Waiting for Morning

by Karen Kingsbury

Hannah ignored all of it.

  She strode stiffly toward the principal’s office and signed in. In less than a minute, Mary Stelpstra swept into the waiting area and ushered her into her office. She shut the door behind them. “Please, Mrs. Ryan, sit down.”

  Hannah sat. Ever since the accident it seemed people were forever telling her to sit down. As if whatever news was about to be shared was simply too difficult to hear while standing. Hannah knew she must look terrible, her eyes tear-stained, her makeup smeared … but she was tired, and she didn’t care what people thought of her. Right now she cared only for her youngest daughter. “You said there was something you wanted to discuss about Jenny?”

  “First let me say on behalf of West Hills Junior High, we are so sorry about your loss, Mrs. Ryan.” The principal had the polished sound of a school administrator. She continued. “Our staff, our students, we all loved Alicia very much. We feel her absence sorely.”

  Tears again. Hannah reached for a tissue and dabbed at the corners of her eyes. She waited for the principal to continue.

  “Lately, though, we’ve spent more time worrying about Jenny. She’s missed a lot of school, Mrs. Ryan.”

  Hannah relaxed slightly. Was that all? Jenny’s attendance? “She hasn’t felt good. I don’t think it’s anything physical, really …”

  Mrs. Stelpstra nodded. “I understand. Actually, her teachers are working with her, helping her with missed assignments. Her absences are to be expected after what she’s gone through.”

  Hannah was relieved, but curious. If they were willing to work with Jenny on her absences, then why the meeting? “I guess I’m not quite following you, Mrs. Stelpstra.”

  The principal sighed and pulled a folded piece of notebook paper from her desk drawer. “I didn’t ask you in because of Jenny’s absences.” She paused and unfolded the paper, glancing at it and then handing it to Hannah. “I asked you in because of this.”

  “What is it?”

  “Something Jenny wrote in English class yesterday. It’s quite alarming, really, Mrs. Ryan. And I wanted to be sure you knew about it.”

  Hannah felt her stomach turn and noticed her heart had skidded into an unrecognizable beat. She was suddenly terrified as she reached for the paper, her hands trembling. She recognized Jenny’s handwriting and read the title scrawled across the top of the page: “The Best Place to Live.”

  Hannah looked at Mrs. Stelpstra curiously. “Was this an assignment?”

  “Yes. Jenny’s composition teacher asked the class to write an essay on any place in the world where they’d like to live.”

  Hannah returned her gaze to Jenny’s paper and began to read.

  “I can really only think of one place where I want to live, and it’s not here. Last summer my dad and sister died in a car accident. A bunch of people tried to save them, but they died anyway. Now it’s just me and my mom.

  “Mom’s busy most of the time with court stuff. She wants to make sure the man who hit our car will go to jail for what he did to my dad and sister. I don’t know. I don’t really care about him. My mom does, though. She doesn’t care about anything else. Not even me.”

  Hannah closed her eyes. Of course I care about you, Jenny. She forced herself to keep reading.

  “I spend a lot of time in my room now, and I think maybe I’m having anxiety attacks. I read about them once in a book. I get sweaty, and it feels like I can’t breathe, like maybe I’m going to die. Sometimes this makes me scared but most of the time it doesn’t. I sort of wish it would happen.

  “I feel like I’m in some kind of holding place. Kinda like life ended when the accident happened, and now there’s just this waiting time. I still believe in God, but my mom doesn’t. I heard her telling someone from church the other day that she stopped believing in God when Dad and Alicia died. I don’t blame her. I even thought about it. About letting go of my faith. But I can’t. I believe Dad and Alicia are in heaven, and I want more than anything in the world to be with them.”

  Hannah stopped and clutched the paper tightly, closing her eyes against the tears that were coming faster now. I’m right about there being no God, I know I am. But she was shocked to learn that Jenny had found out. It was something she should have shared with the girl herself. This can’t be happening. It keeps getting worse, Tom. I can’t do this by myself.

  Mrs. Stelpstra handed her another tissue and waited patiently. Hannah wiped her eyes, steadied herself, and continued reading.

