Chapter Two:
I can't really remember much about the Friday night I told Hannah I wanted to off myself. It's mostly kind of a blur: a disgusting, rancid, nauseating blur. Things started out normally enough. Hannah, her boyfriend, Elijah (who always set off my gaydar, but I never had the heart to mention it to Hannah) and a few of my theater friends started the night with a round of drinking games. Then, Elijah's roommate arrived with a stack of pot brownies. Halfway through stuffing her face, Hannah remembered that she shouldn't mix pot and alcohol with her OCD meds, so I finished her brownie, which, in retrospect, was probably a pretty awful idea. I'm certainly not a lightweight by any stretch of the imagination, but even I have limits. And that night, well, let's just say I went light years above said limits. Around 2 in the morning, my theater friends had to leave in preparation for the arrival of their parents early the next morning for Family Weekend.
"Oh, that's right," Hannah said, acting unusually perky and sociable due to the unholy combo of pot, alcohol and OCD meds. "My parents are coming too. They aren't getting here until late afternoon though."
"Well, mine aren't," I said. "They aren't getting here until…ever."
"Wait, what?" said Hannah. "I thought you said your mom was coming all the way from England."
"Nope. Not anymore. She decided…f*** it…at the last second."
Hannah put her hand gently on my shoulder. "Oh, Jessa. I'm sorry. I know you were looking forward to seeing her."
I rolled my eyes. "No big deal," I said, trying to keep my voice light and airy. "I'm sure it would have been awful anyway." But my response sounded feeble. It was a big deal and Hannah and I both knew it, even though I had not been look forward to seeing Mum. My chest suddenly felt so tight with anger and sadness that I found it nearly impossible to breathe. Tears leapt to my eyes, but I blinked them back. It would have been awful to have my mother here on campus for a whole weekend, I reminded myself. After all, she would probably do nothing but complain about my dorm's lame selection of cable channels. "You know what her reason was?" I asked. "For bailing out, I mean?"
Hannah shook her head.
I gave a sharp, cold laugh. "It was because she's supposed to have someone come to install a new water softener on Sunday. I guess she forgot until now. A water softener!" I began laughing hysterically and Hannah joined me, but I eventually had to stop because I felt sick. "A water softener is more important than me." I said this part quietly, almost in a whisper.
"Oh, Jessa, no," Hannah said weakly, still laughing a little. "Don't say that!"
But there was really no denying it. I hadn't seen my mother in almost two years and my father for at least twice that long. And I had to wonder: what kind of a person is so horrendously awful that her own parents happily ignore her for two years? What kind of a person matters so little that her own father forgets her thirteenth birthday and never calls to apologize? How awful am I that my mother completely ignored the fact that I was sopping wet after being stood up by Dad and in danger of potential pneumonia?
"Maybe if I killed myself she would care." At first, I wasn't sure I said it out loud, but then Hannah let in a sharp gasp. "Well, maybe," I added, ignoring her appropriately shocked response. "Or maybe she would just be pissed that she would have to fly all the way across the pond for the funeral. Maybe I just should. Off myself, I mean. It's not like anyone would miss me." At that point, I broke into hysterical, unstoppable tears.
"Jessa…" Hannah said helplessly, weakly draping her arm over my shoulder. The next part of the conversation I have no recollection of: I honestly blacked it out. Hannah probably said something along the lines of "you're not worthless" and "lots of people would miss you," but I'm sure I wasn't really hearing any of it.
Hours later, at around 6 in the morning, I had finally regained my senses. I splashed water on my face and dried my red-rimmed eyes. "I'm so sorry for keeping you up all night," I said to Hannah, who quickly shook her head. "Um…so," I added, "about what I said earlier…about…You know that was just a joke, right? I was just kind of caught up in the moment. I mean, I would never really…"
"Oh, yeah," Hannah said quickly. "Of course you wouldn't. I know you were just having a…dark moment. It happens to everyone. Believe me, I've been there." She gave my hand a tight squeeze. "You're going to be okay now, right?"
I nodded resolutely. "Yeah, absolutely," I said. "I was just being a whiny crybaby.
I still felt as awkward as hell, though. Even though Hannah and I had had lots of deep conversations in the past where I divulged various details about my absentee parents, I had definitely never broken down so completely in front of her. I still felt physically shaky and weak, as if something deep inside had snapped. "So, are we okay?"
"What? You and me?" Hannah asked, sounding surprised. "Of course we are! Please don't worry about it! You have nothing to be embarrassed about." She gave me an awkward hug – Hannah was never much for physical contact. "You're going to be okay, you know, Jessa."
