I Was Going to Do It

December 8, 2007
By Kourtney Thomas, Buckeye, AZ

I was going to do it. I was so close,. The needle, my arm exposed, and my heart; broken. I’d bit my lip, and was about to do it, but the phone rang. Normally, I don’t answer the phone. I don’t like it, it disturbs me. Writers should never have phones in their houses, but Sylvia insisted. She wanted to make sure I didn’t do what I was going to do, before the phone rang that is. I counted the rings. If it gets pass six rings, I’ll answer, and I’ll live. If it’s any less, I’ll kill myself.

Two rings echoed the empty, trashy apartment. I’d got it for cheap. My dad screwed the landlady. That was years ago. I bit my lip, thinking of their passionate embraces, their secret late night rendezvous. A movie, dinner, and sweet romantic sex. I could write for ages about it, but I might not have the time. Four rings. I just might make it. Some would call me sick, deciding my fate on such a frivolous factor. I counter this argument with the simple, yet truthful fact that people base major decisions on things less frivolous than a phone call exceeding six rings. I smiled suddenly, I guess today, I’ll live.

I stood just then and gathered my needle. I put the cap over it, so as to not hurt anyone and shoved it in my trash can. I never plan to commit suicide the same way. Before, I’d planned to slit my throat, I’d even bought a gun, to blow my brains out, but I wanted to be original. I grabbed the phone and scrolled through the caller ID. The last call read:

Unknown Caller

It had to be Caroline. Only she would be lucky enough to call in the middle of my suicide attempt. I chuckled bitterly, and called her back. “Hello.” I envied her. She had so much, and had so little.

“Thanks a f**kin’ lot Caroline. You ruined everything.” She told me a million times to stop calling her Caroline.

“It’s Carrie. And what did I ruin?” I hesitated to tell her, but she was my best friend, and she knew goddamn well I was suicidal. She was a real pal, she never pressured me to seek help.

“Caroline, It would have been so totally awesome.” I grabbed a pack of Marlboro and pulled out a cigarette. My fingers trembled as I reached in my pocket for my lighter, and lit it. I sucked in the poison. Letting it flow through my body. God, poison sure could be sweet. “I was going to inject an air bubble in my bloodstream.” I heard silence on the line. She didn’t understand.

“What would that do?”

“It would kill me Caroline. Leave it at that. So, what was so goddamn important you had to ruin my suicide!” Caroline sighed dramatically.

“I wanna see you.” I didn’t respond. I don’t know why, but Caroline always had my mind going. My mind drifted to a time when I was most happy. Before all this. Before needles, drugs, and women consumed my life. I wasn’t exactly happy, but I was calm. I didn’t dream things, I didn’t write. I only saw. I would travel the country. Seeing it all. Then, I met Caroline, and I’d been whirled into this sad pitiful so called life. “Did you hear me?” I trembled slightly, realizing that I’d gone off again.

“Why?” Caroline was up to something. I knew it.

“I wanna see you ,” she repeated. I didn’t have to say another word, because she would see me. She was on her way. I heard her beep outside. “I’m outside.” I hung up the phone and walked to the front door. I stood and stared, until she opened the door. “Hi, babe!” Her voice got high with excitement. She was a beautiful girl, to me. To a stranger she’d seem moderately pretty. She was chubby, with huge breasts she kept hiked up with the finest brassieres, and she had a big toothy grin. Her long hair had been dyed jet black, and she looked like a plump rockish version of Betty Boop. She stopped suddenly as she noticed my attire. Her eyes scanned me up and down, and then she desperately searched my eyes. Trying to find Me. Me was no longer there. I stood looking coolly at her, with my cigarette, puffing smoke rings her way. I hadn’t seen her in two months. In her absence, I’d switched to nicotine. She slowly walked toward me. She put her arms around me and kissed me hard on the lips, my cigarette held unsteadily between my fingers. I could not explain this feeling I had. Yes, I’d grown stiff, but the feeling I got was rage, but I couldn’t explain it. I pushed her away.

“Why did you wanna see me!” It was more of a statement. I didn’t expect an answer. Girls like Caroline rarely explained themselves. She dug her soft hands into her size fourteen hip hugger jeans. I never forgot her size. It was beauty. All of her. She removed her hands and swung them at her sides.

“I missed you.” I stared at her. All this time. Was she serious? I’d loved her. I’d loved her all this time and she, like only a Caroline would do, wait until my feelings subside and I’m over her to rush back into my arms.

“It’s not good.” She stared at me then. Long and hard. I returned the stare and she stepped closer to me.

“What’s not good?” I attempted to speak, but a hard dryness, delayed me. It almost seemed like I’d never answer, when suddenly the dry grip was released. I walked calmly over to my dingy sofa, and took a seat.

“You. You’re not good. I am so tired, Caroline. I don’t want to hold you when only you want to be held. “ She seemed hurt, in pain, I knew she hadn’t expected it. She walked over to me and sat on my lap, ignoring my stiffness. She cupped my face in her soft, delicate hands, and for just an instant I was transported from my dingy apartment. The pain, the needles, the longing, they were all gone. I didn’t feel the pain she caused me. The pain she’d never stop causing me. I felt like I could rule the world. And then, just as suddenly, I returned, and the tears began to flood. Caroline. Removed the cigarette from my hand and almost so suddenly I shoved her off me. She nearly fell, and I wanted to break her adorable little neck. It was an awful thought, but maybe her death would end my suffering.

“What the F**k is your problem?!?” Caroline’s soft voice got loud and strainy. I wanted this, anticipated this, I lived for this.

“You have to leave.” The soft light that seemed to follow Caroline to even the darkest places, disappeared altogether. All that was left was a beautiful girl standing angrily in the shadows, with a drug addicted suicidal maniac.

“I have tried, Marcus. I have, really. It’s too damn complicated.” Suddenly, the girl I love shrunk about five feet.

“Caroline, I have been trying. I can’t do this. If I have to watch you parade around with another guy, I will kill myself. Don’t you get it? I have always loved you! Always! But you had to have your basketball players, your marijuana boys, and your call-you-when-I’m-horny-freak boys, didn’t you? You never looked beyond what you wanted.” She stood silent a moment, listening to my words. When I spoke, she never interrupted. She was silent, patient, and caring.

“Remember when I kissed you? Five years ago, in that park? We were so happy then. What happened?”

“You left. I had to get my highs some other way.” I revealed my track marks on the inside of my arms. Caroline turned away.

“No, Marcus, I never left, not purposely. You drove me away. Why? I was willing to go to the ends of the earth with YOU! Why did you push me away?” I searched my mind for the answer.

“Because, I knew I’d never be enough for you.” She turned to me then., and flew into my weak arms. I cried that day, cried, like a baby cries for milk.

Similar Articles


This article has 0 comments.


MacMillan Books

Aspiring Writer? Take Our Online Course!