  “Sometimes that’s all I think about. Dying and stuff. How I can get from here to there so we can be together again. Mom wouldn’t care. It would be easier for her if I was gone. Then she’d have more time for all her stuff with MADD, and she wouldn’t have to wonder why I don’t feel good and how come I’m not going to school. I don’t know. I’ve thought about it a lot. The different ways and stuff. But nothing seems easy, and I just roll around in bed at night wondering about it. I can’t sleep, that’s for sure. I miss Dad and Alicia so much. If there was an easy way to do it, I would. I would in a heartbeat.

  “Because of all the places I would like to live, the only one I can think of right now is heaven.”

  Hannah set the paper down on the principal’s desk as if it were contaminated. “I … I don’t know what to say. It’s like a nightmare that never ends.”

  The principal nodded. “I understand.”

  “It keeps getting worse, you know?”

  Mrs. Stelpstra’s voice was filled with kindness. “We see this kind of thing when one of our students has suffered a severe trauma.” She paused. “Have you noticed anything unusual about Jenny’s behavior? Anything that would lead you to believe she might … actually consider acting on this?”

  Hannah blinked. Surely Mrs. Stelpstra didn’t mean … “You mean killing herself?” Hannah couldn’t believe she was having this conversation.

  “That is what Jenny seems to be alluding to, Mrs. Ryan, don’t you think?”

  Hannah glanced back at the paper lying on the desk before her. “Yes. I guess so. But Jenny would never really do such a thing, Mrs. Stelpstra. I know my daughter.”

  “You must remember, Mrs. Ryan, things are completely different now than they were before the accident. Obviously Jenny never would have considered suicide before. She was a very happy, very carefree girl, secure in herself and her place in your family. Now … well, it seems she feels somewhat forgotten.”

  Hannah’s defenses reared. “Wait a minute! I haven’t done anything to make Jenny feel this way. We’re both suffering … and doing the best we can to get through this … this.…”

  “I’m not trying to accuse—”

  “Then don’t!” Hannah drew a slow breath and tried to regain control. “Jenny’s right. I’ve been busy with MADD. I don’t want Tom’s and Alicia’s deaths to be for nothing.”

  “And Jenny?”

  “I spend as much time with her as possible. When she wants to be alone, I let her.”

  Mrs. Stelpstra paused and retrieved Jenny’s paper once more. She glanced over it again in silence. “Some of the letters are smeared … I think maybe she was crying when she wrote it.”

  Hannah sighed. “We’ve both been doing a lot of crying. That doesn’t mean she’s suicidal.”

  The principal hesitated. “I’m worried about her, Mrs. Ryan.”

  “I’m worried about her, too, about both of us.” Hannah leaned forward. Why didn’t this woman understand what she was going through? “I’m worried about us finding a way through this pain so we can have a relationship again. I’m worried about whether the drunk driver who did this to us will be locked up or whether he’ll walk free.” She paused and leveled her gaze at the woman across from her. “But I am not worried about Jenny killing herself.”

  “This paper—”

  “That paper is Jenny’s way of trying to get attention.” Hannah was angry and no longer trying to hide it. “She would never, ever, not in a million years think of killing herself. She knows better than that.”
>
  Mrs. Stelpstra set the paper down and leaned back in her chair. She considered Hannah thoughtfully. “Well, I suppose you know her better than we do.”

  “Of course I do.” Hannah stood, and almost as an afterthought she grabbed Jenny’s paper from the desk and folded it, placing it roughly inside her purse. She turned her attention again toward the principal. “Thank you for looking out for my daughter, Mrs. Stelpstra. I even thank you for taking the time to call me in today and share your concerns. But please, don’t contact social services or start worrying about needing a suicide counselor.” Hannah searched for the right words. “We’ve suffered the worst ordeal of our lives, and it’s nowhere near over. I think we can expect Jenny to be a little upset.”

  Mrs. Stelpstra nodded and seemed resigned to let the issue go. “I didn’t mean to make things worse, Mrs. Ryan. I just thought you should know.”

  Hannah reached out and shook the woman’s hand. “Thank you. Let me know if you have any other reason for concern. But for now I think this needs to be between me and Jenny. I’ll talk with her, but again, don’t worry about her paper. She doesn’t mean anything by it.”

