by Dawn Green
I’m going to ace that quiz.
Sticks
December 20th
Dear Stones,
Today was the last day of school before winter vacation. It was a pretty typical last day—movies, games, candy canes, and one science test. Why is there always that one grinchy teacher who is so against the holidays and fun that they have to give a test on the last day? I don’t get it. Does his Christmas suck so much that he has to bring ours down, too? Maybe it does. Now I just feel bad for the guy. Maybe he sits at home, alone, no family, no tree, no lights, no presents … that would suck.
Anyway, that’s not why I am writing to you … I have to tell you what happened at the Winter Wonderland Show. Nothing unusual with the show—Mr. Kline was dressed up as Santa again. The choir came out and sang all the usual songs. Mary and Joseph led the politically correct cultural parade across the stage, complete with Jewish menorahs, Chinese dragons, Elves, etc … and everyone in the audience singing “Feliz Navidad” as they marched. That was all pretty normal … an abnormal normal, but nothing out of the ordinary as far as the show was concerned. What I have to tell you about happened with me.
I was sitting at the back, trying to avoid everyone as usual, when Hockey Jake came and sat down beside me. There were lots of other seats but he came and sat beside me. We smiled awkwardly, and then the lights dimmed and the show began. After a few minutes, he leaned in and started whispering …
Jake: Mr. Kline looks ridiculous in that Santa suit.
Me: (shocked he was talking to me) Totally.
Jake: Is your family doing anything over Christmas?
Me: No. We usually all go to my grandma’s house. My mom’s side of the family comes for dinner—crazy drunk uncles, annoying cousins … We play some lame family games, open presents, eat turkey … (At this point, I realized that I was talking too much) … you know how it is. How about you?
Jake: Same. Although this year I got invited to a select hockey camp and I leave on the day after Christmas—for a week in Russia.
Me: Russia?
Jake: Yeah.
Me: That sounds cool.
Jake: It should be. I mean we don’t really get to go anywhere besides the hotel and the arena but, still …
At that point, a teacher came over and shushed us so we couldn’t talk anymore. I don’t know what to think about it. I mean, it wasn’t a huge deal but it was kind of a small deal. He talked to me. And then, when the show let out and we got up to leave, he turned as we were going out and wished me a Merry Christmas. I don’t know if he’s just taking pity on me because of the whole “you” thing, or if he’s actually trying to talk to me. I don’t know what to think. After I got home I creeped him on FB. There are some pretty cute pictures of him on there, mostly of him playing hockey. I’m not friends with any of his friends. We don’t really have that much in common. I don’t know why he’s talking to me … and now I have to wait all vacation to see him again. This is the kind of stuff you should be here for.
Sticks
December 22nd
Dear Stones,
I just saw Weird Girl again!! I was out shopping at the mall (well, not really shopping, just tagging along while my mom shopped for Christmas presents) and there “she” was. She was wearing a green Santa hat and ringing one of those bells to collect money for the poor. She looked different out of school—normal. I’m still pissed at her for what she said about you but not as much as I was. And now that I know she’s got real issues, I feel kind of bad for her. My mom saw me looking, and she thought I was looking because I wanted to give money, so she gave me five bucks and told me to go and put it in the bucket. Talking to Weird Girl again was the last thing I wanted to do, but it was for the poor so I didn’t really have a choice.
Me: Umm, hi. Here (putting the money in).
WG: Hi. Thanks.
Me: (turning to leave)
WG: I’m sorry … about what I said. My dad said that even if we think some things, we shouldn’t always say them.
Me: (stopping … turning back)
WG: I’ve never known anyone who has died before. Well, my grandpa on my mom’s side died two years ago, but I had only met him once when I was really little. He smelled like cigarettes and dirty socks.
Me: That’s okay.
WG: Why did she do it? I’m sorry. I’m not supposed to ask that.
Me: It’s okay—I don’t know.
WG: I’m sure she’s in heaven.
Me: I’m not (but I whispered it so she didn’t hear me).
WG: What?
Me: Nothing. Do you get paid to do this?
WG: No. It’s volunteer. My dad makes me do it every year. This is the first time I get to do it all by myself. He’s always worried someone will rob me.
Me: Who would do that?
WG: It happens. It happened to a woman at the other end of the mall last year. But she was standing by the outside door, and my dad said that I would be okay here, because it’s inside the mall and there are lots of people and security guards around.
Me: (nodding … awkward silence) Well … I hope that doesn’t happen to you. (I realize that was a stupid thing to say but I didn’t have anything else.) I better get going. Merry Christmas.
WG: Thanks. You, too.
She actually didn’t seem that weird outside of school. I mean, I can tell there is something “off” with her, but it’s not as obvious outside of school. It’s like she blends in better in the real world.
