The Cooper Chronicles 5: Intervention

I was left outside in this kind of deep, cold limbo. The feeling was far from good, far from peaceful. I felt a wretch, for a better reason than ever I had. The burden was now uneasy, impossible for me to tackle, even if I was to try to calm down and pray as best I could. Overwhelmed as I was, the prospect of talking didn’t freshen me up. Yet someone had to come, I was pretty sure of that.

The footsteps echoed down from the ground floor, down the stairs, out onto the sidewalk, where he looked around to see me comfortably seated against the wall, just on the corner of the street. Had I flung myself just past the corner-stone of that building, I would have successfully avoided the whole conversation. Somehow, though, I felt needy of talk. I just felt too misunderstood, so I stayed. When I look back, that could have been the stupidest and the best of my decisions.

The figure was a tall one, of a slightly bulky figure and strong shoulders. This was Kenny, whose presence I was blessed with. At that moment, of course, I thought him a sucker. I make no excuse - he used to be a sucker. He was the worst sucker I got to know in high school. Funny how all the people from high school turned up on that party. So it seems George hadn’t made any new friends since high school and insisted on having all of these present.

Even funnier how Kenny went outside to see me. Of all those people, him? I mean, if you could’ve seen him. He was freaked out, shaking like a hula doll. It only occured to me later that he could’ve been a bit underdressed with only the Yankees t-shirt, and that was the reason for his tremble.

'You fancy Yanks then, Kenny?' I called to break the ice, as it were, trying my best to remain calm.

'Hello, Jess, I... glad you remember me.'

'Are you a fan?' Okay, I was being obnoxious, fuck it.

'Yes. I don’t... '

'Well you should. Yankees are the fucking best of the fucking best, you fucker. I’m on your side. Come here if you want.'

Gosh, that might have been me just going crazy. And he sensed that, twat. He thought it cool to play psychologist now. Following his phlegmatic smirk was a face of fake excitement, slimy kind of pushingness, a sort of attempt to play it confident. 'Really? That’s fantastic, Jess! I didn’t know you were into the game at all!'

'Since when do you call me Jess, Kenny?'

His mind was set to dig something remotely useful out of me. 'Oh, boy, it’s been a long time since the prom, remember that?'

'I’m not – a – psycho, Kenny. It’s all been set up. A stupid revenge, if not conspiracy.'

Conspiracy. Why the fuck did I say that? What the fuck did I mean by that? Kenny instantly proved me one more degree of brainless, if not paranoid.

'Whatever you mean, conspiracy?... Sure, you don’t think I believe you did anything, Jessica. Just don’t be too –'
'Paranoid?' I thought he was gonna say, so I sorta lip-synced that part. He seemed a bit puzzled, but not too much. What the fuck was he? A therapist?

'You know, Kenny, I’m pretty pissed off right now. You may have spotted already. Not for nothing, but your psychological talk now isn’t any good. You’re not good at this. Go back to that party and drink yourself to coma.' Thought he was gonna take out a notebook and jot down what I’d said. He insisted on interrogating me. I was very uncomfortable by now and I wanted to punch him.

'Hm,' he nodded, 'listen, Jess. I understand you’re not in the mood, but this is very important. I just gotta talk to you. This isn’t easy, but you gotta tell me what’s going on.'

'Why the fuck should I? Are you a doctor?'

'Yes.'

Goodness me. Kenny must've had changed direction substantially since we’d last bumped into each other. I couldn’t imagine him wearing a white coat. Jesus Christ, everyone wants to be Greg House nowadays, or what.

'Oh. Congratulations. Well... what kind of a doctor?'

'Psychiatrist.'

'Oh. Okay. But, you know, I told you, I’m really alright. It all seems so pathetic. But breakup always does. What happened tonight, it was just a breakup, a little bit rougher than usual.'

'Say this never happened. Up until that point, have you had a good day?'

'Well, depends on what the evening would be if I didn’t come here.'

'What would that be, most likely?'

'Dunno. I’d prolly go see jazz.'

'Really?'

'No.'

'What would you do? It’s okay to say you would rather stay home, Jess. Just say it.'

'No, I wouldn’t. Okay, I... I try to get hooked up in the club. It’s fun and good to kill time.'

'I see. That’s why the lipstick, Jess?'

'What? Oh, that. No. I... now, don’t! You don’t have to ask me that shit. Honestly, I dunno why I’m sitting here taking all this crap from you! You should be up there! Get up and go!'

His eyes pierced mine. I felt so driven to tell him. Tell him everything. About the depression, about the anxiety, about the nightmares, about the night I’d seen Jesus, about... fuck it, about the lipstick thing and all. I wanted to get it all out. But I resisted. I was far from being that desperate. I didn’t really wanna tell him.

