Chevee T. Dodd
Word Count: 4437
(c) 1996 Chevee Dodd
I will begin my story with a brief description of myself.
First my name is Mike, Mike Bayne. Nice to meet you. As for a
physical description I believe myself to look something like this:
six feet two inches, golden-brown hair, soft blue eyes, and fair
skinned. My attitude is something you may view as coarse but
refined. I like to believe my dress style is unique, but we all
have seen some kid in jeans, a tee, and a flannel shirt hanging
generously about his body.
That's it really for a physical description. If you want
to get to know me more... read my story, then you may, and
I stress may, understand what my teen-aged brain went through.
It all started a few years back. I awoke on my bed. I was
wet... very wet. I attempted to gaze about my surroundings but I
saw nothing but haze. I saw the blur of red that was covering me
and the bedding I was lying on. The pain rushed up my arm drowning
out all of my other senses. My head fell to the pillows behind me
as a feeble scream escaped my mouth. Silence. I reached for the
phone perched upon the nightstand beside my bed. I could not manage
to bring the receiver to my mouth. My fingers groped for the numbers
on the base. It took all the strength I could muster to dial that
three-digit number. I slipped away into unconsciousness just as my
call was answered.
Again I awoke. I was floating... or so it seemed. My brain
was probably swimming from some sort of drug; for I soon discovered
I was in a hospital. A recovery room. I wasn't supposed to be here,
I wasn't supposed to be alive. I lay there for some time wondering
what I had done to end up here. Had I called? I couldn't remember
anything from the past few days. Again it was the drugs. When they
finally cleared themselves of my blood I soon came to remember
everything. I remembered placing the razor to my wrist, passing out,
dialing the number, and finally... the pain.
The Pain! Damn, after hours of being drugged for the pain it
was now terrorizing me. I called again and again for the nurse... no
response. I closed my eyes and attempted to sleep the pain away. I
must have passed out for when I awoke I was in new surroundings. The
walls were colored and there was a TV mounted to the wall. My vision
was still blurred from the whole situation but I could make out
shapes. The pain was too great to move my head but I heard movement,
soft movement... and breathing.
Then she spoke. It was if a God-sent angel had flown down and
lit upon a chair beside me. That angel was telling me something. Her
voice was so melodic it put me into a deep sleep.
I jumped from my slumber to a bright morning. Movement
returned to my muscles with minimal pain. I finally got a chance to
map my surroundings. Of course, I was in a bed... a hospital bed to
be exact. I was in what appeared to be a private room. To my left
were windows, big ones. Their curtains were drawn allowing the
gallant morning sun to carry itself into my room. There was also a
small table on this side of the room and some flowers were rested
upon it. To my right was the sight I was longing for... the angel.
She was seated in a small, orange, vinyl chair that appeared to be
left over from the sixties. It was a sight that eased all of my
ailments. Her radiance filled the room with a light comparable to
the sun. She slept. It had to have been uncomfortable to sleep in
that chair.
I sat there, staring into her closed eyes heedlessly... then
she stirred. Her eyes opened and I gazed directly into those black
pupils that surrounded themselves with a flawless green. Her lips
parted and she spoke.
"Mike?"
I was once again lulled by the sound of her voice. "Yes," I
returned, "I am okay." I laid my head upon the pillow and praised.
THIS... this is what I dialed that number for; this is my reason for
living. "Amanita, how long have I been here?"
"A long time, Mike. A long time," her voice dwindled as she
spoke the last few words.
"I mean days, how many days?"
"Four. Four days, and today marks the fifth."
"Have you been here the whole time... with me?" I heard a
sniffle come from her. I turned my gaze from the ceiling to focus on
her. She was crying.
"Yes. Your parents have stopped in a few times but I told them
I would stay with you." A new tear ran down her cheek to the soft hand
she was holding to her face.
"What is wrong?" I asked. I could tell she was in great
turmoil.
