by Corey Deitz
Early on she thought he would change his mind. She thought maybe he wasn’t serious. She thought her presence alone might make the difference. But, Ford was like the blue rose that only exists in our imagination.
In the end, she could not really possess him. She could not hold on to him.
Yet, she had allowed herself to mistakenly think she could.
Dark Desires put her arms around Ford and leaned into the back of his shoulder.
She just held on tightly.
Chapter 12
Ford had decided quite some time ago that he would leave a suicide note in the form of a video. He didn’t mess much with YouTube or any of those other video sharing sites but, a nerdy friend of his back home did. So Ford’s plan was to record a video and send it to his friend, Barton Campbell.
Barton would know what to do with it and who should receive a copy. Bart was not privy to Ford’s credit card fraud or identity theft. Although, if you asked him anything about the Dark Web or the best place to go to buy illicit goods only bought and sold on the underside of the economy, he would be certainly know that because he was a total geek. Bart was a trusted old friend who could be counted on to do Ford a favor. Even so, Bart would most assuredly be surprised – and possibly distressed - at the content Ford was about to forward him.
To record his last video, Ford and Dark Desires left the Hotel Regina after breakfast. The breeze and smell of the city was especially delightful that morning as both headed to a location he had chosen: the replica of the Statue of Liberty in Paris, visible from the Grenelle Bridge.
Not everyone knows there are literally hundreds of smaller replicas of the famed statue located throughout the world. In Paris alone, there are 4 instances of homage to Lady Liberty and within the whole of France there are even more. This particular one is situated on a man-made island in the Seine River and stands 37 feet 9 inches. Even as a replica, it is a powerful sight.
To Ford, the statue was symbolic of two things. First, it reminded him of home. He did love the U.S., even if it hadn’t exactly afforded him his expectations of The American Dream. Certainly, he had been frustrated with his career advancement in Kunkle. Yet, he blamed most of his failings on himself. He may have been a thief but, at least he was honest with himself. Ford was educated but he also knew he was a bit lazy. It was he who chose not to better himself. He also accepted he was a bit of a complainer. In the end, it was just more fun and easier to play video games than polish up a resume. So, why should he take it out on America? America still had plenty to offer like: Netflix, McDonalds, Pringles, pizza, xBox, and reality shows about Bigfoot and UFOs (which on the surface seems to be an oxymoron – “reality” and “Bigfoot”). No, he had no qualms with being an American. His only lament was not working the system a little harder. His theft showed ingenuity and motivation. If only he had directed that kind of effort into a more positive direction. But, what the hell: no regrets, right?
The second reason Ford wanted to use the statue was because of the independence his scheme had permitted him, even though it was somewhat brief. There’s no doubt that money gives you independence. He owned Paris for the few weeks he was able to live there in style. Anyone who says money is not freedom is a liar. Above all else, the founding fathers must have known that. They had seen how power and wealth in England and Europe had allowed royalty and the friends of the royals to lead quite different lives than the peasants.
This is why the ability to earn money and prosper without the dread of a King taxing at-will was so important to the American revolutionaries.
They understood that wealth changes a man’s life.
Indeed, money had certainly changed Ford’s – even if only short-lived.
But, now it was time to move forward.
Ford leaned against a railing on the bridge and fidgeted about for a moment before finding a comfortable pose.
“How does that look?” he asked.
“Good. I’ve got the statue on your left,” answered Dark Desires. “We’re recording.”
Dark Desires continued to hold Ford’s smartphone up to capture the video. Ford squirmed a little bit more then looked into the camera and began.
“My name is Ford Fallon and I’m from Kunkle, Ohio. As you can see this is not Kunkle. This is Paris!
“Whoo hoo!” shouted Dark Desires off camera.
“Yeah!” said Ford. He hopped as high as he could and a raised his right arm in the air, making a fist.
“We’re living the dream!” he continued.
He walked a foot closer to the smartphone and looked directly in the lens.
“I quit my fucked-up job at a convenience store, came up with a clever way to screw the credit card companies with a little old-time ingenuity and balls, met a great lady online and here we are. Been kicking it in France for weeks!
So, here’s the thing. I’ve broken enough laws by now if the French still had a Bastille, they would throw me in it. Luckily, it was destroyed. But, just the same, I really do not want to go to prison. So, the only other option is to commit suicide. Now, that might seem extreme at first, but trust me: they say the food is so bad in prison, my death will be a mercy killing!
I want to thank a great lady who I’ve spent the last few weeks with. She’s recording this. You’re the best, babe. And we’ve really had an awesome time. Say something to everybody. Wait, let me hold the phone.”
Ford walked over and took the smart phone from Dark Desires’ hands and turned the lens on her.
“So, what do you want to say to everybody watching?” asked Ford.
She hesitated for a moment and just stared into the device. A smile slowly crossed her lips and she began to speak.
“I just want to say that this guy has been very kind to me. And fun. We’ve had a great time! He is considerate and gentle. He is smart and funny. And I’m going to miss him terribly.”
