by Aaron Dries
Wake up to yourself, Noah! Can’t you see what he’s doing?
But Noah hadn’t seen. And worse, these conversations were important to him, perhaps even treasured—otherwise why would he have gone to such effort to preserve them? To hide them?
HelveticaBoy.
Marshal wondered what the name meant, or if it meant anything at all. He read on and learned things about Noah that he’d never suspected, and the further Marshall went, the more he learned that the small things were adding up to something larger. Each revelation was a widening fissure opening up beneath his son, threatening to swallow him whole.
HelveticaBoy: sumtimes I don’t want 2 grow up
NeedaArk11: what u mean?
HelveticaBoy: when u grow up ppl become so mean. like my dad. I don’t want to be like him
NeedaArk11: me neither. I hate my dad.
HelveticaBoy: why do you hate ur dad?
NeedaArk11: I don’t know. I just do. I don’t hardly talk to them anymore. My mum 2. u were right. She dosent love me either. Ur always right
HelveticaBoy: I know im always right. Im the only person who gets it. And u.
NeedaArk11: yea. Sumtimes I think about running away but I have no money
HelveticaBoy: I would run away but they wud find me.
NeedaArk11: I could hide. Im good at hiding
HelveticaBoy: no. theyd find u. trust me. nobody ever disappears. Do u believe me?
NeedaArk11: yes.
HelveticaBoy: really?
NeedaArk11: yes.
HelveticaBoy: y?
NeedaArk11: bcause ur smart.
HelveticaBoy: ur dum aren’t u? they all think ur dum. That’s why u should listen to me.
NeedaArk11: im not dum.
HelveticaBoy: yes u are.
NeedaArk11: I think im going 2 go.
HelveticaBoy: ok. Same time tomorrow. Ill be online.
NeedaArk11: y. ill be here.
HelveticaBoy: promise. Blood bros?
NeedaArk11: yeah.
HelveticaBoy: oh before you go. Check this out. Finally theres sumone who understands. Let me know what u think. Lets talk bout it tomrrow.
Below this there was a link, highlighted in blue and underlined. Marshall had cut it from the word doc and pasted it into his Internet browser toolbar. The hourglass danced, the screen white. But only for a moment. The following message appeared: Browser can’t open the page because it can’t find the server or the page has been deleted.
Marshall felt himself go limp and refreshed the page over and over again, his clicking growing more fierce, impatient. The link was still highlighted. He leaned in so close to the screen his breath fogged up the glass. It soon cleared, shrinking to a single dot of condensation. He looked at the address, dropping to his knees.
“Noah,” he had cried. “Oh, Noah, no. Noah, no.”
Just like his son, the page was gone—but it had existed at some point.
It read: http://www.letshelpeachotherout.org/suicide/answers.php4
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Marshall stepped off the bus and walked the downtown streets. Buskers sang loud off-key songs through screeching amplifiers. Saturated newspapers squished underfoot. He felt like the people he passed were looking at him, just as the woman on the bus had looked. Quick and tentative. Touching him with their eyes and running away.
A car blared at him as he dodged across the road, stepping into a puddle that drenched him ankle high. Marshall didn’t care. He didn’t care about a lot of things anymore: all the bullshit of his job, his tenuous acquaintances, even his relationship with Claire—it all seemed minuscule. Unimportant. Compared to this.
There was only Noah and HelveticaBoy; their conversations and whispers.
NeedaArk11: nuthins right. mum n dad don’t even look at me anymore. I don’t remember what it was like before all this. I hear them talking about how much they don’t love me. I wish I could get married and go away and live sumplace else away from school. Everyone thinks im an idiot. There are rumurs about me even tho I haven’t really heard any I know they r there. Im sick of it all. I don’t have any friends except u. ive been cheking out all those sites u sent me. some of them are really good. A lot of things make sense now. I know im not stupid. Are u there? I hope u r and if not that u get this msg when u log on.
There were a series of pasted images below this message. One was a four-part progressive display on how to tie a noose. Next to the image were instructions.
