King Dork

There’s no baby, there’s nothing there What baby? I don’t care—

Thinking of Suicide? Yeah, that’s right.

It’s a Thinking of Suicide Saturday night It’s not funny but it’s true

I think about suicide when I think about you So put your E back where you got it from I don’t plan on going to the prom

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I know I add up to a figure of fun

But I don’t want to be the only one

And there’s only one of me

And no one else that I can see

And I’m so tired of trying to

Make believe I’m not dying to, so—

Thinking of Suicide? Yes, I am.

Thinking of Suicide? Hell, goddamn.

It’s not funny, but it’s free

Do you think about suicide when you think about me?

And if I’m suddenly gone

Then you’ll know what’s been going on I’m always thinking

And I never do anything

But,

Thinking of Suicide? Yeah, that’s right Thinking of Suicide with all my might I have got a history of

Thinking of Suicide when I think about love.

Well, it was a bit better with the music. Not the music as played by me and Sam Hellerman and Todd Panchowski, which was pure (devil-head) cacophony. I mean how it sounded in my head. Maybe you’ll have to trust me on that.

Anyway, I just thought you should see what my mom had been reading when she flipped out. Plus I’m kind of proud of that song and I’m showing off a little, even though you have to sing “from” a little weird to make it sound like it 160

rhymes with “prom.” But actually, that’s kind of like my favorite part.

I totally couldn’t see what the big deal was. It’s a pretty ordinary topic. Not too shocking or unusual. They make a pamphlet about it, for Christ’s sake. In fact, it wasn’t even me in the song. The song had been inspired by the pamphlet girl, as I’ve explained; and as for those specific lyrics, I had in fact been feeling sorry for myself while pretending to be Yasmynne Schmick when I came up with most of them. But I couldn’t figure out a way to explain that to my mom and Little Big Tom without causing even more confusion.

When my mom is in crazy mode it’s just not possible to talk to her reasonably. Still, I gave it a shot, trying to make it as simple as possible.

“I’m not on drugs and I’m not going to kill myself,” I said.

And it was true. I really wasn’t. Though I couldn’t tell you why not.

No one knew what to say. Then Little Big Tom cleared his throat and filled in some of the background.

My own cleverness had tripped me up. Way back, I had needed to find an excuse for why I never spent much time at home, particularly after school. The real reason was that LBT

kind of freaked me out back then, and I felt so uncomfortable with the whole vibe of the Henderson-Tucci household that even the ghastly pall of Hellerman Manor seemed preferable to it. So I invented a series of clubs I was supposed to be in, plausible ones like the Chess Club, Rocketry Club, Monty Python Club, The Middle-earthlings, or the Trekster Gods, and sometimes crazy ones I would make up for my own amusement, like the Caulking and Stripping Club, or the Doorknob Appreciators Society, otherwise known as the Knob-heads. Not that they ever paid much attention to what the clubs were called. My brilliant humor, once again wasted.

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Ironically, part of the reason I started hanging out at home more, in addition to the fact that we couldn’t do band activities at Sam Hellerman’s, was that I had started to warm up to Little Big Tom, even actually almost kind of liked being around him sometimes. But to them it looked like I had suddenly lost interest in all the clubs and afterschool activities.

That was a Danger Sign. Then they found the lyrics and pamphlet and that had tipped the whole thing over. I screwed up.

And now I was looking at a vast stretch of inept suicide-watch activity from the parental units for some time to come.

“You’re not going to like this, chief,” Little Big Tom began. What? What could they confiscate in this situation? I