"The thought of losing you," her voice had softened from the
crying, "I thought you had left me."
At this I lifted myself from the bed and took her into my
arms. I held her there, in silence, and comforted her. "I am here now.
There is no reason to worry. I am alive." The sentences sputtered from
my mouth as I, too, began to cry. We sat there for a long while, just
holding each other... I... holding my life.
"Amanita, I love you," the words rolled from my lips, which
only made our embrace stronger. She gripped me as though I was a kite
string in a hurricane.
"I love you too, Mike." These words were all I needed to hear
to knock me into reality.
"I am going to get help."
C T D
This incident marked the beginning of a new love. We both knew
at this point exactly how much we loved each other.
"I love you."
"I love you more!" I stared blankly into her eyes as we
embraced. It was the usual game of "I love you more" that we frequented.
"Let's not talk about those days past," She spoke softly into
my ear.
"But they...", It was the truth. Those days are in the past. I
started to stutter for words but I was hushed by her soft lips. The
angles touch was God-like. "I can't help but think about how much you
did, and do more than ever, mean to my survival."
"Shhhhhh," she tightened her grip on me. I couldn't fight
against the emotional power this grasp had on me. I was in love. Some
people call it puppy love when two teen-agers date. They say that it's
"love blinded by immaturity." I disagree. Love can be experienced at
all ages... and I WAS in love.
We stayed locked to each other for what seemed like a
lifetime. So many feelings can be expressed in a hug. No words need be
spoken.
The rest of the evening ended pretty much uneventfully. It was
a different night though. We were in a different mood... we weren't as
playful as we usually were... we were caring, and tender. The night
ended, as did every night I spent at her house, with one of my parents
coming to retrieve me. I was sixteen, but I didn't come from the
richest of families. I had no Insurance to drive.
The best truth I can map out is that I loved spending all of my
time with her. Although we used most of the time trying to satisfy
each other's sexual desires, it was composed of moments I felt "at
home." It was not a sexual relationship, I very simply just LOVED
her. A place in my heart still beats for the memories of her love. I
am told it will never leave me.
We gathered many a time after the aforementioned night. I will
not bore you with all the details. I will keep focused on the important
incidences that need be stressed. I promise.
"At your command my royal leader," I jested as I rose from my
seat. We were at a place where most kids go... the movies. We loved
the movies. I walked out the door to obtain some popcorn. After a good
five minutes of attempting to summon the attendant I returned to my
seat with my wares. I set down to the left of her... as always. It was
the side I was most comfortable on. She laid her head upon my shoulder
and we sat in silence gazing at the movie and eating the over-buttered
treat. These were the best moments. This was my place in life.
We finished off the snack in a short time. I put my arm around
her and pulled her, ever so gently, close to me. I cannot think of a
more perfect feeling. The movie finished with us playing the usual
game of "treasure hunt." We rose from the seats together and walked
from the theater. Love carried us upon its gracious wings as we
approached the car and walked slowly into the chariot, droning at the
fact we must part. We sat in silence the entire ride home... just
holding each other. She was dropped off at her house and the evening
ended with a "Good night... I love you," and a warm kiss.
C T D
Love carried us through out that holiday season. Our time was
spent together every chance we had. We spent endless hours at night
talking on our favorite form of communication... the CB radio. We
spent practically every day of the Christmas break together. I loved
every moment of it, and at times my heart still recalls that warm
holiday. All was not well, though, as I would soon find out. Our
first argument made me realize this. I was not getting any better. I
was becoming worse.
We argued over something little. So little I cannot recall
its origin. It was after that argument that the thoughts came back
into my head. Thoughts that I had eradicated... or so I thought. No
one can truly understand depression until they challenge death with
their own life. The truth was I was running from them. I was using my
newfound love to cover them up. Apparently it did not work. I spent
many a night after that argument battling those thoughts long into the
morning hours. I was becoming fatigued.