Lay the rope out like so. Give yourself two feet on either end. Take the bottom end of the rope and wrap it around the bottom loop you formed…
Another image showed a woman in her underwear, shot from the neck down. Her arms and legs were covered in grotesque bruises. It looked like she was sitting on a hospital bed, only it was unlike any hospital bed Marshall had ever seen. For reasons he couldn’t pinpoint, the bed looked European. The walls were dirty.
Printed across her thighs in large block letters were the words, she failed.
There was another link that took Marshall to a still-active site about effective ways to kill oneself. The author of the page went by the name Raymond Schitzar. In some sort of mocking gesture, the text was protected by copyright and all rights were reserved. It had made Marshall sick to read.
But read he did.
The page listed the pros and cons of strapping explosives to your body. Falling into chainsaws came highly recommended and Ray went on to list the merits of the old-fashioned bullet to the brain. Hammers and meat-grinders were out. Drowning was apparently euphoric, but to drown in a collection of your urine was not only euphoric, but an act of martyrdom. Assisted suicide was always an option, but nothing was more effective—or more fulfilling—than throwing yourself from some incredible height.
“You fly, you splat. It’s simple and painless, so I’ve been told,” Raymond Schitzar attested. Marshall had no reason to doubt him and neither did his son—Raymond’s words were protected by copyright, all rights reserved, after all.
HelveticaBoy: I think im gonna do it soon. Have u been thinking about it a lot? Its all I think bout now.
NeedaArk11: been thinking a lot. Was reading that if u duct tape a pillow to ur head it works. But don’t thnk I wanna do that. Don’t want to wake up. Risky
HelveticaBoy: I wish I was there to help u.
NeedaArk11: ull never leave me. ur here with me.
Marshall was running. It helped. The quicker he moved the harder it was to see all the staring eyes. The wind was howling through the city and the clouds were crawling across the sky. He didn’t want to remember what he had read.
But the more he ran the more he realized: you cannot remember what you cannot forget.
NeedaArk11: FUCK EM ALL 4 NOT TRYN 2 HELP!!! THEY DON’T EVEN KNOW ANYTHINGS WRONG. MUM AND DAD AND EVER1 ELSE CAN SUCK MY COCK. WHO MADE ME THIS WAY. IM GONA KILL MYSELF. UR RIGHT. IT’S THE BEST WAY. I ONLY WISH I COULD SEE MY MUM AND DAD CRYING LIKE PUSSIES. I WISH I HAD A GUN ID PUT IT IN MY MOUTH AND DO IT NOW. THEY CAN ALL GO TO HELL THE FUCKING BITCHES!!!!
Marshall was at the entrance to Stanley Park, a four-hundred-hectare urban woodland at the far west end of the city. Cyclists in wet-weather gear, joggers in slickers, they all skidded past him, not caring. His lungs hurt but he pushed himself forward, passing the tall totem poles. They looked down at him, as majestic as the trees they guarded.
Marshall entered the park, squirrels leaping out of his way. He dragged his feet over the muddied grass. He didn’t know why he was limping—there was so much pain in him it had grown hard to distinguish one problem from the other.
He tried to focus on the trees ahead. Disappearing into them seemed the only thing to do, but Marshall knew what HelveticaBoy knew too: You can’t disappear. You would always be found.
HelveticaBoy: I wonder how hard it wud be to hold ur breath forever.
NeedaArk11: u couldn’t do it. Ive tried.
HelveticaBoy: yeah ur prob right. What would u like 2 come ba
ck as?
NeedaArk11: what u mean?
HelveticaBoy: u know. Like when u die u come back as something else. Something better. Id like to come back as a monkey. Just sit around and eat and play in the trees. Don’t have to worry bout all this shit anymore. What would u want 2 come back as?
NeedaArk11: bird. im scratchin my skin now. Nobodys looking. Nobody eva does. It calms me down a bit. But only once it bleeds. But now im starting to get scars on my legs.