I can’t stop thinking about her. About why she’s so interested in you. And I think it’s because she can’t understand why you would do what you did. She has actual problems. I know we sometimes think life hasn’t been fair to us, but life really hasn’t been fair to her, and you had it all. You didn’t have any problems or things to deal with—not like autism, or a bad family, or like the people who live on the streets, or like the starving kids in Africa—you were normal. You had people in your life who loved you. I think she just wants to know what made you believe that life was so bad you couldn’t be here anymore.
She just can’t understand why.
Sticks
December 23rd
Dear Stones,
I finally went over to your house. I didn’t want to go but my mom made me go with her. She said that this will be their first year without you, and we need to do whatever we can to make it better. Make it better. I know what you’d say if you were here. Make it better than what? The truth is that Christmas at your house always sucked. That’s why you usually came to mine almost every day of the holidays—not that my family is that much better. I remember last year when you told me that the real “F” word during the holidays is “family.” You said that Christmas was just a time for everyone to get together for a couple of days and pretend to be happy and like each other. But no matter how bad your family’s Christmas usually is, I’m sure this year will be worse.
Anyway, that’s why we went to drop off some Christmas baking. It’s the first time I’ve been in your house since … you know; I can’t even remember when the last time was. Was it … was it “the fight?” I think it was.
You weren’t at school … again. The teachers gave me some homework to give to you. When I came over, your mom told me you were in one of your “moods” and were up in your room, listening to music. She said that she had tried to get you to go to school that day but you weren’t feeling well again.
Was that a sign?
When I walked in, you were happy to see me. I gave you your homework and you said …
You: I see the school has you doing their dirty work for them.
Me: Where do you want me to put it?
You: On my desk with the rest of it.
Me: Why didn’t you come today?
You: I’m sick … cough … cough … can’t you tell?
Me: I can’t believe your mom fell for that.
You: They believe whatever I tell them. You just have to know what to say to get them to leave you alone. How wa
s your day? Fine. How was school? Boring, as usual. What did you do? Little of this, little of that. Then my dad grabs the paper and leaves; my mom goes into the kitchen and does mom stuff; my brother leaves to play with his Lego; and I come up here and listen to music. It’s the same whether I go to school or not. We’re all just going through the motions, Sticks.
Was that a sign?
Me: I miss you when you’re not there.
You: You just miss having someone to distract you from work. Besides, you still have Loren and Drea to keep you company.
Me: Not the same.
You: I know. I’ll be there tomorrow. (But you weren’t. You stayed home sick again.)
Me: What do you do here all day?
You: Write songs, mostly.
Me: Anything new?
You: Yes. Want to hear it?
Me: Yeah.
And then I sat down and you played a song about two friends going down to the water at night. Something about how life was short but summer days were long … Was that a sign?
You: Hey, why don’t you skip school with me tomorrow? We can go to the beach, write some songs together.
Me: I can’t. Last time, the school phoned my house and my mom grounded me for a week. Remember?
You: Well, who cares? It’ll be worth it.
Me: I can’t. And you need to go to school.
You: Why? It’s a huge waste of time.
Me: And sitting up here alone, in your room, is better how?
You: No one asked you.
Me: Don’t get mad. I just don’t understand why …
You: Because I don’t feel like it. I’d rather sleep and play music. I don’t need to go to school to be the next singing idol.
Me: That’s your plan?
You: Shut up. You thought it was a good plan before.
Me: Yeah, when you were going to school.
You: You don’t think I can do it?
Me: That’s not what I said …
You: You don’t think I’m good enough.
Me: No, I do …
You: get out.
Me: Stones, I didn’t mean …
You: I don’t care. get out. I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone.
And then you shut the door in my face. Your mom told me not to take it personally, that you had been in a bad mood for a few days.
Was that all a sign? Of course it was. Why didn’t I see it then?
I’m pretty sure that was the last time I was in your house. I didn’t see you as much after that. I think you stayed mad at me for a while. I was mad at you, too. I just thought you were being a bitch … I didn’t know you were going through other things … I didn’t know.
Apparently, you hid it well from everyone. Your mom told me that she knew you weren’t yourself, but she thought it was just you being a moody teenager. I asked her about you—when my mom and I went over.
I just need to understand … and I don’t.
I asked her if she saw anything. If she suspected anything. My mom got upset when I brought it up. She said we were there for Christmas, not for that. But your mom said it was all right. That she had wanted to talk to me about it. We talked for over an hour. I felt like you were there, listening the whole time. I kept waiting for you to walk down the stairs and join us … yell at us … tell us to stop talking about you. But you never did.
She told me that the doctors think you were suffering from depression or some kind of mental health disorder. Disorder—it just sounds so medical, so cold, so … psycho ward.
The moodiness, the missed school, the sleeping, some of the things you wrote in your journal … that it all made sense and fit with depression. But … I don’t know if I believe that.
They read your journal. They dissected it page by page, word by word, letter by letter, ripping you open and taking out your insides to see what was making you tick. And somewhere, hidden amongst the song lyrics and absent-minded thoughts, they found a depression demon that was clouding your thoughts, making you do / say / think things that weren’t true.
