Suicide Notes

“What the hell kind of note is that?” I said. “She didn’t say anything. It’s just stupid.”

Then I got mad. Really mad. “Who does she think she is?” I asked Cat Poop. “She goes and kills herself and all she has to say about it is ‘see you on the other side’? That’s completely fucked up.”

“Maybe it’s all she could say,” said Cat Poop. “Maybe she didn’t really know why she was doing it.”

“How can you not know?” I said.

“Why do you think she did it?” he said, pulling the old answering-a-question-with-a-question bullshit.

The thing is, I didn’t know. But I was afraid I did. I was afraid it was because I couldn’t sleep with her. I was afraid it was because she felt rejected, the way I did with Burke. And with Allie. If that was true, then I knew why she wanted to kill herself. I knew exactly why.

“What are you thinking?” Cat Poop asked me.

I couldn’t say it. I just couldn’t. If I said it, I knew it would be true. But as long as I kept it inside, as long as it was a secret, it couldn’t be.

“You’re afraid it was because of you?”

Goddamn it, I don’t know how he does that, but the doc always manages to ask you the one question you really don’t want him to.

I nodded, but I still didn’t say it. I didn’t let it out. Finally, when I couldn’t stand it anymore, I said, “Do you?”

When he shook his head, I almost threw up. “No,” he said. “I don’t.”

“Then why the fuck did you ask me?” I practically yelled. I only say “fuck” when I’m really pissed off. Otherwise, I think it kind of ruins the effect. But right then I was really pissed off. Fucking pissed off.

“Because I had a feeling you might be thinking that,” he said.

I glared at him. “You’re a real asshole,” I said. “You know that?”

He ignored me. “There’s something else,” he said. “She wrote a poem.”

“A poem?” I said. That was totally not a Sadie thing to do.

Cat Poop handed me the letter. Down at the bottom, after the note, Sadie had written:

Seven little crazy kids chopping up sticks;
One burnt her daddy up and then there were six.

Six little crazy kids playing with a hive;
One tattooed himself to death and then there were five.

Five little crazy kids on a cellar door;
One went all schizo and then there were four.

Four little crazy kids going out to sea;
One wouldn’t say a word, and then there were three.

Three little crazy kids walking to the zoo;
One jerked himself too much and then there were two.

Two little crazy kids sitting in the sun;
One took a bunch of pills and then there was one.

One little crazy kid left all alone;
He went and slit his wrists, and then there were none.

“So this is what we were to her,” I said. “Just a list of problems.”

“I don’t think that’s it,” said Cat Poop. “I think she wanted to believe that you all had something in common.”

“Being crazy?” I said.

He nodded. “It probably made her feel better about herself.”

Maybe so, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. In fact, I’m even madder at her than I was before. I’m mad because she turned out to be such a phony. She wanted me—and everyone else—to think she was so cool and nothing could bother her. She wanted us to believe that she really had it all together. And we did. Or at least I did.

But she wasn’t together. She wasn’t cool and strong and smarter than everyone else. She was afraid. She was afraid we’d all see the real her one day and that we wouldn’t like it. Well, I don’t like it. I don’t like that she lied to me and made me think she was someone she wasn’t. I don’t like that she pretended to be cool with everything but was really running away. I don’t like that I want to be sad about her dying but I can’t because I’m too mad at her.

First Allie and now Sadie. They both left me. And even though Sadie never said it, part of me still wonders if it’s because I’m gay. Allie couldn’t handle it. Maybe Sadie couldn’t either.

So now it’s just me, Juliet, and Martha. The last three little soldier boys. I guess everyone waiting behind the velvet ropes to get in decided to go to a different club or something. Tonight after dinner, me and Juliet were sitting in the lounge. I don’t know why, but I asked her, “Did you like Sadie?”

Juliet put down the book she was reading. “I liked her the way you like a hurt dog,” she said.

“What do you mean?” I asked her.

“You feel sorry for it, and you want to help it, but you’re not sure it won’t bite you when you’re not looking,” Juliet said.

Now I know Juliet says some weird stuff. But sometimes she gets it exactly right, like occasionally her craziness goes away long enough for her to really see you. I knew what she meant. Sadie was kind of like that. She was always wagging her tail and making you think she liked you, but I’m not sure she really liked any of us any more than she liked herself.

“What about Rankin?” I asked Juliet.

She shook her head. “I never liked him,” she said. “Did you?”

As far as I know, she doesn’t know anything about what happened with Rankin and me. I think only Moonie, Goody, and Carl know, and I don’t think they would say anything. I guess they’ve seen so many crazy things that they forget about them pretty fast or at least get really good at pretending to.

I shrugged. “I thought we were friends,” I told her. “But I guess I didn’t like him. Not really.”

“Why would you be friends with someone you didn’t like?” Juliet asked me. For a second she reminded me of Cat Poop, and I pictured her with a pad and pencil.

“Sometimes you don’t know you don’t like someone until you’ve been around them for a while,” I said.

“I do,” said Juliet. “I can always tell if I like someone or not.”

I asked her how.

“I get itchy when I’m near them,” she said. “I think I’m allergic to dangerous people. Rankin made me itch.”

You might think she’s just nuts, but it makes as much sense as anything else. I mean, how do you know if people are good for you or not? It’s not like they come with an fda approved sticker or anything.