Suicide Kills, part 3

                                                         Chapter Three

An hour later, my tears had relinquished their fury leaving an oddly peaceful empty feeling. I stared out the window at the darkening clouds. God had a sense of humor locking me up in here with horny making weather about to come down. Wait. I didn't have a boyfriend, anymore. Shit, I'd just made myself feel bad.  I should just stop thinking all around.

"Brittni? May I come in?"

I swung around to face the voice. Jerrilyn was either the most naive person on the planet, or this wasn't her first kegger. She stood in the doorway holding a tray of food. "We’re not supposed to have these in our room, but Aaron made an exception for you tonight. You hungry? Can you eat?"

Anger flared, but I held it back. Her kindness shamed me, and I did not like that one bit. If I was honest, I knew who deserved my ire the most, though.

My list went:
1. Osama bin Laden
2. Me
3. Kylie Minogue (Hey, it was the beginning of 2002. Get off my nipples. That god damn 'Can't get you out of my head' song was stuck in my mind for six months straight.)

Jerrilyn wasn't on my list. I motioned her inside.

Smiling tentatively, she walked into the room to the set the tray on a stand. "I’m also not supposed to be in your room. Aaron made an exception for that, too."

She had arranged it. All of it. For me. But why? Surely, I’d proven to her the cruelty I was capable of.  Yet, here she was.

"I…I’m…Damn, Jerrilyn, I’m really sorry." The words were out of my mouth before I even figured out how to say them.  The uncertain smile on her face was replaced with a new one. Friendship.

"I lashed out at everyone, too, the first time I came here. I was miserable, so I figured everybody else should be, too. Figured they deserved it." She picked up an apple and tossed it at me. "I know I got problems. For fucks sake, that’s why I’m here. The only person I got to blame is me. And maybe genetics. It sounds corny as hell, but it really does get better. And what makes that true is you’re here, and it damn sure can’t get any worse. Can it? Go ahead on. Eat. Then come find us in common room."

On impulse, I grabbed her hand before she made it to the door and tried to swallow the lump in my throat.  Shutting my eyes, I wrapped my arms around her back and mumbled, "Thank you. Really."

It felt good to hold somebody, to be held, to feel substantive and seen. For a second, she stroked my hair, whispering, "You’re welcome,” then left.

Some time later, a voice like a slow-swung cowbell announced, "Lights out in one hour." I hurriedly gathered my tray and took it down the hall, depositing it on a caddy as I passed on my way to the common room.

Veronica, Jerrilyn, and Maria Rosa sat on the couch talking animatedly. The three fell quiet as I darkened the door. 

Jerrilyn wasn‘t the only one I had hurt earlier, but I did not want to apologize, again. I wasn’t sure I knew how. Always having to be the one who fixes everything had left me at a loss on how to be the one who admits error. Could they understand?

Veronica smiled, moved over to make a spot, and asked, "So, you gonna plant your ass down here, Midget, or what? We only have an hour left to gossip. Better make it quick."

Relief flooded me.  After the way I treated Veronica earlier, I didn’t even care if she called me Midget.  Hell, at four feet eleven inches I was one inch too tall to be one (cut off point is four feet ten inches for the vertically lacking), so it’s not that far off the mark to begin with.  One look at Jerrilyn and I saw she had taken care of the apology for me, but her eyes were clear. Next time, it’d be my own responsibility.

"Well? Whaddaya say?" She prompted, winking at me.

A grin tugged at my lips. I entered the room to stand next to the couch. "So, we get another smoke break, or what? There’s a stuffy linebacker that needs torturing. Y’all game?"

All three nodded.

"Oh, Aaron! It’s time for you to monitor the crazies from an undersized chair! Get the lead out, big guy! We need our nicotine!"

His breathy curse from the hallway outside the common room was all the encouragement we needed.  We each whipped out our cigarettes merrily, and trotted down the hall behind the cussing orderly.

When we walked inside, I noticed a tiny old man in the corner. His hair was so filthy that the grease made the hair shaft stand up and cling to itself, looking like he had thousands of antennae on his head. He sat slumping forward, shoulders sagging as though the weight of his dirty white t-shirt was too much to bear, the hand holding the Camel cigarette visibly shaking. It almost hurt to look at him, but I had no clue who he was.

I looked at Veronica and Jerrilyn questioningly. Veronica made the crazy gesture by her head (which I thought was hilarious) and Jerrilyn shrugged.  Maria Rosa simply patted my arm and said, "Mi ija, he don’t speak. He has’no said eh word since he got here three days ago."

I stood, watching him. My heart ached in his proximity. He seemed… lost.

Sensing my stare, he raised iridescent, tear-filled brown eyes to me then looked away as though he felt un-worthy of meeting someone‘s gaze. A single drop of shame fell to the floor by his dirt-streaked sneaker.

I reached into my pocket and got out the bandana I always carried to tie my hair back.  Slowly, because the last thing I wanted to do was run up full speed on a Crazy, I made my way across the room to sit in a chair, closer to this quiet man with the shaking hands.

Maria Rosa sat on my other side and patted my leg lovingly, then went back to the conversation Veronica and Jerrilyn were having.

Confident he would talk to me, because, well, I was me and I was nineteen, I asked him, "what’s your name?"

Silence.

"How old are you?"

He continued to stare at the floor.

"I think I have an extra deodorant. Want it? You’ll smell like a chick, but then again, this is a hen house." I said, determined to at least make him smile or strangle me.  Either would indicate success in my book.

"Okay. I’m Brittni. I’ll be here when you want to tell me. Here." I handed him the bandana, and started to turn towards the other women. One word stopped me.

"Ike."

I was thrilled. Knowing he responded deepened my protective feeling over him. I considered hugging him, dustbin camouflage and all, but I wasn't quite that excited.

Instead, I patted his knee as Maria Rosa had done to me. "Hi, Ike. It’s nice to meet you."

He moved his head a fraction of an inch to stare at my hand, then raised surprised eyes to mine, as though he were afraid I wasn’t real.

"It’s nice to meet you. Too." Ike finally said. He sighed into himself and wiped his eyes and face clean. His shoulders relaxed and the tremor in his hands lessoned. For all the world, he looked relieved. It made me want to help him.

But first things first. Ike, old buddy, old pal, you are r-i-p-e!

A layer of grime now mucked up my bandana in supporting evidence. I tried not to grimace. He couldn't keep this up, no matter how depressed he was. And, for certain, I knew the rest of us would not be able to stand an entire week of the Exciting Odors of Ike.

"Ike, you really need to take a shower and wash your hair, okay? It will make you feel better. Will you do that for me?" I kept my gaze on him, unwavering, until he responded.

A little embarrassed, he studied my bandana and nodded, then tucked it into his pocket and smiled shyly. He didn’t look down for the rest of the break.