I blew my nose. "Yeah, I know. I am. I really am."
And I really, truly thought that was the end of it. It seemed to me like Hannah and I had made an unspoken promise to never mention it again.
Although I don't remember much of that night, I definitely recall the Monday after in perfect detail. Hannah and I were in Women's Studies class that morning and she seemed unusually cheerful – manic even – as she recounted what she and her parents did over the weekend. Then, right before the lesson started, a tight-faced, very official looking woman entered the classroom and whispered something to Mrs. Stein. We all watched with morbid curiosity, wondering if some had died. Then, Mrs. Stein pointed at me. "Jessa," she whispered, motioning for me to come forward. My pulse raced and electricity coursed through my veins. I glanced over at Hannah, who seemed determined to avoid my gaze. I stood up slowly as everyone's eyes bored into me – at least, probably – I wasn't actually paying attention to anything except for the loud, horribly uncomfortable pounding of my heart and the staticy ringing in my ears. The woman at the front of the room put her hand gently on my shoulder. "Jessa? Hi, I'm Miss _" (I didn't catch her last name). "Do you think we could step outside the classroom for a second?" Something had happened. One of my parents had died. Why else would she have been looking at me so delicately?
"W-what's wrong?" I asked shakily, once we had left the classroom, but I didn't really want to know the answer. Really, I just wanted it to be a bad dream.
Gently, Miss _ told me that I was to go to the psych ward of the hospital immediately until it could be determined I wasn't a danger to myself and after that, they highly (highly, highly) recommended I check in with a school therapist. It was also recommended that my parents should be contacted, but since I was nineteen, they couldn't force that particular issue.
I only stayed at the hospital for a few hours that day, after convincing them I was sane, agreeing to see the school therapist ASAP and promising to call 911 if I felt even the tiniest bit suicidal again. At first, I just felt dazed and shaken up, but as soon as that wore off, I was furious. Why would Hannah do that to me? But more than that: why had I told her that? I should have known better than to open up to her like that. And, in the darkest recesses of my mind: the worst possible thought of all: what if I had meant it?
My mind is reeling as I leave the therapist's office and enter the biting, humid January air. I realize, suddenly, that I miss Hannah. She is the only one of my friends who has ever seen a psychologist (actually, psychologists: plural) and I bet she would have a field day with all the stupid things mine just said. Maybe it is finally time to talk it out with her. I walk toward her dorm, fear bordering on terror coursing through me. I am not one to get in fights if I can help it. Yes, I can be aggressive and confrontational as hell with people I don't know, but arguing with someone who I actually care about is a completely different matter. My basic instinct has always been to run way and to shut people out when emotions start running too high. I guess Hannah knows that now, based on how I've blatantly ignored her since Monday in Women's Studies. As I approach her room, part of me hopes she won't be there and that I can delay confrontation. I take a deep breath and knock.
Hannah's roommate, Marnie, opens the door. Great. Just perfect. I wouldn't say that I dislike Marnie, per se, but she definitely annoys me with her extreme stuck-up prissiness and perfectionist tendencies. As exhausted as I am, I have no desire whatsoever to deal with her today. And I definitely don't want her around when Hannah and I have our deep conversation.
"Hey," I say, peering inside their incredibly well-organized room. "Hannah's not around is she?"
"No," Marnie says. "She went to the library. She'll probably be back soon, though. Do you want to come in?"
No. No, I certainly do not. But, I suppose it couldn't hurt to wait – plus it would be rude not to take her invitation.
"Yeah, okay," I say.
We stand in silence for a second.
"Yeah," says Marnie. "She just stepped out to the library. She should be back any minute. I think she just had to return a few things. She didn't really say, though."
"Yeah, I know. You said that…like two seconds ago," I remind her. Ugh. I look down at my cell phone for the time. I have class at 2, but I'm pretty sure I'm going to skip again.
"Yeah," says Marnie again. "Yeah" seems to be her favorite word. It occurs to me that she's probably mad at me, as I assume Hannah has told her all about it. Marnie may be a stuck-up goody-goody, but she's definitely loyal as all hell to Hannah.
"Okay," I say awkwardly. "Well, could you tell her I was here?"
"Yeah, yeah, for sure," she says, not looking at me.
"Cool, thanks," I reply.
