Tuesdays Are Just As Bad

by Cethan Leahy

  Adam was relieved. ‘You know, I’m just having a break. Also, who made you the master of sanity?’

  Douglas exhaled slightly, as if resisting saying something regrettable, and pulled a card out of his breast pocket and handed it to Adam. It looked like it came from a board game. Adam turned it upside down and recognised it from the Monopoly game. ‘I’m giving you a “Get Out of Jail Free” card. I realise you are going through a shitty time, where everything is stale and hateful, but we are here. Even though you are being a complete dick, we like you and don’t want you to off yourself, so here is a reminder that you can return to Paul Street any time.’

  Adam stood there, looking at Douglas. I could see in his eyes that he wanted nothing more than to have things go back to the way they were before. I wanted to tell him to take the card, to use it, to go back to normality, but that would mean admitting I was wrong.

  ‘That first time, when you invited me to join you in the car park. Why did you do that?’

  ‘You looked like you were having a bad time and it’s easier to deal with a bad time with people around you.’

  ‘So you felt sorry for me.’

  Douglas rolled his eyes. ‘That’s not what I meant. The thing is, we are all weirdos. If we don’t look out for each other, who will?’

  ‘Thanks, Douglas,’ said Adam. ‘I might see you around.’

  ‘If I don’t see you in town next Monday after school, I’m telling Dr Moore and your parents.’

  ‘Okay, okay. I’ll be there.’

  Adam watched from his window as Douglas walked outside and was joined by Barry at the front. Barry said something and Douglas shrugged. When they glanced up at his window, Adam ducked behind the curtains.

  ‘He’s friends with Barry again,’ he said, ‘probably because I’m not there.’

  ‘That doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘I bet he only came because he wants to feel better in case something happens. Then at least he can say he made the effort.’

  Adam was trapped in this horrible logic, which assumed the worst of everyone. All I had wanted was Adam all to myself but, now that I had him, I wasn’t sure I wanted this Adam.

  Forty-One

  On Monday Adam walked out through the school gates. School had become torturous since the incident at the mental health day – a definite coolness had developed towards him. Philip had been suspended for a week but upon his return had set about spinning what happened so that Adam was seen as the real bully in the situation. (How he did this must have been convincing, since most of the students now looked at Adam with mistrustful eyes.) He no longer raised his hand in class. His grades were slipping back. In class his notebooks were empty.

  ‘Are we going to go to town?’ I said.

  He shook his head and we walked home.

  ‘I think Douglas was bluffing,’ said Adam.

  We walked on in silence for a few minutes, Adam working on automatic. I had hoped things would eventually balance out and he would return to just getting by, but he seemed to be slipping deeper and deeper into his dark mood. In making my perfect plan, I had failed to consider the fact that I had only known him on the way up. This was the way down, and it was dark at the bottom.

  ‘You know, maybe I will go–’ he started to say, before we were rudely interrupted by a whopper of a punch to the back of his head. He fell to the ground, but recovered quickly enough to turn over and see that Philip and some of his friends had ambushed him.

  Philip slammed his fist into Adam’s stomach, decommissioning him completely. Schoolbags whacked into the side of his head, and fists piled on.

  Philip, raising his fist again, said, ‘It’s your fault he’s dead. You put the idea in his head.’

  ‘Wha–’

  Wham. A kick to the side.

  Lying on the ground, Adam had one chance and he took it. He kicked out straight and true, catching Philip right in the balls. It was not the most dignified of manoeuvres but it was effective.

  Philip fell to the ground and, while his friends were distracted, Adam jumped up and ran away as best as he could, although it was more of a stagger. He wasn’t far from home and when he got there he went straight to the shed.

  Using his phone camera, he surveyed the damage. His face was covered in red welts but there seemed to be no bruises. If he was smart enough, he could probably manage to stop his parents noticing. He looked in the window of the house – there was no one home yet. He snuck in the door and ran upstairs to his room.

  He sent a text. ‘Meeting Aoife after school! Hopefully making things up! No need to make me dinner.’ Clearly his plan was to avoid them for the evening.

  ‘No worries, have a fab time! xx,’ replied his mother.

  I guess Douglas hadn’t told her yet.

  He looked exhausted and tears were involuntarily making their way down his cheeks. He set an alarm to wake himself up in a few hours (he would need to make an appearance before bedtime or else his parents would have questions). He lay back on his bed and fell into a deep but troubled sleep. Once he was out, I needed to leave. Music jangled somewhere in the city so I followed it. I didn’t want to think about Adam any more.

  Many of the shops had giant hearts in the windows and were advertising chocolates and flowers and romantic dinners. Outside one restaurant, I saw Miss Campbell waiting. I didn’t recognise her immediately since she was dressed up. She lit up when she looked my way and for a moment I thought it was me she was smiling at. Then I realised the smile was for the man behind me. He approached and they gave each other a little kiss, then walked arm in arm to a nearby pub. Why did I think she saw me? Why did I hope she saw me? Why would anyone be happy to see me?

  It was time I admitted it to myself. Adam was never going to be happy to see me. I had convinced myself that there was a magical period where everything was golden, but there wasn’t. I had romanticised our shared gloom. That we had things in common and only needed each other. In reality I realised I was simply a reminder of a bad time, one he had been trying his best to learn to live with.

  I found myself once again outside Philip’s house. I admit, it wasn’t purely out of nosiness I came here. The truth was I was always hoping to see Chris, a replay of the one time someone seemed happy to see me. I was suddenly seized with the idea that tonight was the night. I would find him.