I don’t know … I think it’s a copout. Maybe you were suffering from depression and maybe you weren’t. I think your mom needs to believe you were. I think everyone needs to believe you were. That it was the depression demon’s fault … and not our own. That you were sick, and it wasn’t you calling the shots and pulling the strings. It was something else. Something sinister. We need to believe it because it gives us an answer. And we all need an answer. So we give ourselves one to make it all feel better. But the truth is, we’ll never know why because only you know knew … and you can’t tell us.
By the way, if you’re wondering, I didn’t get to see your brother. Apparently he was at a sleepover. Your mom said he’s happier when he’s playing at a friend’s house because he thinks less about you. Your dad wasn’t around, either. She didn’t say where he was.
Merry Christmas.
Sticks
December 26th
Stones,
As usual, the holidays suck. Christmas dinner was typical. It started all nice and formal but, as the night went on (and the drinking went on), it evolved into family reminiscing, which inevitably led to family fighting and fa la la la la … I hid in the corner by the tree, reading a new book I got in my stocking and trying to ignore the world. You were right about the “F” word.
As I was reading, out of the corner of my eye, I could see a group of my younger cousins whispering and daring one another to do something. Finally Emma, the oldest, came over…
Emma: Is it true that your best friend jumped off a bridge?
Me: Where did you hear that?
Emma: Some kids at school.
Me: It’s not true. Now go away.
Emma: How’d she do it, then?
Me: None of your business.
Emma: Do you even know?
Me: (not answering, trying to read and ignore her)
Emma: I bet you don’t know.
Me: Get outta here.
Emma: (turning to her siblings) Told ya she doesn’t know.
At that point, my Aunt Carolyn came over and told them to leave me alone. She apologized and said that she had told them all to be nice and not bother me this Christmas. Which is a change, because usually I’m the one left to babysit everyone else.
Even from my little reading corner, I could hear all the adults whispering about me—my mom trying to reassure everyone that I’m fine and coping well. She left out the part where she discovered my search history on the computer and totally freaked out the day before.
I’m usually really good about erasing it, but I guess the one time I forgot is the one time she finds it. Typical. Now she’s all worried about me again. I have another appointment with the OC in two days. She wasn’t supposed to have any appointments over the holidays but she’s made a special exception for me. Sarcastic “Yay!”
It wasn’t like I was researching how to commit suicide or anything … although she’s acting like I was. It started with me looking up bipolar disorder, and that led to a link about teenage depression, and that led to another link about teen suicide (one of the five leading causes of death among teens, the first being accidents), and then I was on a page about famous suicides through history: Kurt Cobain (knew about that one), Sylvia Plath (knew about that one, too), Vincent van Gogh, Ernest Hemingway and his granddaughter Margaux Hemingway (lots of depression demons in that family), Virginia Woolf … and so many more … all writers and artists, kind of like you.
The pages all linked to other places, some that showed their work, fan sites, and some that listed how they committed suicide … and I think that was the page that my mom found, so, of course, she had a mini heart attack and booked an appointment for me with the OC right away.
I told her it wasn’t what she was thinking. How could she think that? I was just … I don’t know … curious. It didn’t start out with me looking for that information—it kind of just happened.
I can’t believe all the ways people
have done it. I am kind of wondering why you chose to do “it” the way you did. If you researched “it?” Of course you did, because you’re you and you never did things halfway. That’s one thing people always said about you … “If Kacey wants to do something, there’s no stopping her. She’ll do it.” You wanted to learn how to play guitar and then, that same year, you won the school’s talent show, singing and playing your own song. You wanted to be in the play and you inevitably got the lead. Anything you wanted … you got it. Congratulations to you.
Sticks
December 28th
Dear Stones,
I guess I said all the right things because the OC has cleared me. I’m not crazy. She told my mother that this is a normal reaction, and I’m displaying normal behavior for a person who is “dealing with the loss of a friend from such a sudden and tragic circumstance.”
So there, Mom—I’m normal.
Abnormally yours,
Sticks
January 1st
Dear Stones,
The craziest thing just happened. I was in my room just hanging with Hershey and practicing a little guitar, when I heard my computer ping. I must have left my FB chat on (no one usually wants to talk to me, anyway) but someone was trying to message me …
And that was it. Not sure what I am supposed to think about this. I mean, he messaged with me, which means he must have been thinking about me, right?! And I was so lame. Actually being home by myself for New Year’s Eve. He must think I’m a total loser.
“Looks like you spent New Year’s Eve with me!”—what was that? How am I supposed to take that? Am I just being a “girl” and overanalyzing everything? Does he like me?
I can hear my parents coming up the stairs to wish me a Happy New Year. Gotta go.
Oh, and Happy New Year!
Sticks
January 9th
Stones,
I’m sitting in the medical room at school, waiting for my mom to come and get me.