Then, she began to cry. She turned away from the phone because she suddenly felt self-conscious and slightly embarrassed.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to ruin your video.”
“You didn’t ruin anything,” he assured.
After a moment she took the phone from Ford and held it in selfie position.
She began to speak, again.
“My name is Angela Burnside. My father is with the 86th Airlift Wing at Ramstein Air Base in Germany. Dad I just want you to know I love you – even when you’re a prick – and this has nothing to do with you. I appreciate all you’ve done for me. But, I won’t be coming home. Take care of yourself.”
She turned and looked at Ford.
“I’m coming with you.” She announced.
For a moment, neither spoke.
“What do you mean you’re coming with me? What are you talking about? Do you understand I’m really going to kill myself?”
“As am I,” replied Angela. “Here’s the thing: I’ve fallen in love with you. What else am I supposed to do? You come into my life and…and…we have this incredible time together…and…I’m happier than I’ve ever been before. Then you’re going to just vanish? I fucking hate you because now I fucking love you!”
Nobody had ever fallen in love with Ford before.
He was ill-prepared to respond.
He was simply dumbfounded.
Angela wasn’t one for leaving herself emotionally vulnerable either but, she did not feel as if she had much leverage. She knew the worst thing that could happen would be to tell Ford how she felt and not receive an adequate, reciprocal response. Therefore, she had no expectations he would suddenly profess his love for her. She simply leapt into love and decided to take her chances.
It’s odd how we describe the personal commitment to love. After all, you cannot “fall” in love unless you have taken some sort of leap of faith, a leap where you hope or trust the object of your affection will feel the same. “Falling” and “leaping” imply some kind of risk. That’s why it is often easier to not commit. Staying out of love is safer,
emotionally.
“I was doing okay by myself - until I met you,” said Angela. “Basically, you’ve really fucked up my life.”
She tried to maintain a stern expression for a moment but, she couldn’t hold it and it soon became a smile.
Ford reached out for her hand and thought for a moment.
“What the old expression? You break it, you own it?” he said.
“Yeah, something like that,” said Angela. “So, it’s you and me now, Romeo.”
Ford looked directly into his iPhone that was still recording.
“Hey Bart: look what I’m doing. About to French kiss a beautiful woman in a foreign land. Sorry old friend but there won’t be any video from the bedroom tonight. Thanks for everything.”
Ford leaned over and pressed his lips to Angela’s and simultaneously pressed the button on his phone to stop the recording.
* * *
Angela felt helpless to stop Ford from following through with his plans but, for the first time in her life was truly and deeply in love. Oh, she was angry when she first realized it. She kept denying it and certainly did not plan or want to get involved with a guy who was on the fast track to trouble. Fraud, deceit, theft, suicide – separately or together none of them sounded like a decent foundation for building a long-lasting relationship.
But, she could not help the way she felt. And isn’t that the astounding thing about love? It is so powerful it can actually push any rational thought right out of your brain. All you can think about is being with that one person who excites your senses and makes you breathe just a little harder. You crave their smell, the touch of their wrist, hair, neck, and everything that they are. You focus your whole day on just getting back to see the person you are in love with.
Your work, your parents, your friends, your responsibilities, well – they can all just sit down and take a number. You have much better things to do.
You have love to attend to.
Ford and Angela made their way back to the Marie Stuart Restaurant on Montorgueil for coffee and croissants. Afterward, they asked a passing tourist to use Ford’s phone to take a picture of the both of them embracing and kissing under the Popeye Rose. It was a beautiful shot, really. Ford and Angela’s bodies fit together well, and their profile caught in a passionate kiss spoke to the essence that is Paris and the romance it confers on lovers.
Later, Ford emailed the photo and the video file to Bart from a nearby Internet Café.
Now, the only problem was how.
Chapter 13
Would you be surprised to find out that for some reason the amount of suicide attempts in France is almost double most other European countries? It’s true. On a daily basis about 700 people try to kill themselves though only 29 succeed.
Of course, these are just numbers.
Faceless statistics.
A spreadsheet full of data for researchers.
What is it about France and why do so many people try and end their lives there? Is it something about the country that drives people to the brink of their emotional limits? Or, is France an innocent in all this nasty business and simply in the right place at the wrong time of their lives? And what about these millions of tourists who come to visit, dragging their emotional baggage behind them?
Luggage full of childhood issues;
Handbags hiding drug dependencies;
Long coats shielding alcoholic binges;
Carry bags full of previous failures;
Whatever painfully fucked up issue one might be backpacking into the city, just get in line and wait your turn. The Death Wagon comes once every 15 minutes. In the meantime, while you’re waiting for the right moment to take your life, please take in the sights and try to enjoy yourself.
Welcome to France!
High on Ford’s list was his inability to make any substantial career gains, enough money to live at least an adequate existence, and the smothering reality that he might never leave Kunkle. Opportunity seemed to run from him.
