A Suiside Story

If you are not one who cannot take another emotionally depressing story, do not worry, because these words are what they are.
         If you are one who cannot deal with the terrifying struggle of a teen whose heart is on a one-track balance beam of life and destruction, do not fear, because these words will merely show a crash in motion…
         …And perhaps a meaning in place.
         A teen's mind may seem like very little in this world's society; a very miniscule tip of the scale. Still, that single tip could be the very thing that outweighs the future of this world. If one were to look at any teen on the sidewalk, driving in the streets, or playing sports with friends, they should not try to label them for what they do. Instead, they should accept them for who they are. A label can only go so far as set the expectations, physically and mentally, that a person believes that another has. Any jock, prep, or outcast that a person may see just may be the one who puts the future into their very hands.
         But, what if that teen believed that they didn't deserve that future…?
         Then again, how could anyone tell? A person's thoughts can be owned by no one but they themselves correct?
         Once again, adding on the fact that they believe in no future for themselves, they would probably believe that their thoughts were meaningless as well.
         So, here we are, with the fact that a teen that appears to be so happy, even delightfully optimistic on the outside, can easily we ripped apart bit by bit on the inside.
         Why is that? Why should that have to be so?
         Well, perhaps one should take a glance through the very thoughts of Darren Michelo, a teen just like me and many before him.
         If his eyes had a screen in the Tinsel Town just a few blocks away, a person would see the projector light up the face of the wall with a seemingly never-ending street in two directions: the left end heading nowhere and the right end in a mirrored pattern of the same exact thing. One should not confuse themselves with a scene in the middle of nowhere, of course. What kind of story would that be? No, Darren was sitting on an old, peeling bench, which was very use to the art of graffiti. Looming beside him on the side of the right mirrored street was a slightly tall "Bus Stop" sign. Yes, perhaps that scarecrow of a sign had witnessed as many artistic visitors as the bench underneath Darren, but this story, of course, set the sign as a very minor character indeed.
         With his head lying across the back of the bench—perhaps if he were in a tired state— the screen would flourish upon the sight of a long row of cozy little houses, spreading in both directions as far as the streets beside them took into nothingness. A sort of nothingness that was somewhat soothing—
         --But of course at the same time a bit nerve-wracking.
         Darren, while picking his head up, believed that he shouldn't be looking at 'nothing'. 'Nothing' was such a cold term to him, especially considering the circumstances. He thought about it: How many other people had nothing to think back upon, had nothing going for them…
         Had nothing to look forward to?
         Situating his worn, brown backpack off of his lap and beside him, he recollected what had gotten him sitting on this 'masterpiece' in the first place. Exactly whose fault was it that he was left there, waiting for a sign that he could leave?
         The person he was to call his 'best friend'.
         He shook his head almost automatically and dismissed the thought. He knew it was not Brian's fault; merely his own. If he had just walked down about 3 miles to see his friend last night, none of this would have happened. It was as simple as setting up a clever way to sneak out of his house unnoticed, walking through thirty degree weather, and having the time of his life as soon as he got over there. Oh, what a party it must have been. It obviously must have been great if Brian was back at his house right now, stoned as a Roman statue from the weed one of the party-goers brought… And obviously, mixing it with almost a bottle of Vodka was completely righteous, because at the moment that Darren was pondering this, Brian was staying home, unable to give him a ride to school…
         Why couldn't have that been Darren?
         He wanted to enjoy himself as well.
         The only answer he could find was that Brian hadn't invited him.
It was as simple as that.
Darren couldn't name any attributes of himself that he found the least bit interesting, so other people must have had the same outcome as well. He didn't have many hobbies, nor people to share them with. That fact was very strange to him, because he was quite well known in the school; very popular in the least.
But, perhaps he had nothing to offer. That was what he was afraid of. In all of the times he had known his friends, he had found himself very easily pushed aside, replaced—
--And unnoticed fairly often.
So, now it didn't surprise him that he had not been invited; If he had been Brian's shoes, he would have easily chosen a substance over a concrete human being any day. Who would rather have preferred a person with a mind of their own over something that could control their own mind? Not him… right?
         The more and more his thoughts emblazoned his mind, the more and more his backpack became increasingly interesting to him. Just a quick 'unzip!' and—!!
No. He couldn't do it.
Not now, anyway.
The sun slowly started to rise behind the billowing stack of a chimney across the street from Darren. The rolls of gray and black seemed to play with the sides of the sun, as if slapping it soundly.
Why hadn't his parents ever slapped him?
