Red Ophelia

“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency...  Hello? You’ve reached nine-one-one.  What is your emergency?”
“I……I’m sorry….”
“Ma’am, this line is for emergency use.  If there is an emergency, please state the location and nature of the emergency, if…”
“I…might die, but that might be okay.”
“Ma’am, are you in danger at this time?  Are you hurt?  Is someone threatening you?”
“Ha.  I, uh, hurt myself, but it’s okay, I think.”
“You think it’s okay?  Can you tell me what happened and let me help you decide if it’s okay?”
“Well, I cut myself, and then when I saw all the blood I got scared and I called you, but I’m calmer now and so it’s probably okay, but maybe we could talk for a minute?”
“Ma’am, when you say you saw “all the blood,” how much blood are you talking about?”
“I don’t know, I can’t really tell, you know, it’s not like I measured it or anything.”
“Well, are you still bleeding?”
“Yes, ma’am.  I’m just watching it.”
“You’re watching it, what, bleed?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“How did you cut yourself?  Did you fall or were you making dinner or something?”
“Oh, no, I just, cut myself.”
“Alright, ma’am, this is very serious and I want you to listen carefully.  Are you at home?”
“Yes.”
“What is your address?”
“Well, listen; this is why I called from my cell phone because I didn’t want you to know who I was in case I changed my mind so I don’t want to talk about my address or anything like that.  I got a little scared but like I said I’m calmer now and so I think it’s okay now.”
“Ma’am, it’s not okay if you are still bleeding and are doing nothing to stop it.  Where did you cut yourself?”
“In the bathtub. Ha ha ha.  Yeah well I really am sitting in the bathtub but I know what you mean.  I cut my wrist.”
“You cut your wrist?  One or both?”
“Well, I was gonna do both but now my left hand won’t hold the knife so I must have cut some major connection besides just my veins.”
“Ma’am, please listen, it is very important that you get some bandages if you have them or some towels or some sheets—anything like that—and use them to put pressure on the cut to try and slow the bleeding.”
“Listen, lady, miss, what’s your name?”
“Opera-- Cindy.”
“Ha.  You were gonna give me your operator number but you decided this was going to be one of those urgently personal type calls, huh?  I can hear it in your voice.  You sound more scared than I am.”
“Well, ma’am…”
“Wait, now.  I can’t be ma’am and you be Cindy.  I’ll be Ophelia.”
“Well, Ophelia…”
“Of course my name’s not really Ophelia, but if you’re familiar with Shakespeare’s Hamlet perhaps you will recall that Ophelia died from love for Hamlet.  There’s lots of controversy over whether it was an accident or suicide, but she drowned.  I have a collection of prints…she was a popular subject for artists….”
“Please, ma’am, Ophelia, please get some towels or something and put some pressure on your wrist.  You don’t have a lot of time if you cut so deep you damaged any tendons…are you familiar with what a tourniquet is?”
“Hey, hey, uh, Cindy?”
“Yes?”
“Listen, it’s okay, don’t be upset or anything.  I just want to talk and you seem nice enough; you have kind voice and I just don’t want to be alone through this.  It’s a lonely thing to do alone, but kind of interesting too, and I want to share some thoughts.  Like you know, I keep thinking, I’m “Red Ophelia” because I’ll be found submerged in red water here.  I wish I could be lovely like the other Ophelia is portrayed…long hair floating around her with flowers scattered around and floating in the water.  She’s in a beautiful long dress with a beautiful sleeping face…nothing realistic obviously.  Thank God for art.  At least I can imagine a beautiful death.”
“Well, Ophelia, death isn’t beautiful, it’s real and it hurts and it’s ugly.”
“Gee, Cindy, don’t cry, you don’t even know me….  Oh, oh, gosh, I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean for you to hear me throwing up.  Gross.  I didn’t know I was gonna do that…I was getting queasy, but not really nauseated because I haven’t eaten for a while now…seems like days.  I’m sorry about that; I just suddenly had to puke.”
“Ophelia, does it strike you as ironic that you want me to listen to you die but you are apologizing for letting me hear you vomit?”
“Hmm….”
“Ophelia, please, please; tell me where you are so I can send someone over.  Don’t do this thing.  And forgive the cliché but you must have heard that suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem?”
“You don’t know anything about my problems.  All problems aren’t temporary.  And there are many things worse than dying.  I know, because I’ve experienced them.  It’s too bad I probably don’t have time to tell you my sordid story.  Hey, did you ever see the Saturday Night Live skit where Dan Akroyd was impersonating Julia Child and he cuts an artery and blood just starts squirting out like from a water pistol?  It sort of does that…not with the same force, but it looks pretty cool and the way I’m feeling we might not get to talk much more because…”
“Listen, Ophelia, I would really like to talk to you.  I really am interested to know why you are doing this.  You seem like an intelligent person, so surely you could come up with some other solutions to your problems.”
“You don’t know.  You have no idea.  I think I might be reaching the point of no return here…I’m seeing all those black dots floating around in the air…  Listen, you just need to stop crying because I’m happy now because I’m a Christian and God will forgive me for this and I’ll be with Him and never again will I hurt as I have hurt in this world.  I don’t mean physical pain…that’s nothing, but Cindy, sometimes, the world hurts so badly that you have to take a blade and make yourself feel physical pain because your soul hurts so much that you are screaming and screaming inside and if you open your mouth to let it out you could never stop screaming so you have to bleed or do something harsh to cut a vent…”

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“Good night, Marsha.”
“Night, Cindy.  How was your first day?”
“Okay, I guess.  You ever read Shakespeare?”