the bigger picture comes into focus. I wonder all the time, what would have happened if I knew how to talk to her? A famous actress once said that sometimes things fall apart so better things can fall together. But for those other times, it's harder to find a bright side.