Five Years

“I wrote some weird shit in my dia— notebook last night.”

“You always write weird shit.”

Michael had noticed Noel’s slip of the tongue, but since he knew how touchy his friend was on the subject, he’d let it pass.

“No, seriously. Something about... human rights and... free will—”

“Yeah, weird shit.”

The look of disdain on Noel’s face was met by Michael’s ‘what did you expect’ expression. Reaching for his cup of tea, the younger man returned his attention to the book on the pillow before him. Lying on his stomach on the couch was, Michael found, they best way to enjoy a book.

“What are you reading?” came Noel’s voice.

“The Cure for Death by Lightning.”

“Oh...” A thirty-second pause. “Who’s written it?”

“Gail Anderson-Dargatz.”

“Ah, okay.”

Michael raised the beige cup to his lips, only to find it was empty. With a dissatisfied frown, he said, “Noel, could you get me another cuppa?”

“Oh, bugger off.”

Eyebrows raising, Michael’s eyes left the book to look at Noel. Noel, however, had his attention focused on the doorway to the kitchen. As Michael looked in the same direction, the sight of Dina, Noel’s younger sister, gave a good explanation to Noel’s exclamation.

Dressed in a red-and-blue glittering tank top, striped green-and-purple trousers, with a pink fake feather boa around her neck and a black, wide-brimmed hat adorned with a deep red textile rose on her head, the only Hart daughter made quite a stunning impression. Noel’s wrinkled nose and obvious annoyance slash dislike was mirrored on his sister’s face, both of them in stark contrast to Michael’s indifferent expression.

“Hi, Gallagher,” said Dina, her voice hoarser than maybe you’d expect as her eyes moved from Noel to Michael.

“Hi, Dina.” Michael's face didn’t change as he put the cup aside.

“Go hide under a rock, will you?” Noel snarled, weighing back on his chair.

His sister rewarded the remark with a glower and whipped out a pen and small note pad from the black bag on her shoulder. Scribbling furiously, she then held turned the pad so that the boys could read the message: ‘I’m not speaking to you.’

“Oh, so you’re not? Never mind I stopped you from bleeding to death, huh?”

As always when the two siblings argued, Michael did his best to ignore them. He didn’t want to be a part of anything concerning Dina’s current state. ‘Go fuck yourself’ was the scribbled reply to Noel’s jeering. Noel made a face, not bothering to answer back. Seemingly satisfied, Dina looked at Michael again, almost smiling.

“Nice hair, Gallagher. That cut suits you.”

“Thanks. Pretty hat you’ve donned,” Michael replied, stony-faced.

The girl blushed faintly. Michael knew she had a crush on him, but he usually preferred his potential girlfriends not to be suicidal.

“Don’t encourage her..!” Noel groaned, chair thumping back onto all fours. “She’s only doing it for attention anyway.”

‘Insensitive bastard’ the note pad read.

“Oh, today I’m an ‘insensitive bastard’, am I? What happened to ‘fucking cunthead’ or retarded arsehole’? Too prude to use those in front of Michael, are you? Who knows, maybe he’d fancy you back if you stopped being such an attention-seeker..!”

“Fuck it, Noel, keep me out of this.”

Noel shook his head dismissively. “Don’t worry, mate, the worst thing she’ll do is try to kill herself. Again – it’s getting kind of cliché, now.”

The way Noel addressed the subject of Dina’s recurring suicide attempts in such a mocking manner made Michael feel very unnerved. Closing the book, he sat up in the sofa, back against the pillows. Stealing a glance at Dina, he saw the angry tears in her eyes, threatening to overthrow her.

“D’you know her latest stunt? Just the other month, Tuesday, she tried to slither wrists. Fucking mental, she is. Took dad’s razor, didn’t she? Got the blade off, cut both arms right down to the wrists. I came in to retrieve my Silence of the Lambs DVD, find her about to bloody slit her wrists open..!” Noel ran a hand through his hair. “I scared her, she slipped with the razor, cut her fucking hand, didn’t she?” His eyes fixed on his little sister. “Spent a month in that fucking clinic, didn’t do her any bloody good, did it?”

