Butterfly Suicide

by Loesch, Mary Ann

  Focus. Don’t think like that.

  I breathe in and out, trying to calm down, trying to think about something else.

  I have to get out of Rockingham. There has to be a way.

  Drop out of school. Maybe travel. See the world. Get the hell out of Texas. Go to Mexico. Work in a field. When I’m old enough, I can get my GED.

  What about my mom? Can she stand losing two sons? What will happen to her?

  I think about it as I slowly make my way to the kitchen for a glass of water. I have to use the hallway wall for support and then the back of the couch to propel me the rest of the way. Popping two aspirin from the kitchen cabinet, I grab a bag of frozen peas out of the freezer, shove everything off the couch to the floor, and lay down with the whole bag of peas across my face. The bruises throb, but the frozen bag feels decent—especially on my swollen eye. Lying down is good, too. I think one of my ribs is bruised or something, because it burns when I move.

  Derek. That asshole.

  They’d caught me off guard. I was too busy thinking about kissing Monica to pay attention to the way the car behind me was slowing down. They were on top of me before I knew it.

  “You little shit!” Derek had growled. “What are you doing on this street?”

  “Visiting your mom,” I snapped back, not willing to go down without a fight. Pure pleasure shot through me when I landed a solid punch to his eye. “She’s always good for a fuck.”

  That may have been a little too much of an insult for dumb ass Derek to take.

  At first, the pain had been really bad. I couldn’t breathe, but man, I could feel every kick, every punch. Then it was like I stepped outside of it and was just watching these jerks beat the shit out of me. I remember trying to fight them off, but I wasn’t going to turn into the Hulk and Iron Man wasn’t going to swoop down and save me. Finally, they left.

  But not before Derek leaned down to whisper, “I wish you were him, Valley. I really do. The beating you just took—that’s what I should have done to him.”

  Somehow how I staggered home, making my way across the tracks and through the shadows of Main Street. It took a long time, but I made it. Mom was already asleep. I cleaned up in the bathroom, chugged down aspirin and water, and fell into bed. I’d only really stirred again when I’d heard Monica’s knock at the door.

  “Stephen?” Mom stands over me now. “Did you take anything for the pain?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How bad is it?” She lifts the bag of peas off my face. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

  “No.”

  “Sit up.”

  I do, unable to keep from wincing at the pain in my ribs.

  “Lift up your shirt.” When I don’t, she reaches forward and does it herself. Mom gasps at the bruises on my torso. “Oh, honey. I think we need to take you to the doctor.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “I’ll be okay.”

  “Stephen, I want to go to that emergency care clinic across town,” she says. “We need to get you looked at.”

  “I don’t want to go there. I don’t want anyone to see me.”

  “Honey, I’m sorry, but you need to put aside your pride. Let’s get you checked out.” She lowers my shirt and looks me in the eye. “Please. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.”

  “Mom.” I stumble on the words. “I’m...I’m...sorry...about earlier.”

  “Me, too.” She looks away. “I’m sorry for slapping you.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “No. It’s not. And if getting out of this town is truly what’s best for you, then we’ll find a way.”

  Hope flares in my heart.

  “How?”

  “I’ve a friend who lives in Davenport. She offered a few months back to let us stay with her. Maybe we could still take her up on that.” Mom sighed. “We’d be closer to Jude, too.”

  Closer to Jude?

  As far as I am concerned, Jude is dead. The hollow eyed freak I’d seen wearing an orange jump suit with his once long hair shaved away is not my brother. That guy rotting away in a prison is not the guy I knew.

  I suspect he is an even worse version of my brother.

  Moving closer to him won’t solve any problems. His trial is coming up in November and we’ll have to deal with it all over again. I don’t understand why there is even a need for a trial. He’s admitted his guilt, but the lawyers explained that it has to be determined if he was in his right mind when he committed his crimes.

  It doesn’t matter to me. Lock him up. Throw away the key. Please.