'Okay, Jess,' he sighed. 'I’m telling you, if you don’t ask for help, you aren’t getting any. I feel very strongly you need help. If you change your mind, just call me up.' He handed me a card from the pocket of his jeans. 'Now, I’ll get you a taxi to get you home, okay? Have some sleep, take it easy.'

As I took his hand and lifted up, only then I realized how extraordinary everything about me was. It was like falling apart. I felt surreal. I felt starstruck.

'Thank you,' I mumbled. 'I appreciate it.'

'Don’t thank me. Be easy on yourself.' As he realized he’d been somewhat too easy on me all the way through, he pardoned his nobleness, 'Hey, I don’t know what you’ve been doing, but you touch that substance and you’re fucking done. Understand that? Over. Just don’t.'

'Don’t call it substance. It’s not substance. It’s horseshit. I ain’t sniffing horseshit ever again.' I smiled, maybe even blushed. He smiled back, but somehow more genuinely. I saw this kind of affection in his eyes. Real affection. As I had stared into his eyes, my smile became as true as his. Not much difference on the outside. But definitely a big difference inside. He wanted a kiss, I was sure of that. He didn’t demand it – that would’ve been even too bitchy for him. He longed for it, though. He had done so for a decade, in fact. Only he wasn’t that close to it ever before. His boyhood spirit flashed in his eyes and suddenly, I couldn’t resist it. For the sake of sentiment, I thought. But when I kissed his lips, there was something more to it. A long journey coming to an end. And at the same time, another one just starting off.

'Let’s go.' We turned and he strode toward the main avenue slowly, with his head upright. The stars shone so strong, once again I wanted to paint them blue.

Alone, back in the apartment, I longed for a glass or two. I couldn’t deny myself that joy. After all, I was still screwed up and proud of it. It was just that there was someone to replace Jason, hopefully. Kenny... he was a strange person. I saved the card.

My imagination took over sometimes. I was fully aware of that. I knew it was not okay. Sometimes I loved myself for it and sometimes I hated myself for it. There was nothing in between, however, that I could cling onto. That pissed me off. Either I put the blame on myself or pretend there is perfectly nothing to feel ashamed of. That night, though, was nothing to feel ashamed of – I was just misunderstood by a bunch of idiots. Why was it, then, that the feeling of hatred towards myself was still there? Why was it that, however hard I tried to look on the bright side of life, I was just lingering on and feeling fucked up. Why was it that...

I did a perfect straight line with the razor-blade. Not a single spec of it got lost. I took the straw and inhaled the powder.

'Not easy,' I repeated, 'I’m not easy.' Here I went again.

Again. And again. And again. Tick. Pictures of the French window fading into the darkness. Tock. Plastic baggie with white stuff inside. Tick. Jason wandering off into the darkness. Tock. Hooking up with a guy from a geek camp. Tick. The stars collapsing into the darkness. Tock. A monster in the Central Park. Tick. Pictures of mother fading into the darkness. Tock. The monster is dead. Tick. All over. Tock. Again. Tick. Again. Tock. And again. Tick... Tock. Something ought to be done! Tick. I can’t go on like this! Tock. I can’t fucking go through this again! Tick. This time it’ll kill me, I’m sure. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Somebody knocked on the door. I had my lights and the radio turned on. ‚Okay, I’ll shut it down!' I called. I lay the straw on the piece of mirror and left it there parallel to the final line of powder. But...

'Jessica Cooper?' a female voice called from behind the door.

'What do you want?' I got up and walked to the door.

'I’m Sarah Snow. May I talk to you?'

Shit. Oh shit. That was the old bitch who used to teach us Geography in the 8th grade. Guess George invited her too, and she was a witness of what happened as well. Actually, I realized, I might have seen her face when I was leaving the flat.

'Mrs Snow, I’m immensely grateful how caring you are. Gosh, I’d love to see you again, really, but I am pretty unwell right now. W-w-...' Damn, my head started aching. Just one more goddamn sentence. 'Would you like to meet tomorrow?'

'Jess, I feel this is urgent. Do the right thing. Let me in. Just for a moment.' She was very old and her speech reminded me of the old Jeeves & Wooster show. She was an anglophile, you could tell from her diction.

'I’ve already had some talk with Kenneth Walls. He’s really changed my mind. I isn’t needing any more help.'

'You mean "I don’t need more help", Jess? You’re muttering.'

'Yes, I’m a bit tired. Let me go to sleep... to the bed. Go sleep.'

'Jess, I know I’ve no right to interfere into your personal life –'

'You bet...'

'Sorry?'

'Nothing, ma’am.'

'The point is I can’t let this be. I have a feeling that Kenneth is trying to exploit you and all he wants is seduce you. I don’t trust him he can help you.'

'Ma’am, I’m okay to reckon that.'

'What?;

'Recognize that.'

'So he didn’t help you?'