  Hannah walked from the office, keeping an iron control on the trembling that wanted to overtake her. As she made her way back to the car she faltered. Jenny? Suicidal? Could there possibly be merit to Mary Stelpstra’s warning? What if Jenny really didn’t want to live? What if she had actually thought about taking her own life?

  Impossible. She shook her head firmly and forced herself to keep walking. Ridiculous. She knew Jenny too well. They had been through a lot these past months, but Jenny was too stable to consider suicide.

  She would talk to Jenny about the paper. But she would not worry about it.

  By the time she got home, she had nearly erased the meeting with the principal from her mind. She was focusing again on the questionnaire Carol Cummins had given her. She would finish it this afternoon and get it over to the MADD office. That way she would still have time to read through the other information before dinner. It didn’t matter how difficult the material was. She would need every available day to educate the public about the truth.… Drunk driving really was murder. If they got the message out now, she was certain Matt Bronzan would win a conviction.

  She climbed out of the car and headed for the house. One day she’d have to talk to Jenny about the letter. But not now. Not when there were so many more pressing issues at hand. Jenny’s problems would simply have to wait.

  Sixteen

  The LORD determined to tear down the wall around

  the Daughter of Zion.

  LAMENTATIONS 2:8A

  On a sunny November morning, an hour before the preliminary hearing in the case of The People v Brian Wesley, Jenny arrived at school and headed for the library. She walked inside and peered over a bookshelf. Good. The library was empty except for the librarian, and she was immersed in a magazine. Jenny had only ten minutes before her first class, so she would have to work quickly. She padded quietly toward the computer section.

  She had tried to work things out on her own. She had prayed, and in the last few weeks she had even tried talking to her mother. It wasn’t her mom’s fault. She was just too busy to notice how Jenny was feeling, and Jenny didn’t blame her.

  She sat down at a row of computer screens and logged on. At least her mother had made some sort of effort recently, asking her questions about how she was doing and whether she was coping. Jenny waited for the welcome screen to appear. Her mother’s questions had made her wonder if maybe she had seen the essay, but it didn’t really matter. Mom was too busy working for MADD to be worried. Between Carol Cummins, Matt Bronzan, and Brian Wesley, Jenny knew she was the last person on her mother’s mind.

  The Internet screen popped up, and Jenny clicked the search button. Next she typed three words, “Suicide AND methods AND quick.” Glancing nervously over her shoulder, she saw that no one was watching. Then she clicked OK.

  A list of web pages appeared, and Jenny’s eyes grew wide. More than sixteen hundred sites! She scanned the first few and saw that many of them offered advice to troubled people and listed the ways a person could determine if their loved one truly was suicidal. Jenny scrolled past those sites. Her eyes fell on one. “Suicide and Assisted Suicide—It’s Nobody’s Business if You Do.” She clicked it, and a colorful page appeared bearing the same headline. The opening paragraph doubled Jenny’s confidence.

  “There can be nothing more fundamental concerning individual freedom than this: Our bodies and our lives belong to nobody but ourselves. Our bodies do not belong to our friends, our families, and especially not to the state.”

  Jenny read on as the web page detailed the ineffectiveness of laws against suicide and then commented on a book that detailed the most successful methods of suicide.

  The library was still quiet, but Jenny knew the bell would ring soon, and students would file in. She read quickly.

  “With every suicide attempt, there is a chance the effort will fail and the person will wind up a vegetable. For that reason it is better to use fail-safe methods. The problem then, however, is that these methods either hurt—as in hanging or slitting wrists—or they’re messy—bullets, jumping off buildings. Sleeping pills are very uncertain because they often cause vomiting before enough of the drug is absorbed into the blood. Therefore, the best technique involves taking the perfect combination of certain pills or inhaling carbon monoxide. When done right, this will lead to a quiet, painless death.”

  Jenny felt a pit form in her stomach. She hadn’t expected the web page to be so graphic. She glanced around quickly and swallowed twice. Her eyes returned to the computer screen and fell on a quotation set apart from the rest of the text. It was a Bible verse. Proverbs 31:6: “Give strong drink unto him that is ready to perish.”