There was a sting to his words, and Michael could see Dina recoil. Her fists clenched, knuckles whitening as she put the pen to the paper only to abandon it seconds later, glaring at Noel.

“You want me dead. You fucking want me dead..!” she exclaimed, her voice rising with every word. “You’d be dancing with joy if I dropped dead!”

“There’s no chance you would drop dead, Dina,” Noel retorted as he stood up from the chair, “not without cutting your arms up or slitting you throat or overdosing on some fucking prescription drug first!” He stepped closer to her as he continued, “Face it, sis, you don’t just want the attention. You really want to die, ‘cause you’re such a miserable human being. I’m so sick,” he stomped his foot down as to emphasize the word, “of your constant whining and the way mum and dad dote on you! If you’re not pathetic, then I don’t know what you are..!”

Dina stood wide-eyed, one hand clutching the doorframe. Noel glared at her, less than a metre from her face. Michael wanted it all to stop, but had no idea how to stop it.

“You’re not mute, either. It’s just another of your moronic ways to make the most out of mum’s and dad’s care. Y’know, I could’ve left you to finish what you’d started that Tuesday, I could’ve fucking walked out and let you finish. Right now, I’m wondering why I didn’t. Why the bloody should I bother trying to keep you alive, when all you do is whine and moan about it? If you’re so fucking keen on dying, then go kill yourself, I won’t stop you! I’m sick and tired of you, Dina, I won’t care anymore, you hear? The sooner you die, the better, ‘cause then I won’t have to be worried sick about finding you all bloody in your bed one morning!”

Noel’s voice was thick with tears. ‘My god,’ Michael thought, ‘he’s provoking her.’ Not on purpose, perhaps, but he was provoking her nonetheless.

Abandoning all previous regulations, Dina now replied with spoken words instead of written ones, the notepad abandoned on the floor between the two siblings. “Just because you are so bloody perfect! Straight fucking A’s in all subjects, good at sports, popular with the girls—”

“I don’t go about trying to kill myself every two months! I’m happy with clubbing on Fridays, working ten to three on weekdays and writing down my thoughts every now and then! I don’t slit my wrists for a laugh! All you do,” he spat, poking a finger in her chest, “is worrying mum and dad to death – quite ironic, huh? – and whine about how fucking miserable your life is! Well, bloody end it then, and everybody will be happy! We don’t need your whining, get it? Go kill yourself and have it over with, I’m sure you’ll feel a damn lot better afterwards!”

Listening to the, admittedly one-sided, conversation was making Michael physically sick. Not able to hear another word of it, he rose from the couch, grabbed his book from the table and left the room.

The arguing siblings didn’t even notice the departure. The empty tea cup stood forgotten next to the vase of flowers.

“Next time I saw Noel was two days after Dina’s funeral. She’d slit her wrists, ultimately, and the doctors said she’d been under the influence of something, most likely Valium or Vicodin. It happened only a few days after she’d had that big argument with Noel in the living room. I’m pretty sure, and I’ve told the doctors that too, that the things Noel said to her pushed her buttons. By voicing his worries and regrets, he pushed her buttons. I think Noel knows that as well. When I saw him, tagging along with his mother walking down the street, I didn’t see him. It wasn’t Noel Hart, it was this... empty shell, pretending to be Noel. I didn’t say hi. In fact, it’s been five years and I haven’t spoken to him once. I guess we just... went separate ways. The other day I was out with Gayle, that’s my girlfriend since three years, and I walked into Noel outside the supermarket. He was carrying two large buckets of paint. We looked at each other for a few moments. I don’t know if he recognised me, even though I look the same as I did five years ago. Either way, neither one of us said anything, and he hurried away. I sometimes think I should call him, catch up on things, y’know... But it never happens. I’m just worried we won’t have anything to talk about, and there’d be this awkward silence. You’d think there’d be something to say, but you’d be amazed at what five years can do to the best of friendships.”