The Weekend (aka Asphyxiated)

From the pile of junk underneath the cypress trees, Frank Jenson extracted the old vacuum cleaner hose, and measured it against the car to make sure its length could reach the distance from the exhaust pipe to the window. He saw that it could and put it on the back seat with some towels and gaffer tape. Frank then got into his car and drove to the only bottle shop in town.

When he arrived at the bottle-shop, he pulled in near the counter and waited to be served. He stepped out of the car and waited by the cash register and racks of chips. After a few minutes, he went over to one of the shelves and took down a bottle of Jim Beam and put it on the counter, and then he went over to one of the fridges and pulled out a large bottle of coke to go with it.

While he waited, it dawned on Frank that the receptionist from the mill worked here on weekends. Jeez, he thought, I hope she’s not working today. The idea of seeing her unnerved him and he almost got back in his car, till he realized what he was doing and thought, Bloody hell, why should I care? He stood and waited. The door behind the counter opened and a young woman came out. It wasn’t the girl from work. She served Frank with a smile and a, ‘how ya goin’?’ He said he was all right, took his Jim Beam and Coke, got into his car, and drove back the way he had come.

About ten kilometers out of town he turned onto a dirt road that led into the state forest, drove a while more, and then parked his car in a sunny spot on the side of the track.

For a while he sat in his car under the dappled shade of the forest, enjoying a respite from the heat. The bush was thick where he was; it hadn’t been burnt or logged for a long time. There was some running postman, in flower on the edge of the track. He thought there might be some orchids nearby, maybe some caladenias or even some hyacinths; the ones that, before they flowered, looked like pieces of black asparagus poking out of the dirt.

Frank opened the car door, got out and leant his back against its warm surface. He felt he should savour the moment amongst the gums and paper bark, tea tree and hakea, but for some reason he was in a hurry. He always felt rushed these days, that’s why he’d come here to end it all, because he’d had enough, and now here he was about to kill himself and he still couldn’t relax. He was worried that someone would come along and catch him in the act.

He always thought that he would feel a sense of satisfaction, of closure or something, but he felt no different, no better than he usually did. Fuck, he thought, if anything would free me from the bondage I feel, the feeling of wrongness about myself, then surely it would be my own death? Just a sense that there was more than this, that there was some peace in him somewhere, was all that he wanted. He didn’t need God or anything, just a confirmation that he was more than Frank Jenson. And now here he was, about to kill himself, and there was nothing.

He sighed, pushed himself off the side of the car, opened the door behind the drivers seat and pulled out the vacuum cleaner hose, towels and gaffer tape. He went to the rear of the car, taped the hose to the exhaust pipe, wrapped a towel around the join and gaffer taped the lot in place.

He then wound down the rear window on the drivers side and poked the loose end of the vacuum hose through. He wound the window up till it held the hose in place and then stuffed a towel in the opening around it.

Frank looked around at the forest. It was going to be a hot day, he thought. He got into the car and sat down in the drivers seat, reached over for the bottle of Jim Beam on the passenger side and opened it. He took a good slug and grimaced at the harsh bite of the liquid. He didn’t bother to wash it down with the coke.

He looked behind him at the hose hanging through the window to make sure it was secure. He had another hit from the bottle, made sure all the doors were locked, started the engine and then reclined his chair.

The car pumped itself full of its own pollution. Frank was alarmed! How quickly he tasted the noxious fumes! The gases burned in the back of his throat and constricted his airways. It happened so rapidly he was shocked. The air quickly became unbreathable, he took a breath hoping for some oxygen, but all he got was a lung full of carbon monoxide. He took another breath in a futile attempt to kill himself and then hurriedly opened the car door and turned off the engine. He stumbled out of the car, coughed and spluttered and tried to spit the burning sensation out of his throat.

He paced up and down beside the car and silently screamed in pain, Shit, I thought I would just pass out slowly, painlessly, and bloody die. I just want to bloody die. Fuckin’ Jesus, I just want to bloody cry and sob and scream! Fuckin’ hell, why not? He couldn’t believe how rapidly the carbon monoxide had replaced the oxygen in the car. How did people do it this way? I thought it was meant to be peaceful, like going to sleep!?

Frank stood there in the sun. His throat burned. He wanted to cry but nothing came out. He leant his back against the car, looked at the forest and the sunlight and didn’t feel anything. He was tired. He was drained. He felt empty.

Frank went to the rear of the car and took off the hose, the towel and the tape and chucked it all in the car. What would he do if someone came along? They would ask him what he was doing out here on this nice day. He wouldn’t tell them anything.