  Jenny sat back in her chair and considered the verse. According to the web page, this proved that God found value in suicide. The idea didn’t really match up with what Jenny had been raised to believe … but if God didn’t have a problem with suicide, then maybe it really was the best idea.

  She felt her confidence grow as she closed the page and scanned the list once more. She found the title of the suicide book from the site and clicked it, but to gain access she had to register for a death service. With a shiver, Jenny closed it and looked for another. Two minutes before the bell rang.

  She scrolled past several generic sites until she found one marked, “Untitled.” She opened it, and a page appeared with an index of suicide-related topics that people had posted over the past week. She opened one marked, “The Correct Methods.” It was written by a paramedic. Jenny began reading:

  “I have been a paramedic for seven years, so I have personally responded to many suicides. If you are going to commit suicide, you need to take some things into consideration. First, if you care about your family or whoever you live with, you will do it outside or somewhere easy to clean. Second, if you really want to die, DO NOT call 911. Third, leave a note so they have some idea what made you want to die (it will help the survivors with the grieving process).”

  The paramedic went on to discuss specific drug overdoses and other methods and why they would not work. He detailed drugs and drug combinations that would counteract each other, nullifying the intended fatal effect. He also described ways a paramedic could help an unconscious person after a drug overdose so that they would not die. Jenny was spellbound.

  “Hanging is a mistake. Every hanging I have been to, the person dropped less than two feet; therefore instead of breaking your neck at the C1-C2 level (cervical vertebrae referred to as a “hangman’s fracture”), you strangulate instead. Effective but lots of misery … I know many effective ways, but I am in the job of saving lives so I can’t help ya there.”

  Jenny sighed. She’d thought for sure the article would tell her how she could do it right. Well, at least she knew what not to do. The bell rang, and Jenny clicked the print button. Three pages rolled out of the prin
ter, and Jenny grabbed them, closed down the web page, and signed off the Internet. Some of the information had been good. Jenny ran over it again as she headed for class. Don’t leave a mess, don’t call 911, and don’t forget to leave a note.

  She felt a rush of relief and for the first time since the accident was filled with something that felt like hope. The Internet was wonderful. Sixteen hundred web pages on suicide. She could get more information tomorrow and the day after that. Pretty soon she would know enough to make a plan, and then maybe next month or the month after that, she would carry it out … finish what should have taken place in the accident.

  Before entering her geometry class, Jenny stuffed the printed pages into her notebook. For an instant she remembered how it had felt to be Jenny Ryan before the accident. That Jenny would never have considered killing herself and she shuddered. In some ways the whole notion of suicide scared her. It was crazy. She would have to consider her options carefully.

  If only things had gone like they should have … if only she’d died in the accident. Her mother probably wished she had. With all the appointments and lawyers and court dates to deal with, Jenny was only in the way. She replayed the moments before the accident and frowned. How had she survived? Oh, sure, everyone said it was a miracle. Jenny thought it was a curse. She had seen the pictures. She should be dead.

  Well, soon she would be, thanks to all that information on the Internet.

  And then she and Daddy and Alicia could be together forever. She closed her eyes and pictured it. A never-ending camping trip in the sky.

  Brian Wesley rubbed his sweaty palms together and glanced nervously at the courtroom clock. He was early. The preliminary hearing didn’t start for thirty minutes.

  A bailiff walked up. “You here for State v Martinez?”

  Brian shook his head and swatted at a stray lock of hair as it fell over his eyes. “No. State v Wesley.” The bailiff nodded and walked away.

  Life had become a sea of legal maneuverings, and Brian wondered if he’d ever find a way out. If the judge thought they had enough evidence—and Brian’s attorney, Harold Finch, thought they did—Brian knew he might serve most of his life in prison. Sweat broke out across his brow. He’d heard about prison once. One of the older guys at the shop did time when he was in his twenties. He’d entertain the technicians with war stories and nuggets of wisdom. Brian remembered some of them. You don’t want to go there, man, but if you do, look out for the soap. If three or more guys come at you, man, just take off running. Oh, and lift something for the belt. Fork, rock, something. Don’t go unarmed. Guys die that way all the time. Especially in the shower.