If he were his own kid, he would have done so in an instant.
A slap right across his face would have made more sense than the constant ignorance of him. A disappointed or ashamed look would have done just the same. The lack of awareness that he was even present made him feel the worst kind of inferior a person could ever brandish.
The only time they ever seemed to remotely "see" him was when he had done something uncalled for or reckless. Yelling for about 10 minutes seemed to give the entire luster they had in them for him. Picking themselves back up for about 5 seconds were all they needed to forget his existence again.
Of course there was the occasional lecture on finding a job, earning a living, and getting out of the house, but he could have easily gotten that from his guidance counselor. He couldn't even remember the last time his family had dinner together; Thanksgiving meals were spent in his room by himself with a Klondike Bar, and the last time his family had ever went to "eat out" was at a McDonald's drive-through.
Yet again, though, he had no one else to blame but himself. His grades were usually less than satisfactory, consisting rarely of any more than one or two C's. Many of his teacher's disliked the idea of even having him step foot in his class; not because of disciplinary problems, but because they assumed that he was forever a waste on hope. On top of all of that, he had a tendency to daydream consistently during classes and occasionally fall asleep.
There was probably more to the reason that his parents abhorred the sight of Darren besides academics. He was just too tired to name them all. The rhythmic ticking of his watch was on the verge of putting him to sleep.
While easing out of almost ultimate slumber, Darren glanced down at his watch, finding the time to be continuously ticking close to 7:30. It was official that the bus he was waiting for had probably forgotten him as well, seeing as how it was over 20 minutes late. He started picking at one of the flakes on the side of the bench, perhaps 'picking' for reasons not to go through with the plan that waited in the folds of his backpack.
The plan that would finally cease to non-exist.
He started thinking about the students on the bus if they were to see the aftermath of it all. He could imagine the sympathy they would have for what would occurred: His silent body lying just on the outskirts of the sidewalk, covered in the shame and ridicule that he would finally be set free of as soon as he pulled the trigger. They would cry for him, oh yes! They would cry for him! How could he ever--!
Darren stopped himself.
No, he thought.
They would yell over the fact that the bus stop was stained with blood. They wouldn't be able to use the bus stop that some useless teen killed himself on.
And so, Darren was stuck. He was stuck on the decision to worry about how the other students will deal with him post death. He was stuck on whether or not to kill himself at the bus stop or somewhere less public.
He was stuck on whether or not this was the right thing to do.
He slowly started unzipping the brown bag beside him, hoping that within a few seconds of opening time, a sign would appear to show him the way.
Now, most people know that miracles rarely ever happen, at least in obviously ironic situations. Strangely enough for Darren, perhaps it would not be right to say that a miracle happened just then…
More like…a coincidental distraction.
She stood at a 5'4" stance, wearing a wide variety of color from head to foot. Incidentally enough, her seemingly outward and klutzy appearance matched very much with her internal self as well; she had just tripped over a rock, sending all of her advanced algebra homework up into the air like fireworks. It was very strange that a person of such a demeanor could not have been spotted by Darren right away, but he knew that she was known for being quiet.
Yes, Darren knew Mimi.
Mimi, having always been known as the class brain, had a very quirky, but pretty appearance to her—one that Darren grew attracted to without reason. He could never talk to her, though. It felt strange on different levels, starting with the fact that he was relatively somewhat shy, and ending with the outburst of laughter he could imagine from his friends if they heard such a thing as him liking the 'smart girl'.
So, for a few years, he kept this small fact to himself. Obviously, she felt no feelings toward him no matter how much he could hope… No matter how many papers she could send flying in his direction.
He leaned over the edge of the bench and started helping her pick the papers off the ground, avoiding any eye contact possible. He felt that any eye gesture could easily give away what was going on, and he couldn't risk that. This had to go on as flawlessly as possible… but, now that she was in the picture, how could that be possible?
He handed her the papers quietly while looking on the ground, pretending to be looking for a missing quarter or something of the like. Flustered, she smiled and said "Thank you" to him softly. It was apparent that she was trying to cover up her face with the papers as to not show any red that appeared on her cheeks, but Darren was too busy looking for his imaginary coin of choice to notice. Finally, he pretended to give up defeated and sit up on the bench. Mimi slowly sat down on the opposite end of the bench, faced toward the ends of Nothingness Road, and began to rearrange some papers in her messenger bag.
Darren rested his elbow on the top of his bag, feeling the small lump of his fate near the bottom. Okay, he decided. This is it. There must be something left on this earth that makes life worth it, or else he still wouldn't have been sitting here on this bench, every fiber of his being intact.