  “I don’t want to see Jude,” I say.

  Mom sighs and walks to the back door, staring out at the jungle of weeds.

  “He called me two nights ago,” she says. “He wants us to come there.”

  Oh no. No way. What new hell is this? What does Jude have going on in his head?

  “We’re not going, are we?” I get up and make my way to her. “Please tell me we aren’t going to see him.”

  “He never wanted us to visit until now. He refused to speak to me, refused to even look at me. I try to send him messages through those lawyers, but I never hear anything back.” Mom is distant, not really hearing me. “His voice...it sounded...so young, almost frail. Something must have changed.”

  “Is that what he said?”

  “No. I just sensed it. He asked me to bring his notebook, that old worn one he always drew in. I gave him a bunch of new ones, but he always came back to that tattered journal.” She bites her lip and then looks at me. “Maybe he wants to tell us why he did it.”

  Monica’s face flashes through my head. I remember her face when she told me she wanted to know why he did it. So haunted—as if the question kept her up at night. All I wanted to do was forget Jude, leave everything about him in the past, including his motivations.

  “Does it matter now?” I ask Mom.

  “I need to know where I went wrong.”

  The quiet sorrow—it’s agony to hear. Going to see my brother is just going to make her hurt all over again, maybe even send her back to bed for another two months. I have to stop this.

  “Jude has never been quite right, Mom. You know that. The highs, the lows—he was emotionally disturbed or something.” Memories I’d almost forgotten come back to me. “Don’t you remember all those fits he would throw back in elementary school? Remember how they would have to clear the room or hold him down. That shit wasn’t normal, Mom.”

  “He grew out of those fits. Mostly.”

  In denial, she won’t meet my eye now, but I bet she’s remembering the time he shoved her into the wall, pinning her there in anger because she wouldn’t let him go out with friends. I’d had to hit him in the back with a chair to stop him.

  “He did things when adults weren’t looking,” I say.

  “What kinds of things?” Her gaze sharpens. “Tell me.”

  “Just…things.” Even now, even when I know there is nothing he can do to me, I’m unwilling to rat my stupid brother out. “But you can’t say there weren’t signs all along that he was crazy. All you have to do is look at his art to know that.”

  “He’s always been different, almost fragile. The littlest thing could set him off.” Tears fill her eyes. “Please Stephen, will you come with me to see Jude?”

  “No.”

  I don’t want to see Jude ever again.

  ****

  I let Mom take me to the minor emergency center. The pain in my ribcage is too much. Luckily, we are the only patients there so I relax a little about someone seeing me.

  The nurse behind the counter flinches when she hears our name, but her eyes are kind as we enter the small exam room. She helps me up and on to the brown medical table and assists in taking off my shirt.

  “Now that looks like one beaut of bruise.” She whistles at my ribs and gets a squirt of hand sanitizer from the dispenser on the wall.
Rubbing alcohol is strong in the room as she scrubs her hands together. “Hurts to move, don’t it?”

  “Yeah.” I grit my teeth as she pokes and prods. The sanitary paper they put on the table yanks free as I jerk hard when she touches a particularly sore spot. “Think it’s broken?”

  “Can’t tell without an x-ray,” she says and gives me a tight smile. “I’ll bet the doctor can fix you up though.”

  Sure enough the x-ray shows I have two broken ribs.

  While my mother stays up front to deal with how we are going to pay for this medical nightmare, the doctor comes in the room, marking on my chart.

  “Want to tell me what happened, son?” He is a young guy—way too young to be calling me son. “I can help you file a report.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, CPS and the police department can help if you are in trouble.”

  “CPS? Child Protective Services?” I try not to laugh. “My mom didn’t do this to me.”

  “Didn’t say that she did. Still, if you’d tell me what happened, we might all be better off.”

  “I got beat up by some kids.”

  “Thought about going to the police?”

  “No. There’s nothing they can do.”