"WAIT!" Marnie shouts, just before I open the door. Terrific. Here comes her big spiel about how I'm being completely unfair to Hannah and how I should give the poor girl a chance. But instead, she grabs something off the shelf. "Um…do you maybe want one of these chocolate biscuits? My dad got them on his last trip to Germany. I don't really like them and neither does Hannah, so I've kind of been trying to pawn them off on anyone who visits." None of this is particularly surprising (aside from the lack of a lecture about my meanness/unfairness to Hannah, that is). Though I rarely hang out with Marnie, I have noticed that she loves to talk about her dad, who, to hear her tell it, shits rainbows. She also pretty much never eats anything (Hannah can attest to this too), so I'm not shocked she hasn't touched her German chocolate biscuits even if they were a gift from her amazingly awesome precious father's vacation. But, of course, she would definitely never even consider throwing them out, since they had belonged to her daddy.
"Um…okay," I say. I take a bite into it, allowing it to dissolve in my mouth and am suddenly reminded of how desperately hungry I am. "Not bad," I say.
Marnie rolls her eyes. "Guess it's an acquired taste," she says. For a second, I'm worried she poisoned the biscuits. She certainly is acting suspiciously. Well, I guess I can't really say I know her well enough to determine if her behavior is suspicious, plus maybe the fact that I'm so out of it is making me read it as weirder than it is. I'm suddenly acutely aware of my state of exhaustion from the lack of sleep and food. Shoshana has this thing called Hypoglycemia, which means she gets shaky when her blood sugar is low. I'm starting to wonder if I might too – maybe it runs in the family. I suddenly feel like I'm going to faint, so I sink down onto Hannah's bed and lean my head back against the wall.
"Hey, are you okay?" Marnie asks.
"No, not really," I reply, closing my eyes.
"Yeah, I guess not. Sorry. Pretty dumb question. Do you want something to drink? Some water? Or tea?"
"Yes, definitely," I say. "Maybe Whiskey. On the rocks."
Marnie raises an eyebrow. I guess I forgot what a total spaz she is. Apparently, she's never heard of sarcasm.
"What?" I say, "Its five o'clock somewhere in the world."
"I know!" Marnie shouts, ignoring my hilarious comment. "I have just the thing. You'll like it, I promise!" She returns from the kitchen and hands me a mug with a couple of overly cheerful and overly Christmassy cartoon raccoons.
"Hot chocolate with a peppermint teabag," she states. "My dad always used to make it for me when I was growing up. I know it sounds gross, but it's actually really, really good. It…I don't know. It always used to make me feel better when I was having a bad day or whatever." Oh, of course. Her dad. Who else? But it actually is kind of good, surprisingly enough. Though a shot of Whiskey certainly wouldn't hurt.
"Not bad," I say, looking down at my hands, which have stopped shaking.
"Yeah?" she says, smiling almost shyly. "Well, good. I guess. You feel any better? Less woozy or whatever?"
"Starting to, yeah," I say, which isn't exactly true – at least not yet.
She clears her throat. "Hey, Jessa?"
"Marnie?"
She rolls her eyes and huffs. "Um…look…I know Hannah can be kind of a chore to deal with sometimes. Believe me, I totally understand being pissed off at her."
I'm pretty surprised. Is she really, honestly and truly taking my side?
"But she means well," Marnie continues. "I mean, her heart is always in the right place."
"That is such a gross expression," I say. "Where else would her heart be? In her butt?"
Marnie sighs in exasperation. "Yeah, whatever. Can I finish?"
I roll my eyes dramatically. Sometimes I have no idea why I insist on acting so bitchy. She is going out of her way to be nice to me, after all. "Yes, sorry. Please continue."
"I really don't think she meant to hurt you, is the thing," she says. "She was honestly just worried. And she feels really, really terrible about it. I don't know the whole story or anything," she adds. "She's barely said anything about it. But I do know she's really hurting right now too."
"Right," I say, "so I should forgive her, is what you're saying."
Marnie bites her lip. "I don't know," she says. "I just…please don't take this the wrong way or anything, but I think maybe you are overreacting a little."
"Oh do you?" I say, putting the Raccoon Mug down. "And you're the expert? I had to go to the Psych Ward because of her."
"She made a mistake," Marnie says. "And you have to admit she kind of had a right to be worried."
"Says the person who wasn't even there." And of course she wasn't. I have to wonder if she has ever been to a party in her whole two years at school.
"What would you have done if you were her?" she asks.
"I would've known she wasn't serious," I say.
Marnie just shrugs. "I don't know," she says again, which is something else she loves to say, along with "yeah." "But now answering her calls? Unfriending her on Facebook? Pretending you don't see her in class? That's pretty cold."
But I don't have time to respond because we hear the sound of a key turning in the door and Hannah comes in.
