The Punchline to the Joke Is Asking

Two nights later, I had everything set. I lay flat on my back on my bed, a double layer of pillows on my chest. Carefully, I lifted a large rock I’d found in the yard up and placed it on the pillows, feeling the breath squeeze out of my lungs as the weight settled onto me, hampering my breathing.
As small, shallow breaths jerked in and out of my lungs, I felt my heart rate pick up, anticipating death by trying to squeeze a lifetime of beats into itstragically short career.
I laid back with a sigh, just staring at my ceiling for a moment as I accustomed myself to the feeling. I didn’t want the adrenaline pumping so quickly, keeping me alive longer, when I covered my face. I wanted it over sooner rather than later.
Taking a deep breath (the irony of which was not lost on me), I grabbed another pillow and pushed it onto my face, tucking the ends behind my head as the fabric rushed into my mouth and nose, which suddenly demanded oxygen.
Any kind of air.
But all there was, was darkness.

-X-

I was floating, at peace. It was so easy, here.
Where no one could hurt me, and there was no one for me to hurt.
Here in this darkness.

-X-

I felt lighter, somehow, taking long, deep breaths as I savored the air.
Then I realized it was air, and I was breathing, and there was no longer darkness outside of my eyelids, and there was no weight on my chest, and my silence was interrupted by someone sniffling, and this was wrong, all wrong, so wrong, how did I go wrong-
I screwed up again.

-X-

Trey drove me home when the hospital gave the ‘okay’, but they prescribed a strict therapy course for me. Suggested it might be in my best interest to see a shrink. If someone could take all the thoughts inside my head and make them small enough to deal with, I’d like that.
Let me know when you find them.

-X-

I had failed at suicide, that much registered with me. That meant I shouldn’t try again, not too soon, anyway.
So that left me with one other option, one I was particularly fond of.
Run.

-X-

Everything was set, after so much careful planning; there was the money I’d scrounged, zipped safely into a pocket of my canvas guitar case, the extra tshirt and jeans tucked into the hoodie I’d tied around my waist, my beat-up acoustic, ready to hit thestreets road with me.
The only problem was Trey.
He’d been watching me, taking note of my every move, cataloguing every blow I silently accepted from our mom, every word I didn’t say.
He knew me well, but he was blocking out the worst of me. He didn’t want to know it was there, admit I wasn’t his best friend, his partner in crime anymore.
He didn’t want to admit that I wasn’t his sister anymore.

-X-

I slung the guitar case, filled out with my money and the acoustic, across my back and tied my overstuffed hoodie around my waist, taking care not to let anything suspicious out. I stared at the girl in the mirror, drinking her in again.
Then I dyed her hair black.

“Where’re you going?” Trey demanded, as I skittered down the stairs, scampering for the door.
“For a walk, I need to play.” I motioned my head almost imperceptibly at the guitar on my back. I wouldn’t lie to Trey, but he couldn’t have the truth.
“Alright. Don’t be out too late, or I’ll come looking.” He threatened, and I nodded, then wandered off.

-X-

The bus dropped me off at the train station, which whisked me away from Indiana, to the southwest.
I wanted to be in a city again, but New York was out; they’d look for me there, first. Chicago was an even stupider choice, because it was wheremy the boys were. I decided I wanted to hit up Vegas again. Not the Strip, just the outskirts of the city, more suburban. The part that never came to mind when you thought of Sin City.

-X-

It was easy; getting there. After the train dropped me in Arizona, I hitchhiked up the interstate, not caring who picked me up or where they were headed, as long as they were headed my way.
When I made it to Vegas, I wandered around the suburban outskirts, deciding to make my home a few blocks in from the transition of homes to businesses.
First, I went to the library to check my Facebook.
She’s still alive, tried to suffocate herself. I’m watching her 24/7 now. trey had posted on my wall, immediately following my farewell. It had been ‘liked’ by everyone who’d ever friended me.
Still alive, still goodbye I posted as my new status, then went to log out.
Just then, a chat popped up.
We miss you! I’m glad you’re ok!
Bill always spelled everything out because, like me, he was a grammar Nazi.
I miss you guys, too I replied slowly, hesitating before sending it.
So come visit! Or we’ll go to you!
I’m not there anymore I shot that down.
But Trey said… I could almost sense Bill’s confusion.
WTF!? DID U RUN AWAY?!
I blinked, shocked at Bill’s reaction until,
Sorry, my keyboard was stolen by Gabe
That explains it I remarked, satisfied. It did make more sense.
Did you really run away?
I wouldn’t call it running. More bus/train riding/ hitchhiking I admitted.
Please tell me you’re headed for Chicago
Sorry, nowhere close
I’m telling Pete
All I did was log off.

-X-

I was sitting in the park, playing my acoustic guitar as the desert breeze drifted across my face. It wasn’t so bad here, since it was winter. It made me laugh, seeing all those desert people bundle up because it was only 55 degrees out.
I thought it was beautiful.
The days inched slowly into months, and I just let life slide by. I wasn’t happy, but there wasn’t anything to ruin my day here, either. I guess I could call myself content.
As I strummed my guitar, singing softly, someone stopped to listen in. It was a duo, and they seemed rooted in place, transfixed by my fingers on the strings.
“You’re good.” It was a familiar voice, but I couldn’t place it. I had no choice but to look up.
Brandon Flowers stood before me, with some girl I didn’t know. I didn’t know Brandon, either, really, I just knew he was front man of the Killers.
I nodded to them, then started playing ‘Bones’ to see if they’d smile.
When the song ended, a grinning Brandon interrupted me before I could play anything else.
“You’re really good. Isn’t your name Cyn? You were that kid with the really indie CD.” He tilted his head to one side.
“That’s me.” I nodded, letting random chords spill from my guitar strings.
“Can I ask what you’re doing as a street performer?” He continued what was becoming an interrogation.
“Well, I started out as one in New York, where Fall Out Boy found me and took me off the streets. I lived in Chicago with them for a while, until my brother took me home to Indiana, where I just took off from because our other brother died and things weren’t okay anymore.” I shrugged. “So I’m back to square one, minus the frostbite.”
The pair stared at me for a long moment.
“Wow.” The girl finally said.
“Yeah, nobody really has a reply when I talk about myself. It’s a good thing I don’t like talking about myself.” I grinned a little, an easygoing, crooked affair, then went back to my guitar. “Nice chatting with you.” I dismissed them, and they wandered away.