  The doctor frowns. “You sure about that? I’d hate for you to...take matters into your own hands.”

  He knows about Jude.

  “I would never do that,” I say, softly. “I’d rather just let this go.”

  “That’s your choice then,” he says. “I’m going to prescribe some painkillers and tape up those ribs. Not a whole lot else we can do for them. I’ll give you a shot for the pain, too.”

  Once I’m taken care of, the doctor leaves me alone in the room. The door is cracked, and I can hear mom haggling about a payment plan. This visit is going to set us way back financially. The painkillers aren’t going to be cheap either.

  There’s a phone in the room on the wall. I glance at the number on my hand and call Monica.

  “Hello?” Her voice is wary.

  “Hey, it’s Stephen.”

  “Stephen?” She sounds relieved. “Are you okay? I was worried.”

  “No. I’m great. I’m fine,” I assure her. “I’m...I’m using a friend’s phone to call you. I don’t have a cell phone or anything.”

  “So you have a friend at the Rockingham Emergency Clinic?”

  Damn. Caller I.D. No wonder she sounded so worried.

  “Not exactly,” I say. “Look, I just wanted to make sure you got home okay. You were pretty upset.”

  “I made it,” she says. “But I haven’t talked to my mother yet.”

  “I won’t be at school on Monday. I just wanted to tell you in advance. I’m not avoiding you or anything.”

  “Why won’t you be there?”

  “I need to rest up my super strength.”

  “Ah...doctor’s orders?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Cool. Are you okay?”

  “Some rib trouble, but I’m okay.”

  There is a pause while we try to figure out what to say. My mother is just about done talking to the lady. Her face is pinched and worried. Any second she will come get me, and the shot the doctor gave me is starting to kick in. My head is light.

  “I gotta go, Monica. See you Tuesday.”

  I hang up before she can answer.

  “You ready?” Mom asks, walking in.

  “Sure.”

  “I’m going to take you home, and then I’ll run by the pharmacy to get your pain pills.”

  “Mom, I don’t need those. I can just take the ibuprofen. Those pills aren’t cheap.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Her lips are set in a grim line. “I know where to get the money.”

  When we get home, I go to my room and lie on the bed, thinking about Monica, wishing I knew what she was doing. Relaxed from the shot the doctor gave me, I drift into sleep.

  I dream of Jude.

  I’m in my room and the window is opened, the tin foil I use to block out light temporarily removed. Only the screen stops the wild outdoors from getting in. I’m picking up my crap off the floor due to Mom’s orders. If I don’t, I won’t be allowed to hang out with my friends. Jude and his pretty girlfriend, Simone, are outside. They don’t know it, but I can hear their conversation, and even though I know it’s wrong, I listen.

  I’m curious.

  What’s it like to have a girlfriend? What’s it like to sleep with one? What does this girl see in my dumbass brother? Is there any chance her cute sister, Monica, would go out with me?

  “Oh my god, Jude!” Simone squeals. “This one looks just like me!”

  “That’s the idea, babe,” he says. “I told you I was doing a series of sketches just on you.”

  “These are good. Really good.”

  “Ah, you’re just saying that.” But Jude sounds pleased. It’s rare to hear him so happy. “I just like to dabble in the world of squiggles. Nothing to it.”

  “You could really do something with this. Why aren’t you in the art classes anymore?”

  “Don’t need them.”

  “Just like you don’t need football?”

  “Hell, no. Football is just about running and not getting caught. I can do that without a ball.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  I creep closer to the window, wanting to see Jude’s face. Lately, he has seemed a little more off than usual. His lows have been longer, more pronounced. Does Simone see this, too?

  “Nothing.” He is standing under the oak tree on the side of the house, wearing his gold-rimmed sunglasses and clad in jeans and a blue T-shirt. Simone sits staring up at him. In her lap is Jude’s blue and worn notebook. It’s sacred and not just anyone gets to peek inside. I once got my ass whooped for daring to hold it. “What do you think of the next drawing?”