We still gathered. As far as we were concerned the argument
was long gone. A memory to laugh about... but the thoughts rang loudly
in my head. Every time we met it was temporary relief. Her loving
touch and gentle voice loaned my brain reason to live. She lifted all
thoughts of death from my brow and placed a smile upon my face. But
growing ever more depressed I was.
She made me promise her when we started dating that I would
quit my "escapades." These instances were a temporary relief of
depression through the use of altered conscience. This didn't make me
happy. I hold to my promises... that was why I was angry. When I
didn't have her to relieve those thoughts I needed something... but I
couldn't have them. I was stuck with all of the pain my brain was
putting me through.
But then...on one holiday eve... I was at her house. This was
an odd evening. It was New Years Eve. I will project the image to the
best of my ability.
I arrived at her house at about seven o'clock. Everyone who
was to arrive had already shown. It was a house full of adults. All
of them her family... except one... and he is a story of his own.
I can remember a lovely incident early in the night when he
demonstrated to me quite thoroughly how to give a blowjob to a beer
bottle. I only wish I could have pictures of this event. He spent a
good half-hour showing me, and any other person who would watch, the
exact procedure.
A house full of adults... New Years Eve... you can imagine
the liquor. By around ten, everyone was drunk except for Amanita, her
brother, and me. We were under age. Everyone was having a good time,
laughing and being stupid. I became curious. I was not familiar with
alcohol. I never liked it much. Regardless, I ventured into the
kitchen and confronted the table o' liquor. I picked up a bottle and
took a generous... no, really generous... sample. It was good. I read
the label. Rum. I enjoyed the taste of this liquid so I had another
sample, more bountiful than the first.
Soon the power of the drug kicked in... I was drunk. Not until
the depressive qualities of the alcohol found its way to my brain did
I realize an important factor... I broke my promise.
This instilled in me an instant rage. I was mad at myself for
being feeble willed. She attempted to alleviate my sorrow but it was
of no use... the alcohol was too strong.
This became an important event in our relationship. It was
something I droned on endlessly. I have never let myself escape that
occurrence.
That night did end pleasantly though. After laughing endlessly
at the many fireworks we let off, she comforted me as her amazing
charisma usually allowed. That night will rest in its safety deposit
box in my memory bank. Forever.
C T D
For a long time our relationship went uneventfully. We had a
next to perfect relationship. In that I mean we had a very open and
understanding relationship. We enjoyed going out or just spending
time with each other at home. It seemed like every day I would be at
her house or she would be at mine. The month of January passed as
quickly as a bullet. Time DOES fly when you're having fun.
Then came the month of February. It began as peacefully as the
last had been. We were in love and we still couldn't stay away from
each other. As Valentine's Day approached she became curious about
presents. This bothered me. I never believed in the celebration of
Valentines Day. I never made her aware of this and that is my fault.
"What did you buy me for Valentine's Day?"
"That is something you will have to wait and see." This was my
common reply for that question. Always it had suppressed her curiosity
except for once.
"Tell me... what did you buy me?" By this time I was tired of
hearing this question. She persisted continuously.
"You will have to wait and see tomorrow." I spoke directly to
her. This time it didn't work, she continued.
"Tell me, tell me, tell me!" She tickled me while saying this,
knowing its effect upon my ability to lie.
I had taken all of it I could, "Nothing!" I said loudly. This
had an almost immediate effect on her playfulness. The tickling
stopped and she became quite reserved. For the duration of the evening
our speech was limited to little sentences. Being as naive as I was,
paid no attention to this fact. I went home as cheerful as any other
night, taking no notice to the mute attitude she had displayed. Only
until the next day did I notice this... and I was forced to notice.
We both attended the same school but we didn't see each other
until lunch. I went to my lunch period as cheerily as ever. I was just
happy that I got to see her on Valentine's Day. As soon as I looked
upon her hollow eyes I understood. I was hit with the reality of my
actions so hard I almost collapsed with shame. As I approached her I
didn't receive the smile and "Hello," I had usually gotten. Instead
she didn't even bother to glance my way. We both shared many of the
same friends and I noticed that she was speaking to one of them about
me. It was very noticeable... she was speaking loudly.
