Suicide at around 9ish

So I woke up this morning and decided I was going to kill myself.

I looked down at my square alarm clock that sat on the shelf right next to my white sheeted bed.  7:00 a.m.  Well, I might as well enjoy my last day on earth, as I’m going to kill myself later tonight.

The first thing I did was call my boss.  “Hello Derek,” I said to his voicemail,  “Sorry, can’t come into work today.  I’m going to kill myself.  It’s been a pleasure working for you though.”  And I hung up my phone.

If you’d ask me why I was going to kill myself, I suppose I would answer like this:  My life had become monotonous—boring.  It had become full of activities I did not wish to participate in, and deadlines that were unreasonable—stressful.  I was not where I wanted to be in life, my job, my family, and my fiancé were unpleasant, to say the least—disappointing.

Boring, stressful, and disappointing.  That is how I would sum up my life.

And so it’s no wonder that I would decide to kill myself, right?  Anyone in my situation would most certainly do the same.  Of course?  Of course.  So my reasons are undeniable, and my resolve strong.

So what would I do with the rest of the last day of my life?  This I pondered as my cat leaped up on the bed, nuzzling my leg.  “Hello cat,” I said simply.  “I suppose you’re going to have to find a new master.”  He looked at me, unknowing, and meowed.  “Well, I’m glad we’ve had this little talk.”

So I called my mother.  She picked up the phone.  “Hello mom, I’m going to kill myself, and you can’t stop me.”

There was a pause on the line.  “When?”

”Oh, I don’t know.  I was thinking later tonight.  Maybe 9ish or so?”

“Oh.  You’ve thought this through then?”

“Yes mom, and I’m putting my foot down.”

Another lengthy pause.

“Well, that’s too bad,” she said.  “I was rather enjoying your company.”

“You too, mom.  Sorry it had to come to this.  Goodbye.”

Well, that was done then!  What would I do next?

I decided that on the day that you’re going to kill yourself you might as well spend a little money.  I didn’t have any children and I didn’t particularly care about my fiancé very much, so I figured I’d spend away. 

As I got into my Mustang Convertible (1994), I decided I would put the hood down.  The clouds loomed overhead, and so it might rain.  I hated when my car seats got wet.  But since I was going to kill myself later, it didn’t seem to be a large concern.

As I drove down “the strip” (as it was affectionately called due to the fact that it’s the only bastion of commerce in this town) I decided that I was very hungry.  What would I have for breakfast?  I often enjoyed dunkin donuts.  So I figured, if I enjoyed dunkin donuts in life, I might as well enjoy it before I die.  I stopped in.  Today I wouldn’t go through the drive thru.  I went inside.

“Hello ma’am,” I said cheerfully.  No point in being anything less than pleasant on your last day of life.  “I’d like two…no, make it three Boston cream donuts.”  She willingly obliged with a smile on her face.  Before she scurried away to get me my donuts, I took a glimpse at her nametag.  When she returned quickly, I smiled and said “Sara, is it?”

She nodded, a little startled, and then looked down at her own nametag.  “Yes?”

“Sara, I’d like to thank you for serving me these donuts.  And for serving donuts to everyone else that will walk through those doors today.  Donuts are very delicious and they make people happy.  Have a good day, Sara.”

She smiled.  But I was taken aback.  It was a real, honest to God, smile.  A “Thank you for noticing” smile.  “Anytime, sir,” she said.  “And you have a great day yourself.”

As I walked away, I thought, “Oh, I know I will.  And I already am.”

Once again as I cruised down the strip in my Mustang convertible (1994), I munched away happily at not two, but three Boston cream donuts.  I had never eaten that many Boston cream donuts before—at least, not in a row.  I felt a little queasy, but a whole lot of satisfied.  What would I do next?

I stopped into the bowling alley next to the Pizza Hut on the corner of Main Street.  “The Pizza Hut,” I thought.  Maybe a good place to have lunch.  I like pizza.”

I decided I would do a little bowling, play a little pool, and then call my fiancé.  It was probably a little rude and a whole lot of inconsiderate to not inform her of my final decision.  And so, after bowling 3 games (With a score of 120, 132, and 128 respectively) and playing two rounds of pool with myself, I gave her a call.

“Hello Claire.”

Immediately she dove into it.  The wedding plans, the guest list, the floral arrangements.  I interrupted her.

“Listen Claire, as fascinating as this is, I can’t talk right now.  I’m going to kill myself.”