  Simone turns the page and gasps. She covers her hand with her mouth, unable to speak for a full ten seconds. Jude waits, a sly smile on his face as he lets whatever it is she’s looking at sink in. I know that smile. It means trouble is coming.

  “Shit! Jude!” Simone’s face is bright red. “You better not let anyone see this!”

  “Why not?” He is amused by her response, pleased almost. “Don’t you like it? I think you look hot.”

  “I don’t have any clothes on! If my father sees this…” Simone shakes her head. “Uh-uh. I’m tearing it out.”

  Quick as a flash, Jude takes it from her and snaps the book shut. She jumps up, hollering and reaching for it, but he is taller than her and holds it high so she can’t. Determined, Simone grabs his arm. Silent with that sly little smile, Jude places his hand on her chest, shoving her hard to the ground. Shocked, she stares up at him, and to my surprise, his smile fades, replaced by one of confusion.

  “What the hell, Jude?” She snaps when she recovers her voice.

  “I’m sorry.” For once, he seems sincere. I’ve never seen him like this. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Are you okay?”

  “Fuck you. I’m going home!” She brushes herself off, ignoring his apologies. “Leave me alone.”

  “C’mon Simone. Don’t leave like that.”

  “No. I’m out.”

  “What are you going to do? You going to tattle to those bitches you call friends? Melanie and Layla don’t care about you. Not really.” Jude’s face falls into the familiar desperate and irritated look he gets when things don’t go his way. “And Tina? She is just a follower. They are so jealous of you! You’re the butterfly. They’re caterpillars trying not to get their fat asses squashed.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about!” She glares at him. “And don’t start in with one of your stupid metaphors or analogies about my friends. You just say that shit to try and sound smarter than you are. Well, it doesn’t make you deep. It just makes you sound stupid.”

  “Me? Stupid?” he scoffs. “Those little bitches are just one long chain of gossip and lies. You tel
l one of them something and five seconds later the other two know all about it. Then they tell their fag boyfriends. No one needs to know our business but us.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Simone flicks her hair and crosses her arms. “I’m going home. Don’t call me.”

  She starts to stomp away. Panic cross Jude’s face. Simone is breaking up with him. She is daring to break his heart, daring to walk away. He scowls and says, “Okay, babe, you win. I’ll tear the picture out.”

  She stops.

  “Really?” Her eyes narrow. “Well then, do it right now.”

  Jude opens the book and rips it out. Simone turns and snatches the paper from him. Crumpling it up, she tucks it in her pocket. I can tell he doesn’t like it, but he has no choice. He either does as she says or loses her. I can’t help but wonder how he will make her pay for this. After all, no one crosses Jude without paying for it at one point or another.

  “Better?” Jude asks as she stares him defiantly. “C’mon, babe. Say you’ll forgive me.”

  “Say you’re sorry and I’ll think about it.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” she pushes. “What are you sorry for? Do you even know why I want you to apologize?”

  “I pushed you. I’m sorry.” He lifts her chin with his finger. “Really, I am.”

  “Good.” She smiles and lifts her lips up. “Now kiss me.”

  He does as he’s told. A battle has been won. On the surface, Simone is the victor, but I’m not so sure. Jude is a clever player. He may well have something to rig the game in his favor. They get more passionate and I worry they are going to get really crazy or something and have sex in the yard. I can’t stop looking, not even when Jude sees me, not even when I see the anger blossom in his eyes.

  The dream shifts.

  I struggle against the neckties Jude has used to secure me to the kitchen chair. My hands are tied together against the back of it. My feet are just as useless and trussed to the bottom. When I try to break free, Jude laughs and punches me in the arm again. It’s a big joke, so funny to see me helpless.

  “Let me go, Jude!” I holler. “I can’t wait for Mom to get home!”

  He laughs and scratches at the stubble of beard growing on his face.