'I mean, I would have seen if he had not intended... Gosh, ma’am, I know he means well. Plus I’m okay as can be.'

'You don’t sound okay.'

'No shit, Sherlock.'

'No need to be offensive, Jess!'

'Who are you? I don’t know you! I don’t need you! We’ve hardly ever spoken except about lithosphere and that shit, a decade ago! Eight years, whatever.'

'Jessica, if you’re gonna mess around like that, I have a great reason to believe you’re not okay.'

'I don’t give a toss, Snow! I really don’t give a –'

'I’ll call the police and then you’ll talk!'

That silenced me for a moment. I mean, thank God. The neighbors must have heard enough screaming already. I tried to calm down but I was actually shaking. I was fucking freezing.

‘Would you please let me in, Jessica? It’s for your own good.'

‘I have no reason to fear the police, ma’am.' I had almost convinced myself, then remembered what I’d been doing there in the first place. Shit, that would make me seem guilty of everything. I should have thrown those spare bags away a long time ago. I had said I stopped, but I didn’t mean it.

‘This is your last chance, Ms Cooper. Open the door for me, please.'

‘Okay, okay, just for the sake of time and effort.'

I snatched the mirror plate and hid it under the wardrobe. That way she wouldn’t see anything. I spilled some of the cocaine on the floor. Bugger that. Sometimes I wished my flat consisted of more than one room so I didn’t have to hide things before every visit.

On the way to the door I picked up a pair of Polaroid shades from the white table by the intercom and put them on. Finally, I took a deep breath and flung the door open.

Mrs Snow didn’t look sixty-eight or whatever, indeed I assured myself she didn’t change whatsoever since high school. She still had that ugly smirk on her face, and spoke with the strong Southern accent, wherever that came from. Sometimes she slipped into her pretentious English talk, anyway. Her skin seemed smooth as latex. Only once I had seen her without make-up. I dreaded that sight from then on. I always had a suspicion she dyed her hair light-gray. It seemed like she colored it every once in a while, and sometimes the top of her head darkened and it looked like she had a little kippah of dark hair that a thirty-year-old wouldn’t have to feel ashamed of. I was always pretty sure about all that, but one of my friends told me that it was impossible to dye your hair gray. Something about the diversity of color tones. I still think she had managed to, though. Actually, I always think of dying myself gray all the time. I think it’s the most beautiful thing in the world, gray hair. It seems I’m the only one who thinks that, though, so there’s no point to do that to myself. I may as well throw away all the mirrors and pretend that I’m that gray-haired, ageless creature that I’d love to be. That reminds me of Warhol. Sarah Snow used to like Warhol very much. She had a mug with his electric armchair painting. The most kickass thing ever done.

‘Hello. Sorry. I know this is not easy for you, Jess.'

‘Why does everyone address me by my name today?' I said and laughed, in rather a ghastly manner. She might have smelled the vodka.

‘Why the sunglasses, then? Has that got something to do with identity?'

‘Oh, no, no, no. I’m not a freak, don’t you worry. It’s just that something got in my eye. It’s red and watery now. It’s a disgusting sight. I don’t want you to have to look at it.'

‘Oh, please. I don’t mind. You should take those off, or else you’ll trip and hurt yourself.'

‘No, no, I’d rather keep them on.'

‘If you wish.' The fact was, I was pretty scared that my pupils may have been dilated. That would look even fishier than the sunglasses, so that’s why I had them on. I don’t wear sunglasses at night, as some people I know like to.

‘Come in, Mrs Snow. You’re most welcome.'

‘Oh, don’t overdo it, for God’s sake. I know you don’t want to talk to me, but you shall have to bear it. Now, where may I sit?' Snotty cow.

‘On the couch, I suppose. Or we can go to the balcony.'

‘Are you mad? Discuss things on the balcony in the middle of the night – morning, rather – are you out of your mind?'

‘Sorry, stupid idea. You want some tea? Coffee? Cigar?'

‘Do you smoke cigars?'

‘No.'

‘Thank Goodness. I smell something funny, though.'

‘Oh, that’s just the cigarettes.'

‘Cigarettes?! My most precious student smokes cigarettes? I knew this generation would end up rotten.'

‘Herbal cigarettes, that is!' Yuck. Alternative for the weak.

‘Jesus Christ, that’s even worse filth!'

‘There’s no nicotine... and no tobacco either. You don’t have to take his name in vain.'

‘They’re supposed to give you legal highs, aren’t they?'

‘I don’t buy that kind of cigarettes. Yuck. That would be inappropriate.'

‘Well… I suppose. I guess you also smoke „herbal“ water pipe.'

‘Fingers crossed, ma’am, never touched a hookah.'

‘I see one in your closet. You left it open.'

‘Well, that’s just my friend’s stuff.'

‘Good heavens, are you ill? Smoke what you want, drink what you want, I don’t care – you don’t lie to me, girl!'

