Dying
I told those boys we should take our car. They are so ready to do anything for us. We are goddesses to them. Four blonde, beautiful goddesses. When I think of it this way, it makes us seem evil that we are doing this. We just want out of here. It would be a whole lot easier to escape in the car, but what kind of drama does that stir up? We want to be remembered. I know those boys will remember us, but what about the rest of the world?
Therese is already gone. We gave her half a bottle of sleeping pills and the gin that Mom thinks we don't know about and put her in her bed. Bonnie, I think, is getting ready, but she should be gone any minute. Mary just turned on the oven.
And I am stalling.
I want them to be gone or as good as gone before I go. I know the boys are infatuated with us. They would jump off the Brooklyn Bridge if we so much as suggested it. And we're leaving them. I wish Trip could be here to watch. I loved him so much. And all he did was have sex with me on a football field and leave me. Well, to hell with him. We're getting out of here. We promised Cecilia that much. She had to go because she couldn't stand not being understood. We're going because we promised her when she slit her wrists that, whether or not she died, we would go to her exactly a year later. No one knows except us. Mom doesn't know, Dad doesn't know, no one in this nosy neighborhood knows except us girls. We're gonna be famous. Everyone will wonder, "Why did these girls kill themselves? They had such happy lives." But we didn't. We really didn't.
I know for certain Therese is gone, Mary is probably just entering her eternal sleep, and Bonnie is probably just kicking the old trunk out from under her.
My turn now.
I leave the boys, unbuckling one of their belts to seal our deal. I grab the car keys off the ring in the kitchen, checking on Mary and heading for the kitchen. As I enter the garage, real fear starts to enter me. I'm beginning to be afraid to die. A voice in my head says, "It'll be quick, I promise." I get into the old station wagon and shut the door. With trembling hands, I put the key in the ignition and turn it. The car shudders to life and I pull a cigarette from my pocket and light it with the car lighter, hoping it will calm me. I open the passenger-side window and hang my hand out, holding the cigarette and reclining against the leather seat. The boys are still upstairs, waiting. I'm getting so sleepy. I can't keep my eyes open. I let them close and think about what will happen when we're gone. Then my body gives up and everything goes black.
I told those boys we should take our car. They are so ready to do anything for us. We are goddesses to them. Four blonde, beautiful goddesses. When I think of it this way, it makes us seem evil that we are doing this. We just want out of here. It would be a whole lot easier to escape in the car, but what kind of drama does that stir up? We want to be remembered. I know those boys will remember us, but what about the rest of the world?
Therese is already gone. We gave her half a bottle of sleeping pills and the gin that Mom thinks we don't know about and put her in her bed. Bonnie, I think, is getting ready, but she should be gone any minute. Mary just turned on the oven.
And I am stalling.
I want them to be gone or as good as gone before I go. I know the boys are infatuated with us. They would jump off the Brooklyn Bridge if we so much as suggested it. And we're leaving them. I wish Trip could be here to watch. I loved him so much. And all he did was have sex with me on a football field and leave me. Well, to hell with him. We're getting out of here. We promised Cecilia that much. She had to go because she couldn't stand not being understood. We're going because we promised her when she slit her wrists that, whether or not she died, we would go to her exactly a year later. No one knows except us. Mom doesn't know, Dad doesn't know, no one in this nosy neighborhood knows except us girls. We're gonna be famous. Everyone will wonder, "Why did these girls kill themselves? They had such happy lives." But we didn't. We really didn't.
I know for certain Therese is gone, Mary is probably just entering her eternal sleep, and Bonnie is probably just kicking the old trunk out from under her.
My turn now.
I leave the boys, unbuckling one of their belts to seal our deal. I grab the car keys off the ring in the kitchen, checking on Mary and heading for the kitchen. As I enter the garage, real fear starts to enter me. I'm beginning to be afraid to die. A voice in my head says, "It'll be quick, I promise." I get into the old station wagon and shut the door. With trembling hands, I put the key in the ignition and turn it. The car shudders to life and I pull a cigarette from my pocket and light it with the car lighter, hoping it will calm me. I open the passenger-side window and hang my hand out, holding the cigarette and reclining against the leather seat. The boys are still upstairs, waiting. I'm getting so sleepy. I can't keep my eyes open. I let them close and think about what will happen when we're gone. Then my body gives up and everything goes black.