Geese fed on old soggy bread near the water. The drizzle made everything glimmer. Marshall found a familiar trail between two trees. He thought he heard something moving behind him but when he turned there was nobody there. Birds lighted in the branches above him. When he looked up water fell into his eyes. It stung. He pushed onwards and continued making his wishes.
I wish I saw more than what I saw.
I wish it wasn’t too late.
I wish—
“Where is it?” he asked himself.
HelveticaBoy: its my birthday today.
NeedaArk11: happy birthday.
HelveticaBoy: yeah. Maybe some1 will kill me, thatd be a gud present. Or maybe some will give me sum carbon monoxide or helium or gas. But its hard to get helium tanks so don’t think this will happen
NeedaArk11: hel?
HelveticaBoy: yeah
NeedaArk11: I love u.
The trees climbed over each other, scrambling for daylight. Vines hung in sad smiles. Marshall’s shoes were blackened with mud. His feet felt frozen. Clouds swallowed the sun.
NeedaArk11: hello? U haven’t been online for a week. What happened. plz tell me ur there. I hope u get this msg. Don’t leave me alone. I need u. ur all I got. Im sorry bout what I said. Pls reply
Marshall started to panic. Had he come all this way for nothing? There was a lump in his throat so encompassing and intense he thought it might burst through his skin, tearing flesh and spurting blood in every direction. He wanted to scream.
NeedaArk11: HELLLLLOOOO?????
He couldn’t tell one tree from another; all of the trails looked alike. It had been too long since he had been here, and even then, his last visit had been with Claire. She was the one with the sense of direction. When they were lost in the back streets of new cities it was always her who discovered the way out; it was the same in local shopping malls, in a darkened room.
Marshall wanted Claire there with him now.
He was looking for the great, collapsed Douglas-fir that he and Claire had found a month after coming to Vancouver. They had seen it and decided that this would be “Noah’s tree”, a place where they could come to remember him. But all of the trees looked alike.
NeedaArk11: hey! where u been? Its been a while.
HelveticaBoy: don’t msg me anymore. Im gona delete u from my contacts
NeedaARk11: WHAT? U serious?
NeedaArk11: Hello? U there?
HelveticaBoy: IM FUCKING SERIOUS U CUNT. UR A SAD SAD SAD ATTENTION SEEKING PUSSY. JUST FUCKING OVERDOSE OR STAB URSELF 2 DEATH. ITS SIMPLE. JUST DO IT AND FUCKING LEAVE US ALL ALONE. WE ALL HATE U. UR UGLY. EVERYONE HATES U. I HATE U. I NEVER LIKED U. IT WAS ALL PRETEND. UR JUST A FUCKEN ZOMBIE. FUCK OFF AND NEVER SPEAK 2 ME AGAIN.
Marshall curled up underneath a random tree, which may or may not be the one he and his ex-wife had decided upon. His head rested on a bed of moss and old tissues. Used condoms and empty crisp packets littered the ground around him. Rain pooled in the ear facing the sky.
He cried into the soil.
It was impossible to shake the memory of that final exchange between his son and HelveticaBoy. Noah had never replied. There was only the blank of the unused page. The white of page eighteen was just another way of losing his son all over again.
Soon there was lightning.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
It took Marshall two days until he could keep food down after reading the document. At first he could only manage a nibble of stale bread, but he kept at it. His jaw hurt from all the clenching it had done over the past forty-eight hours.
There was something about rereading the document that gave more meaning and impact than perhaps ever intended, but rereading the words made it easier to see it as something real. The anonymous voice of HelveticaBoy was a voice he could almost hear now. Marshall was almost at a point where he could understand how the stranger had managed to warp his son’s mind.
It was Noah’s rereading that would have done it.
His son had kept it all.
Marshall could see him in the library, bent close to the computer, going over and over the words. Looking around to make sure that nobody was looking at his screen.
You hate yourself.
You are alone.
I’m your only friend.
Never speak to me again.
Never speak to me again.
Never speak to me again.
