Echo stopped in the hallway as her backpack started to slip off her shoulder. All of the new books she had to carry around couldn't all fit in the backpack, so in having to carry some in her arms, she had very little control of how things decided to mess her up. First, her backpack's weight had caused her to drop it from her shoulder onto a freshly painted road, where the yellow middle line was not yet dry. Second, she had dropped her math book onto the foot of a timid freshman, which made her feel even worse. After she had finally figured out just the right way to walk with all this new weight, the damn thing was slipping again.
"Fucking bag," she grumbled.
Addie appeared from somewhere to her left, helping her with her backpack. "Hey you. What's up?"
"Nothing, really," Echo replied wearily. "Just trying to practice my balancing act for the rest of the year."
"No kidding," Addie replied, "you'll definitely need it. Why are you taking so many classes this year? Don't you know that seniors can take easy classes, and best of all, LESS of them?"
"Eh…I need to keep myself busy." Echo's answer was half truth, half fib. She had wanted to keep herself busy, yes…but her second reason was her father. In his obsession with America, he had made it very clear that she was to succeed academically and become a doctor or some sort of scientist. She had originally liked the idea, and particularly liked the study of blood…until she had that nightmare. Now she wasn't so sure she could handle some of the classes she was taking that had to do with the subject.
"Well, whatever. Your funeral. Anyway, I really have to pee, so if you don't mind, I'll be slippin' off in this direction. Good luck carrying those things around!" Addie sped down the hallway to find the restrooms.
"Thanks," Echo answered back quietly. She had been so shaken up from the dream she had that she had wondered all morning if her mother had committed suicide of some kind. I'm probably still bothered by that news article. Echo reasoned with herself in this way often, and in trying to ignore the fact that she had the thoughts of her mother's possible suicide, she was doing herself more harm.
As she walked to her locker, she heard a group of girls mention a train accident. Suddenly her ear was cocked towards her right side, where the group of four was trying to keep their conversation low key. If labels had to be put on them, they would most likely fit in the "art crowd," as they wore crazy outfits to display their emotions, and one of them was a "body painter," whatever that was. Echo had heard that the girl made paintings with her bare body, but she wasn't sure; after all, rumors are rumors.
"Did you hear about that train accident?" one girl asked. The rest replied with something incomprehensible. "I heard there were 50 girls."
"54," another corrected. "It sounds so cult-like! They must have been brainwashed!"
The more eccentric of the four made a dramatic facial expression, her hand posed in the air like a ballerina in mid-dance. "What if it was a message to society? What if they were trying to speak to us?"
"What would they have to say in death?" the first asked with doubt. "Everyone just thinks they were crazy."
"But there are those who are deeper in the heart and soul who could maybe read their message…like, us! Well, maybe not all of us…" the crazy one paused to give a look to the first girl, and then continued, "Maybe it was an act of rebellion against something!"
"Whatever, you're nuts!" the fourth one – the most quiet of them all – exclaimed. "They were a cult! I read about it in an online news article. They were brainwashing each other! Even if your statement is true, Japan's society is different from ours. Maybe they were getting sick of their robotic lifestyle."
Echo walked away from the conversation quickly. Had she known she would hear about the article again, she probably would have avoided coming to school. I should have known better, she thought to herself with a bitter smirk.
School came and went, and by the time the last bell rang, she was desperate to get home and take a nap. She couldn't get the crazy girl's statement out of her head. "What if it was a message to society?"
Another thing that stuck in her mind was the fourth girl's statement that Japanese were robotic. She never really thought about it before. She never really bothered to think about…things, now that she thought about it. She always just lived life day by day, accepting things that came and brushing away things that went.
Robots don't think, do they?
Echo felt slightly dizzy all of a sudden, and decided to sit down on a bench in the nearby park. She didn't care much if she was late home from school today.
Echo's cell phone rang, and she looked down to see a text message from Addie. Something about meeting her on MSN so that she could send her some music files of her band's newest song.
Echo typed into her phone: "Y can't I come to ur place and listen?"
She didn't get a response for a while. Finally, Addie's reply came. "B-cuz I have lots of people to talk to 2-nite on MSN."
Echo typed back, "About what?"
Addie: "Tons of sht. Mostly drama."
Echo: "Just call them, then."
Addie: "Internet is way easier! GTG…l8ter."
End.
Echo shut her phone and stared at a group of young girls passing by. They all had matching sweaters (different colors, same brand), and all were carrying those Bratz dolls. She hated Bratz.
As she gathered her things to head home, she noticed the yellow streak from the road paint on her backpack. She rolled her eyes in frustration, storming off towards home.
The road was steaming with the afternoon sun, as it had rained earlier that morning. Portland was famous for its rain. Cars sped by in a hurry, and every now and again, Echo would hear the sound of screeching tires. She knew it would be another 10 minutes until she go home, which frustrated her even more than she already was. She decided to take a shortcut through an alleyway that cut straight to her street, which she figured out with her former knowledge of Portland's roads and streets.
The alley was somewhat dark, and banana peels were scattered everywhere. The buildings on either side were so tall that the sun was barely visible; just one strip of blue sky could be seen directly above her. She saw something hanging from a fire escape, thinking it was a trash bag. As she approached, however, something in the air made her stomach queasy, like when she had the nightmare…
A teenage boy, hanging by his neck, greeted her stunned face.
"Oh my god!" Echo cried out, stumbling back in utter shock, hyperventilating. She had never seen a dead body in real life before. His eyelids were turning black, his extremities changing hues as well. His tongue was sticking out slightly, and around his neck was a yellow ribbon. He looked young, but one could hardly tell with all of the blood having drained his face of color and squishing his entire face into a scrunched up look of anger.
There was a note attached to his wrist, but she refused to touch him. She threw up in a trash can across from him, and sat against the wall crying. She didn't know what to do. Obviously she should have gotten up and walked away, but after that? Was her it duty to call the police? Or should she run home and never come out? His body swung slowly in front of her, dancing in the silent air of death, his hair seemingly greasy from lack of bathing. His determined expression on his lifeless face almost made her think that he was on a mission rather than suffering from pain.
Portland had many suicides, she figured, but not many were reported to the public. They were kept silent, like dust swept under a rug to quickly clean up. A small obituary was placed in the newspaper for them, but no one read those things except for their family members and friends. That was it: a sigh, a dismay-filled shake of the head, a quick report for police and medical records, and an obituary.
Echo got up, her legs shaking, and stumbled to the nearest payphone to dial the police.