‘Thought you came because of the cocaine that Jason stuck in my pocket.'

‘No-no-no. I came because of what it’s doing to you. I suspect you’re a tricky case.'

‘I don’t do drugs, for God’s sake! It’s trendy to suspect people, isn’t it? To suspect them they’re doing drugs. To suspect them they’re gay. To suspect they have something wrong with their personality.'

‘I’m just pointing out things!'

‘Well, I’m the one who needs to be pointed out, point by fucking point, am I!'

‘Jessica –‚

‘Oh, and suddenly I’m Jessica again!'

‘Ms Cooper, I’m warning you, I’m taping this conversation all along.'

‚Oh... why would you tell me?'

‚Okay, I’m not.' She was really playing on my nerves. What was she up to? ‚I just sense that whatever I ask you, you’re not gonna give me a reasonable answer. I want you to rethink. Tell me the truth.'

‘Bullshit is my stück, not the truth.'

‘I want to know if you’ve been contemplating suicide recently.'

Fucking hell. That was it. That was the moment.

I had dreamed many times of talking about it. Funny how people asked me about everything. Are you at all interested in people? Do you do drugs? Are you an alcoholic? Do you always behave like that? Are you sober? Would you like some advice? But never, Do you wanna kill yourself? I never did, really. I had rendered the act as wasteful. But now that it had been said... it felt as though it was an option. I guess I was going backwards with this.

‘Hell, no! I’m not an idiot!' I thought the key to not seeming suicidal was to be real rude and angry.

She hesitated for a moment. She tried to look into my eyes. I didn’t wanna take the shades off. She’d see my eyes watering.

‘I’m gonna trust you, Jess. I believe this was never an option for you, was it?'

‘I’m not stupid. I wanna do my job and have a life. It’d be dumb to waste myself like that. I can’t even say how wrong you are.'

‘What job would that be?'

‘At the moment? Well, I performed on Broadway for a moment, but the show was called off and I didn’t get a second opportunity. Currently, I write columns for Macworld and PC Magazine and I’m in a band.'

‘In a band?'

‘Yup. We do weekly gigs at one club in the Lower East Side... I mean... we have been. Sometimes we like to take a break.'

‘Do you play an instrument?'

‘Yeah, I play the piano a little... and I sing.'

‘True, your voice has always been beautiful... would you sing for me?'

‘Gotcha!'

‘Oh don’t tell me... Jessica, I’m trying to help you. Be serious.'

‘Sure you are trying. You’re very imaginative, too. Me singing...'

‘James Brown has a raspy voice, doesn’t he?'

‘So you comparing me to James Brown?'

‘Okay, Gaga has a raspy voice.'

‘She fakes that.'

‘Hardly.'

‘Like you fake that accent. It’s pathetic.'

‘Oh, shut up!'

‘Now you’re talking natural.'

‘Do you play in a band or was that whole thing just a joke?'

‘Maybe, maybe not. Who cares? I know you don’t. You stick with The Startler Brothers until your death.'

‘No need to be offensive.'

‘I don’t need to be offensive. But I like it.'

‘Do you have a job? I mean, a steady job?'

‘I report for Macworld.'

‘What's that?'

‘It’s a computer magazine. They pay me for doing reviews and reports and so on.'

‘Reviews of computers?'

‘Yes.'

‘But you surely cannot afford buying them yourself, can you?'

‘Nope. I go to an Apple Store, they have them on display.'

‘Why would you go to a fruit shop to discuss technology?' Damn, she’s thick.

‘It’s a computer store... or if I don’t feel like taking the trip, I copy the interview from somewhere else. I use Google Translate to translate it to Swedish for me, and then I translate it back. It comes out a bit different, so they can’t accuse me of ripping people off. I just correct it and run it through spell check.'

‘Are you an IT person?'

‘Not really. I don’t understand computers. That’s about all I can do.'

‘You’re making it all up.'

‘Yes, I am. Jesus, I’m not a geek!'

‘This conversation seems useless to me.'

’That stands to reason.'

'Good-bye.'

'Bye.'

She stood up, walked to the door, opened them, left the flat and shut them close. Just like that. Jesus Christ, she’s gonna tell on me, I know that for sure. I’m in trouble.

I was left there, thinking about myself. The suicide part, that was what mattered to me. I still recalled that. As if now that was an option. As if now that was a small checkbox somewhere that I could choose to tick. Suddenly, killing oneself wasn’t my idea anymore. Not my invention anymore. I didn’t have the copyright. That proved me once more that it was a stupid idea.

Stupid idea then.

Much love,

Jess Cooper

XXX

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NOTE: This text is entirely a work of fiction. None of it is true. It doesn’t represent any of my personal opinions, it indeed often opposes them. No part of the story whatsoever is based on any real event. Neither the protagonist or any other character in the story are based on real people.