Among the pages there was a brief exchange that had nothing to do with suicide. Noah and HelveticaBoy had been talking about the films and television programs that they enjoyed, when without warning, HelveticaBoy had written, hey, u should send me a pic of u.
“I don’t have one with me,” Noah had said.
“That’s okay,” the boy whispered. “Bring one tomorrow, okay? Or email it to me. I’m so excited to finally see what you look like.”
Two children, linked by pain, bent over their computers.
Two children alone and not alone.
“What’s your email address?” Noah had asked.
And HelveticaBoy had given it.
Marshall composed the email on the third day after reading the document. The text box sat in front of him like an open coffin waiting to be filled. It took great concentration to put his anger aside, to allow his mind to construct the sentences he needed to create.
Hello, HelveticaBoy, he began.
I know it’s been a long time. And no doubt you probably think im dead. But I am not dead. I am alive. I don’t expect you to reply to this. I don’t even know if you even use this email anymore, but I remember sending you my photo to this address way back when.
I want to talk to you.
Marshall signed it:
NeedaArk11
Your friend.
Marshall had slept on the living room floor that night, a sheet wrapped around his sweaty body. He’d fallen asleep watching the images of his prior life cross-dissolving back and forth on the screen saver.
He was woken by a delightful ding at eleven, followed by a voice saying, “You’ve got mail.” The screen saver disappeared and the room filled with computer brightness. It hurt his eyes at first but they soon adjusted.
Marshall’s naked skin stuck to the floorboards, his flesh tattooed with wooden imprints. Dust and crumbs greyed his hair. His bones cracked when he stood, stumbling to his desk. At the bottom of the screen, tucked away between all of the thumbnails, was a flashing envelope icon. Marshall clicked on it and a window opened. Inside the window was a single word.
Hello.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
North Bend, Washington State, America
A quarter moon fought through the clouds, casting blue light over North Bend. There were no stars reflected in the town’s rivers, or in the dark windows of the houses, just the sad, faint glow of the moon, fading and returning without rhythm. Fog climbed the Cascade range, blanketing Mount Si, which watched over the town like an impassive guardian.
The wind sent the trees into song, a long drawn-out note that the people of North Bend knew well. Bark groaned against bark and the owls swayed with their branches as they searched for prey.
The beating of wings. A flash of blood. A loose feather.
In the town, a drunk stumbled out of Boxley’s Bar, and somewhere nearby, there was the shattering of a bottle. A motorcycle purred up Cedar Falls. The wind blew through there, too.
Near Meadowbrook Way on the border between North Bend and neighboring Snoqualmie, there was a river. Its waters ran cold. On its banks were the footpri
nts of children, empty Coke bottles and candy wrappers—remnants of a day in the sun. Stretching across the body of water was a red, industrial bridge that led to 396th Street. Two sets of legs dangled from its footing, swinging their Converse shoes.
The shoes belonged to twenty-two-year-old Jenn Kyoto and her best friend, Brian Wright. They sat with their shoulders pressed together, passing a joint back and forth between them. The wind snatched the smoke away.
Jenn laughed, cupping her mouth with her hand. She wore an oversize hoodie, her delicate features swallowed up by its shadow. Under her multiple layers, a silver necklace dangled about her neck. Jenn didn’t like to show off her body, preferring to keep her contours hidden. It embarrassed her, somehow.
She didn’t want her parents to know that she had grown up; it would only make them awkward. They didn’t deal with change very well. Her parents were naive and narrow-minded people, and sometimes, she found them very easy to hate.
Brian, on the other hand, had taken his growth spurts in stride, casual and poker-faced, when in reality, it made him want to cheer out loud. He remembered visiting his grandmother in Idaho, walking into her kitchen and peering straight over the top of the refrigerator, spying on the wall behind.
That wall was the color of stained teeth.
Greasy dust bunnies lurked there, too.
These details would have meant nothing to him if he’d seen them anywhere else—but there, in his grandmother’s kitchen, it meant everything. Why? Because on his last visit, the prior Easter, he hadn’t been that tall.