He slowly started thinking up every excuse he could think of. When almost all of were managed to be pulled up from the depths of his brain, one name came to mind with a question long dwelling afterward.
Nichelle…?
Yes, his girlfriend. That had to have been it. She loved him, right?
He thought this through…
…But then again, she 'loves' a lot of guys.
He had forgiven her several times for all of the past 'mistakes' she had made, and each time she came back to seemingly love him more than ever.
Still, she always came back with more reasons to get mad at him as well.
When they first started going out, it wasn't much of a deal. He forgot something as simple as calling her, he would apologize, and everything would be okay in the end. But as their relationship went on, it grew into a long-lasting cycle of finding a 'reason' that was good enough to cheat on him. Things such as giving her a terrible gift for Valentine's Day; playing around, joking about her looks; or what looked like 'flirting' with her friends to her. Darren remembers very well that she was pretty eclectic when it came to finding her excuses. She would even go so far as finding out what Darren would tell all of his friends, and anything that sounded like good justification she would use to her advantage.
But, Darren always forgave and forgot no matter how bad the situation became. Nichelle had a way of using words to benefit herself, whether used intentionally or not. Her words would flow just as easily as a line of poetry, and it soothed Darren to no end.
But one time, just one time... Darren remembered when her voice had caused him severe and utter pain.
It was the Saturday after Midterms had ended. While trying to ready themselves for a party, an argument had ensnared the lines of their phones. Darren, believing he had every reason to ask, questioned if she would only be dancing with him.
Immediately, she had exploded on her side of the line. She threw everything in his general direction from his patronizing questions to his unnerving sense of attachment toward her.
He merely responded that he was her boyfriend.
"No," her voice reverberated deep in his heart. "You're an antagonizing failure whose only goal in life is to try and grab the attention of everyone you can get. No one cares about you, who you are, or whatever it is the hell you do. If you were to suddenly disappear off of the face of this planet, no one would send a small child or a search party, because you're worthless. You got that? WORTHLESS!"
The click of the phone echoed a few seconds in his ear, and then suddenly died like his small amount of self-confidence did…
…And along with that died any reason he had ever wanted to be here on this Earth.
Just then did Darren realize why he had that gun in his back-pack.
He wasn't doing this at all to grab anyone's attention.
All he wanted was somebody just to care.
To care about him, to care about who he was and how he felt… but in the end, he realized that no one cared, whether he was living and messing up every fragment of his life, or dead by the hands of his own body.
Darren lost any care outside of his own mind. All he wanted to do now was reach for that gun, whether someone was right there beside him on the bench or not. If the school bus with every single student body member inside, no matter how late, pulled up in time to witness his splattering blood all over the windows, it didn't matter anymore. All he knew that it was better now than later, when he was feeling no regret in his soul.
In one swift motion, he unzipped his backpack. He started fiddling with the gun in his backpack, making sure it was fully loaded.
Mimi, right beside him and still facing the opposite end of the road, was reading a thick novel by now, unaware that in a few seconds the pages would be etched with thick, crimson red splotches of blood.
He pulled the gun out of his back, in broad daylight of anyone who might happen to come by in those precise seconds. He slowly held the gun up to his temple, not feeling a slight tinge of remorse.
Now was the time. Now was the time to get everything over with. Now was the time to give everyone what they wanted.
Darren slowly started to count down to himself:
3…
2…
"I love you."
The gun lost itself in the midst of Darren's index finger.
With a confused eye, a confused mind, and a will to see what had just happened, he slowly returned the gun back into the contents of the bag, and set his gaze upon the speaker of such strange words.
Mimi was in the same exact confused state that Darren was in. This usually soft-spoken girl was drowning in her own amazement of what she had just done. With her face a shade that should have been the color of her clothes, she smiled with perplexing motives and simply stated, "Hi… My name is Mimi."
Darren could do nothing more than gently stare at her for a few seconds. A silence enveloped the two for an awkward amount of time. Then, the wall was broken:
"…Darren. And—"
He stalled for a moment, than sighed a breath of air that was both of amazement and relief.
"—I think you just saved my life."
And just then, the atmosphere around that very bus stop, that never-ending street was quieted down to something that was unexplainable, but mystifying. Mimi only stared in confusion as the wheels of the high school bus rolled out from under the air in which Darren could breathe for another time.
He never seemed to notice how great the air had felt in his body.
Nor has he ever realized the care the girl beside him had for him before.
Luckily for Darren, anything shy of a miracle is worth it.