"He didn't even buy me anything for Valentine's Day!" That is
what I heard, but as I neared she fell silent. Then, as I began to sit
beside her, she tore into me with a verbal knife so sharp she could
have cut through stainless steel. "How dare you!"
"I..." I was interrupted by her yelling.
"We have been dating this long and you don't even acknowledge
me on the day LOVE is to be celebrated!" I was shamed at this fact.
She ripped a small parcel from her pack and tossed it into my lap.
"Happy Valentine's Day!" she yelled as she did so. I had no idea how
to reply to this.
I reached into my backpack and produced a small chocolate rose
that I had planned to give to her. The power of her anger completely
shot down the poetic meaning I found in the edible beauty. "Happy
Valentine's Day." I said in a defeated voice. This healed nothing. Her
anger was too fearsome to be alleviated with any gift. She had taken
my spoken statement seriously; I had not been serious. This action
apparently only tore her wound open farther.
We spoke no more that lunch and I wasn't even given a good-bye
kiss. That hurt. I saw her no more that day, which was odd. We usually
met a few times after lunch in the halls going to class. I walked home
that day, my head buried in my shoulders. I was ashamed.
C T D
I attempted to call her as soon as I got home to apologize but
I received no answer. I waited an hour or so and called again. This
time, my beckoning was answered. It was her mother, though I couldn't
be positive. The voice was covered with tears. "Is Amanita there?" I
questioned. This only made the person cry more. I was too curious to
make assumptions of my own, so I remained silent. After a few seconds
of this the voice spoke again, "No, can I ask who's calling?"
"Mike," I replied as sincerely as possible. Again this
provoked the crying.
"Mike," the voice sputtered. This wait was longer than the
first and the wait was full of more intense crying, "I think you need
to come over here... now," the voice sharpened near the end of this
statement.
I asked no questions as to the meaning of the command; I only
answered the plea. At this time my brain was racing for an answer to
the origin of the persons tears. I did not like the tone in the voice
that spoke to me, it was almost angry.
I had to walk to her house since no one was available to give
me a ride. It wasn't a hard walk even though the ground was covered
in snow. It is merely a half an hour on foot, but that amount of time
seems like forever when you are in thought the whole way. When I
approached the house I couldn't help but notice a police car parked
outside. I brought myself to the doorstep and regretfully knocked on
the door. It was opened almost immediately. It was her mother. A
short, stout woman in her early forties. Her cheeks were bejeweled
with the tears that flowed from her eyes. No words were spoken.
I was gestured to sit on the couch and I promptly obeyed. She
handed me a piece of paper and motioned for me to read. The look in
her eyes is one I cannot describe nor forget. I opened the document
and began to read. It was written in Amanitas handwriting.
Dear all,
This is it. No longer can I live in this placing
full of self-torment. I am weary and need rest. I make
this my last, and to all who read it, my loving
farewell.
Amanita
At first, this reading did not sink in. I read it a second
time, a third, a fourth. The tears slowly worked their way to my eyes.
I stared into her mothers' blank eyes with a question on my face.
"This was found on her when she was Found." This only
increased the intensity of my question face. "She's dead Mike... she
ran a knife through her heart." The tears rolled down both of our
faces in equal force. I could not speak... I could only cry, and cry
I did. The next thing spoken I wish I had never heard. "What did YOU
do to her Mike!?"
I could not control my emotions any more. My sorrow was now
blinded by pure anger. I was being blamed for the death of the only
person I truly cared for. "I didn't do it!" I exploded in her face,
"Why are you blaming this on me?!" I was enraged by this accusation.
I almost drew back my hand to smack her but controlled my actions.