She paused.  “What, right now?”

“No, well, not right now, later tonight.  I was thinking around 9ish.”

“But, you can’t kill yourself!”  She yelled.  “We haven’t even gotten married yet!”

“Oh, well… I didn’t really think that part through.  I was hoping things would just kind of sort themselves out after I killed myself.”

“Jason, that’s always like you, you can’t just…”

“Listen, Claire, I’d love to chat some more, but I have to go.”

So I hung up the phone.  “Well now, that wasn’t so bad.”

I got back into my Mustang convertible (1994) and continued to drive.  Today, I would head out of town and into neighboring Hillsborough.  It had been a month and a half since I went to Hillsborough, and it was only one town over.  One town over!  Imagine that.  So I drove down there, went to my formerly favorite scenic overlook (Where I proposed to Claire a year ago), and listened to the birds chirp.

I guess I would miss the birds chirping.  They were very merry, and merriment can be infectious.

As I promised myself, I returned to the Pizza Hut.  Instead of ordering out, I decided to once again go inside and sit down to eat.

When Chad (My waiter) approached, I smiled at him.  “I already know what I want, thanks.”  He nodded at me, pulling out a paper and pen.  But I had to know something first.

“Chad, how long have you worked here?”

He looked at me strangely, still holding his pad and pen in hand.  “Six months.  Why?”

“Do you like it here, Chad?”

“It’s alright, I guess.  I’m still in school though.  I want to become an engineer.”

“And that will fulfill your life?  That’s worth it all?”

“Sure, I guess.  I don’t know,  I haven’t really thought it through that much.  Listen…do you want pizza or what?”

“Right.  Yes please, the works.  Medium pan.  And a coke.”

“Of course sir.”

Before he left, I added, “Chad—what you do day in and day out is a great service.  The world is happier with pizza.  And you make that possible.”

He looked at my strangely again.  “I suppose.”  When he realized I was being sincere, he smiled. 

When I finished eating, I noticed on the check he didn’t charge me for my soda.  I left him a 200% tip.  I imagine he appreciated it.

When I left and got back into my Mustang convertible (1994), I looked at my watch.  “2 p.m. already!  Where does the time go?”  I thought that, on the last day of my life, time would move slower, not faster.  But I was having so much fun.  “I can’t wait to kill myself later!”  But, a deal’s a deal, even a deal that you make with yourself.  I’d wait until it was about 9ish or so.

I strained myself to imagine what else I’d like to do.  “I like playing paintball,” I mused.  It had been years since I had—before I met Claire, at least.  So I drove down to the indoors paintball warehouse, purchased a paintball gun, and started shooting people.  I got shot a few times.  They got shot a few times.  But a fun time was had by all.

I socialized and enjoyed the company of each and every one of the paintball players.  They thought me a bit strange, as had Chad, but at the end I think they all grew a liking towards me. 

Again, the time seemed to just fly by.  “A haircut!  That’s what I want,” I thought.  So I went down to the local barber’s shop to request a walk-in.

“Sure, someone will be with you soon.”

I looked down at my watch.  6 p.m.  Almost time for dinner.  “I’m in a bit of a hurry, I’ve got an appointment at around 9ish and I have a few things I have to do first.”

The barber looked exasperated, “It’ll just be a few minutes.”

So I sat and read (but not really) a magazine.  I think it was Sports Illustrated.  I don’t like sports, really.  But if you’re sitting there, staring at the ceiling, people will think you’re odd.  So I might as well stare blankly into a magazine instead.

After getting a quick haircut, I tipped the barber ten dollars and was on my way.  The sun was beginning to set on the horizon, and it was lovely.  I took a moment to breathe in the air and decide what to do next.  I could grab dinner, but there was so little time left, and I wasn’t that hungry really.  (The pizza was sitting none too well with the donuts I had earlier.)  So I decided to catch up with old friends.

It had been years since I talked to my ex-girlfriend and friend Annie, my best friend from high school Peter, and my former therapist, then girlfriend, then friend Diane.  I caught up with all of them.  It was a blast.

I looked at the clock.  It was 9:12.  9ish. The time had come.

So I went through my drawer (underneath the alarm clock that started my day in the first place) and pulled out my handgun, lifted it up to my head, and pulled the trigger.

Damn.  It jammed.

I lied down on my bed, defeated.  “Oh well, I guess I’ll keep living then.  There’s always tomorrow.”

Fin