Don't You See?, in which Natalie commits suicide – I must warn you, this is very dark. It's only rated M for the darkness, not for anything else, but hey – fare warning. Thanks and enjoy.
Don't You See?
I thought it would get it better. That Mom would get better, and Dad would stop rambling about all the meds, and the specter that is Gabe Goodman's memory would leave our family. I thought we could be normal…or, at least, we could give it a shot. But when Mom tried to kill herself, all of that changed.
It wouldn't get better.
It wouldn't.
None of it would – not now, not ever.
She wanted to die. That day, Mom wanted to die. She wanted to end it all – 'I'm done', she might as well have said – and live forever with her perfect, perfect son in his perfect, perfect world of happiness and peace and bliss, and none of this numb, sorrowful, whispering pain would exist anymore. Gabe told her to do it, I'm sure. He probably said 'come with me', the way he talks to me – the way he tells me 'she's not there'. It sends shivers down my spine, it really does – 'you'll never be good enough,' he says. 'Never. Not now, not ever.'
So I might as well quit while I'm ahead.
I didn't get into Yale without being smart, ya' know – I wasn't going to be one of those dumb people who carry it out and leave behind a mess and a crime scene. No, see, I didn't want my Mom or Dad – or God forbid Henry – to walk in and find my dead body congealed in a puddle of blood, to find my body hanging limply in my closet, to find my broken bones in the yard, after I've jumped off the roof…
Like I said, I'm not stupid – I know where Mom hides her pills. Xanax, Valium, Adderall, the list goes on and on. It'll be quick and it'll be painless…I hope.
But you see, I'm not just jumping into this – like I said, I thought it would get better. I thought I could see a light at the end of the tunnel. I thought these thinks the way that a four-year-old thinks that the tooth fairy and Easter bunny and Santa Claus are really. Blind faith – I had blind faith. For a better tomorrow – a normal life...
A normal life where I'd get my degree from Yale in music and become a composer, and Henry would go to whatever school he wanted and become a jazz pianist, and together we would always play. We'd surround our lives with the joys of music, the emotion of the notes springing to life on our keys and into the ears of all who so wanted to hear them. With our wedding would come Here Comes The Bride and a whole lot of other over-done pieces, but it wouldn't matter then – it would be our wedding, and Henry and I are certainly not over-done. And after that would come our first baby – a boy, I'd image – named Finn. He'd have Henry's dreamy eyes and be my perfect, perfect son; so completely irreplaceable just as Gabe was to my mother. But he'd never leave me – he'd never leave me for Heaven so early on, he'd stay and he'd grow and he'd be so, so happy. And then we'd have a girl next – Lily, just like Lily Potter – and she'd be book-smart like me, but circumspect like her father, and oh, she'd be beautiful – my beautiful, beautiful daughter. And we'd raise our children in music – we'd show them through it's golden beauty the happiness, the sadness, the ways of the world. We'd show them the world through the song; we'd show them the song through the world…
But no. No…
This will never happen. I will never be normal. I'll never…
I'll never be good enough.
She's not there, she's not there, she's not there…
It pains me as I rip the note I've written out of the old, spiral-bound notebook – really it does. But it's for the best, I promise you it is. I'll probably save more lives by taking my own, anyway – less people burdened by my very existence. The note I've written, crinkled up in my hand now, looks like this:
Mom and Dad,
I'm with my brother now, I promise I am. We're happy together. We're sitting here together now, actually, looking down on the two of you. Gabe loves you. He loves you so much, and so do I. Don't be sad, please, don't be. Don't you see that I'm happier here? I was never happy with you – no, scratch that – I was never anything with you. Don't you see? No, actually, you didn't. But please, don't feel bad. It's better now. I'm at peace now. Please, tell my Henry I love him. – Nat
I loved you once and though,
You love me still I know
It's time for me to fly.
I loved you once and though,
I love you still I know
It's time for me to go
And so –
Goodbye.