"You read the letter... she said she couldn't take it any
more... what did you do that she couldn't take?" This tore into me
like a whip.
"I did nothing to your daughter that would make her do this!"
I placed my face uncomfortably close to hers, "NOTHING!"
I was on fire. I wanted to kill any person who dared to place the
blame on me.
"You have done this! GET OUT!" Her voice became painfully
loud. I stared for a moment into those teary eyes before bursting out
of their house.
"Fuck you!" It was all I could think to say as I slammed out
the door. Fuck you? Couldn't I have said something more powerful than
a slang term that made me appear stupid?
As my foot touched the first step that led down to the road I
broke into a full run. I ran for a long while. I'm not sure exactly
how long I ran or how far my feet had carried me, all I knew was that
it took my mind off of the pain at hand. As my legs began to weaken
and my lungs burned I slowed to a stop. Almost instantly the reality
rushed to my brain. She WAS dead. I couldn't do anything about it, and
I HAD done it. I cried until the sun had gone down. Had I really been
gone that long? I couldn't go home. How could I face the fact that I
drove someone to suicide?
I did go home though... and I conspired. I could end it for
myself also. I would never have to face anymore pain. That was it.
When I reached the doorstep I found that no one was home... odd. I
raced to the basement to uncover the device of my destruction.
Throwing open the closet doors I grabbed the case that was held my
tool. I removed the case and ran my fingers down the cold steel of the
weapon. A twelve-gauge shotgun... perfect. I pounded my brain trying
to remember the last place I had seen the bullets. This took but a few
seconds and I was instantly upon their resting-place.
I crept to the shower stall and sat down. "Easy cleanup" I
thought. Just turn on the shower and wash me down the drain. I drew
open the chamber and placed the shell inside. Peacefully, without
thought, I placed the end of the barrel inside my mouth. No thoughts
ran through my brain as I pulled the trigger.
Bang?
No. Nothing. No shot. I pulled again. Still nothing. I did not
like this. Again and again I pulled on the trigger but to no avail. I
now had time to think. I didn't like that. I thought about how stupid
my actions were.
I waited through the night, sitting on my bed thinking of what was to
be done. My family returned and didn't even summon me. Soon I had to
make my present state of mind clear. I arose from my bed and climbed
the stairs. Upon seeing my mother, tears instantly rolled down my
cheeks as I fell into her arms.
She held me there, in her arms, for a long time, comforting
me. When I was finally able to speak above the tears I told both of
my parents the whole story and how much I STILL wanted to die. The
conversation ran on for a long while until we all reached the same
agreement... I was to be treated for this.
C T D
This is how I came to spend my birthday in a mental
institution. I believe everybody should visit a mental institution
sometime in their life. The structure of the place is not like most
people have imagined. There were no "crazy" people there nor were
there overly aggressive people. It was almost like a vacation. We had
a room that we shared with a roommate and we had tutoring classes so
we could do our homework. It was very relaxing... but I think that was
the point. Take your mind off of your problems and you can heal them.
I learned things in there that no school or person could ever hope to
teach. That is how it happened. We never received any solid
information on our varying problems but the information that was
learned just from watching other people that were similar to yourself
really is what healed us.
Apparently I didn't learn anything the first time I was there,
because it wasn't but four days after being discharged I was remitted.
It was then that I learned the value of life and its experiences. That
second time I spent in the institution and the following year of
counseling is the reason I can write this now without resorting to old
ways. I gained life there... in the greatest reguards. The ability to
understand and comprehend that what matters in life is not what you
do, or what you have... but the fact that you are alive. The peace I
have gained from self-confidence and the overall attitude of "who am I
trying to impress" has held the tattered remains of my sanity together
for two years now. Let's just hope I can hold it for many, many years
to come. Hell, I could settle on forever.
And so my story has been told. It has brought to me the
realization of things I left forgotten. I only hope it has enlightened
more than just myself. May we all flourish in self-peace.
- Mike Bayne -