Angela always had Daddy issues. The military was her father’s Mistress. His discipline, his inability to be flexible, and his harsh punishments were how he compensated for Angela’s mother not being around. She had left long ago and Angela blamed him for forcing her out. That’s why Angela was wary of most men and also why hooking up with Ford had been such a surprise.
But, whatever their problems were before they were now committed to a final solution. Have you ever gone on an old-school rollercoaster? Do you know that moment when you are strapped in and your car is at the high point about ready to go over the first crest? That’s where they were and there was no way now to get off the ride. There seemed no good way to back out now. Ford didn’t want to go to prison and Angela was going to stand by her emotional commitment.
So be it.
Ford had never killed himself before so he wanted to make sure he did it right.
Well, effectively at least.
No matter which method he finally decided on he would, of course, make sure it was acceptable to Angela. After all, who wants to go into eternity listening to someone bitch at you for the last thing you talked them into?
Nobody - that’s who - especially if you believe there is something beyond life as we know it. Ford wasn’t overly religious but, he was spiritual. There’s a difference. Religion insists you adhere to a doctrine which may have started out divine but has been mostly ruined over time by manmade bullshit. Spirituality, on the other hand, allows you the freedom to experience your existence as part of the architecture of the Universe.
Of course, either way dead is dead and the task ahead of Ford was to plan a good death.
Like the Indians used to say.
Ford picked up his iPhone.
“Siri, what’s the best way to kill myself?”
Siri thought for a moment and then replied.
“Jumping off a bridge is an often-used method of ending your life. According to your location - in Paris, France - there are 37 bridges you could jump from.”
“Can you maybe narrow it down a little?” he asked. “Pick one you like.”
“Certainly,” replied Siri. “I suggest you jump off the Pont au Change because it’s a celebrity bridge.”
“What does that mean?” asked Ford.
“The Pont au Change is the bridge Police Inspector Javert jumped from when he committed suicide in Les Miserables.”
“I like that. Jump off a celebrity bridge,” said Ford. “What do you think, Angela?”
“I don’t know how to swim,” she pointed out.
“That would actually be helpful in this instance,” suggested Ford.
“But, drowning sound awful,” added Angela. “Ever since I saw Titanic I’ve had a fear of being trapped underwater.”
“What are you worried about?” interrupted Ford. “The impact from the fall itself will probably kill you first!”
“Oh. Well, are you sure?” she asked.
“No, I am not 100% sure,” replied Ford. “There is always the chance you might live.”
Then Siri interrupted.
“He is correct,” added Siri. “Did you know there is a 98% chance a jump from the Golden Gate Bridge will kill the jumper on impact?”
“See? The stats are really good!” said Ford
Angela was still a little anxious.
“What if I survive and am maimed for the rest of my life?”
“Well, the good news is you’ll always get a closer parking space because they’ll issue you one of those blue, disabled stickers,” smiled Ford.
Siri interrupted again.
“Did you know in Paris you may park at most meters without providing payment if you have a Disabled Parking card?”
“See? That’s a nice perk,” added Ford.
“I’m glad you think so,” said Angela.
Ford looked at his iPhone again.
“Siri, what’s the survival rate of jumping off a bridge?”
“I would not worry about surviving a jump,�
�� said Siri. “Usually, the fall breaks some of your bones and the jumper is not able to swim so they just drown.”
“Great,” said Angela. “We’re back to drowning again.”
“Come on. Let’s just go take a look,” said Ford.
“Fine,” answered Angela, “But, I’m not jumping on an empty stomach.”
So, Ford and Angela – and Siri – all walked over to Le Mistral, a charming café located on Place du Chatelet and within view of Pont au Change. As they drank their coffee and ate their snack, both eyed the bridge.
Ford liked the location.
Angela liked the design.
Both felt it was an appropriate place to do the deed.
When they were done, Ford pulled out the last credit card in his wallet and paid the bill. They both left Le Mistral on foot and headed toward the bridge. At the first trash can he passed, Ford dropped his last Visa card in without even looking. All that remained in his wallet now was his driver’s license. It would be enough to identify him. His crime spree was officially over and the only thing left to do now was finish what he started.
There was never any doubt that death was the most rational alternative to incarceration. Have you ever heard these stories of felons who break out of prisons and go on the run? Most of the times they never get returned back to the institution they escaped from. Why? Because they’d rather be killed in a shootout with authorities than go back to the joint. They would rather die than go back to being locked up 23 hours-a-day.
Prison sucks so much, death is preferable.
Ford remembers the time a prisoner escaped from the Lorain Correctional Institute and was on the run through northwest Ohio. It took authorities 16 days to find the guy. When they finally closed in on him in Elyria, he took his own life. When the Sheriff Deputies busted in the door of the mobile home he was holed up in, they found him with his head blown off, a shotgun on the floor. He had gone “full Cobain.” There was a note next to the body. It said, “Won’t never go back.” From then on, Ford always understood that prison was worse than death.
