Suicidal Education

The next morning I was thrust into consciousness by a loud, unrelenting pounding on my bedroom door. The harsh sound permeated my skull and rattled inside my sleep addled brain. It created mass panic and confusion throughout my nerves.

Not exactly how a person wants to be awaken from a R.E.M. cycle.

“Up!” the step-monster shrieked, apparently still peeved from the previous day’s events.

“You’re going to Auntie Cathy’s house at 9 o’clock to apologize and, so help me God, you are going to be on your best behavior! Or else, young lady, I’ll lock you up in this room so tight that you won’t see the sun again ‘til you’re fifty!”

She then turned around and stomped away, leaving me to recover from the shrillness of her annoying voice.

Groaning, I rolled over to glance at my alarm clock.

-7:30 AM-

Way too fucking early for a Saturday and only four hours since I had managed to fall asleep.

The birds were already up and about, tweeting pathetically. The sun was just starting to peak behind the clouds and shine in my window, through the blinds that were left open during last night’s emotional rollercoaster. It looked to be the makings of a spectacular summer day, which taunted me as I dragged my tired body out of bed and started to get ready to suck up to “Auntie” Cathy.

There was no use in pissing off my step-mother again so soon. I had decided last night before I fell asleep that I should take a more methodical approach to disobeying my loathed authority.

I needed more time to cook up a feasible scheme, so it would be necessary to stay below the radar for a while. Perhaps I’ll lure my step-mother into a false sense of security, make her think I’ve seen the error of my ways.

As I showered, brushed my hair and got dressed (black men’s Dickie's shorts, a polka-dotted halter top and my old pair of run-down, neon purple Chuck Taylors.) I couldn’t help dreading what the sisters would make me do. House work was mentioned, but that could range from washing windows to scrubbing toilets. And then there was the possibility of back-breaking yard work. Anyway, I was not going to be cut any slack. That was for sure.

It was 8:45 by the time I finished breakfast, brushed my teeth, did my makeup and had my outfit of choice scrutinized by my step-mother.

Apparently halter tops are what Satan’s mistress wore, or some other illogical bullshit, because she flat out threatened to brand me with her curling iron if I didn’t change into something more “appropriate”. When I refused, my step-mother grabbed the sprayer nozzle from the kitchen sink, pointed it at my chest and squeezed. I was soaked with freezing cold water in an instant.

“What the fuck are you doing!?” I screamed and jumped back out of range of the hose.

“I warned you! Now you will go upstairs and change, and you will look respectable. You’ve already embarrassed me once in front of my sister and I won’t have her thinking I’m raising some sort of trashy, rude little whore!” she spat, looking wildly deranged.

Dripping wet and more angry then I ever remember being, I whipped the soaked top off my body and hurled it at my step-mother. I took strange pleasure out of the wet thwack it made as it struck her chest, and then the floor.

My eyes met hers, both of us frozen to the spot, literally shaking with rage. If looks could kill we both would have keeled over, stone dead.

Probably in any other circumstance, I would have laughed my ass off. Just picture a blonde, petite, soft-spoken, avid church-goer, standing with her hands on her hips with a dark, wet spot on her blouse, trying to stare down an insanely lived, half-naked teenager.

It’s pretty damn funny to me.

It was the impenetrable cloud of rage over my mind that prevented me from seeing the odd humor in the situation.

It felt like hours passed while we stood there, glaring daggers at each other. And I swear she never blinked once. I was shocked when the woman finally spoke.

“You have five minutes. I’ll meet you in the car,” my step-mother demanded quietly; although, her voice was laced with venom. She was still shaking as she ripped her purse off the table, grabbed her car keys and stormed outside. I was left with no room to argue.

I attempted to calm myself down on my trip back to my room for a different shirt, but to no avail. The step-monster had pissed me off so thoroughly that I couldn’t think straight. The normal helpless, empty feeling was replaced with insurmountable rage.

I feared some invisible line had been crossed yesterday and now my relationship with my guardian could never take a positive turn. All bridges toward a civil, symbiotic existence were torched.

It seemed our only purposes in life now were to drive each other to the breaking point.

**********************************************************

The sisters devised for me a grueling schedule of manual labor, spanning two weeks and consisting of mowing the lawn, trimming the hedges, pruning the flowers, pulling weeds, painting the tool shed and basically any other unpleasant activity that needed to be done around the house.

The first day seemed to be the cruelest. Both my step-mother and “Auntie” Cathy stood like overseers would over their charges, criticizing me as I attempted to re-pot all of the numerous plants on the back patio. Then a broom was thrust into my filthy hands and I was instructed to sweep the entire patio twice, while the two sisters sipped lemonade and gossiped about god knows what.

The only way I survived the torturous work was by silently repeating what my brother had said to me last night.

“Just one more year.”

“One more year.”

“One more fucking year.”

By the end of the day my palms were blistered and peeling and I was covered from head to toe in dirt and sweat.

“Tomorrow you’ll clean the pool filter,” Cathy stated, appraising my disgustingly dirty state with a sinister gleam in her eyes. “Then, the pool will need to be vacuumed.”

I nodded, desperate to get the hell away from that place. My spirit was damn near crushed to a pulp and all I wanted was a hot, steamy shower.

That night as I was lying in bed watching my ceiling fan spin in slow, lazy circles, with an annoying, dull ache in my muscles; thoughts of Gerard and Mikey started to surface through the gloom.

The knowledge that there was someone close by who I could trust and confide in lulled me into an easy sleep.