  I entered through his window first. Inside everything was still impeccably preserved. There was no hint of Philip’s night-time sojourns.

  ‘Chris!’ I called. No response. I turned around and saw him floating by the door. I repeated his name but got no response.

  ‘Chris!’

  No response. I inched closer and, in a moment, felt deflated. It was just his school uniform hanging on the door. I felt a red rush of regret; this must be what embarrassment feels like.

  I could hear noises from downstairs. Philip’s mother was shouting at him. Someone must have told on him.

  ‘Philip, what are we going to do with you? I hear about stuff like this and I worry I’m going to lose two sons!’

  ‘I’m sorry. I just have … I don’t know … I’m just so angry. Why did he do it?’

  She hugged him, the two of them crying.

  The radio was on in the next room. It was Adam’s mother reading the news. Listening to it I could detect no sign that she had any clue of the torment her son was in. With an unwavering voice, she read the bad news of the day. I remembered what she said about one day reporting Adam’s death, and for a moment I thought I could hear it, carefully worded to avoid glamorisation: ‘Another suicide was reported today in Cork city. The family asks for privacy in this difficult time.’

  That was it. Just because he didn’t like me, that didn’t mean he should be doomed. I was going to save him.

  I thought myself quite noble at that moment. I returned home to await whatever tomorrow would bring.

  Forty-Two

  He woke up early and it was quite the transformation. Perhaps he had also had an epiphany i
n his sleep. It was like everything since Christmas had disappeared, rolled away overnight.

  He put on his uniform, tying his tie perfectly. He walked downstairs and found his mother pulling shopping bags from a bigger bag. She looked tired. He smiled.

  ‘Hey, Adam,’ said Mum, ‘you look cheerful this morning.’

  ‘I’m not allowed to be in a good mood?’ he said teasingly.

  She stopped what she was doing and looked at him. ‘Oh, of course,’ she said. ‘It’s just recently … never mind. Are you ready for school?’

  ‘I am.’

  This was astounding. Perhaps a good sleep was all he needed.

  She dropped him outside the gates of St Jude’s. He whistled as he walked.

  A moment later he asked, ‘Is Mum still there?’

  I looked behind me. The car was parked.

  ‘Yeah. Why?’

  ‘No worries,’ he said, not answering my question, ‘we can get around that.’

  He walked through the front doors, passed through the crowd of students waiting for their classes to start, continued down the corridor, stepped through the emergency exit that everyone knew the alarm for was broken and, in less than five minutes, was once again outside.

  ‘Aren’t we going to class? It’s English this morning.’

  ‘No, I’m going to kill myself instead.’

  He looked at his phone. He had no messages, but he turned it off anyway. He would need to ignore it for the day. It would become obvious soon enough that he was on the hop and they would call his parents.

  ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

  ‘It just seems like the best thing for everyone. I’ve been thinking about it a lot recently and now I’m sure.’

  ‘But why today? Why not next week? Tomorrow even?’

  ‘I dunno. Today is just as good as any other.’

  We were heading for town. We passed Grand Parade where the Christmas Ferris wheel had recently stood, but it looked now as if it had never been there. He stopped at a bus stop.

  I was confused. We were getting the bus. The 220 to Ballincollig appeared and we got on. The driver looked at his grey trousers.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be in school?’

  ‘I’m going home sick,’ Adam offered as a flimsy excuse.

  ‘Are we going to Aoife’s?’ I asked, as we sat in the back.

  ‘Yip.’

  ‘Won’t she be in school?’

  ‘Hopefully.’

  Then it dawned on me. Adam needed some method of self-destruction. There was none in his house. His parents had made sure of that. But he knew where one was. The boxes of pills in Aoife’s house.

  One bus journey later, Adam was standing outside her door. He peered in the window to make sure no one was home. He picked up the pot next to the front door. The key was underneath.

  ‘Lucky me.’ Adam opened the door as slowly and quietly as possible, in case someone was home. But the house was quiet.

  He crept up the stairs.

  He found the bathroom.

  He opened the cabinet.

  A sound interrupted him. Someone was in the house!

  Adam grabbed a couple of boxes of pills and slipped them into his school bag.

  The sound again. It was a snore. It was coming from Aoife’s room.

  Adam peeked through her bedroom door, which was a little ajar, and so did I. Aoife was in bed, surrounded by tissues and brown bottles. Adam looked worried.

  ‘She must have the flu,’ he whispered.

  ‘You’ll have the flu and a prison sentence for breaking and entering if you hang out here much longer,’ I said.

  Adam paused for a moment and then whispered something. As if somehow hearing it, she stirred, murmured in her sleep, but didn’t wake.

  ‘Alright, let’s go.’

  Then, from downstairs, came the sound of the front door opening. Aoife’s mother came in holding a bag of groceries, most likely filled with healthy things to help her ailing daughter, and humming the Healy’s Bread jingle. As her hands were full she left the door open. When she walked into the kitchen, we crept out as quietly as possible.

  ‘Goodbye, Aoife,’ Adam said sadly as he walked away. ‘You’re better off without a boyfriend who breaks your heart and breaks into your house.’

  I felt a rush of guilt. I had blamed her. To me, she was the one who ruined things. Everything would have been fine if she hadn’t complicated things. But that wasn’t really her fault. If it was anyone’s fault … I dismissed that thought.

  We took the bus back into town and I tried to convince him to change his mind.

  ‘This is not a good idea. You shouldn’t do this.’

  ‘You’re just worried about what will happen to you.’

  Actually I hadn’t thought of that. What would happen to me? Would I wander the Earth? Would I go to Heaven (or the other place)? Maybe I would just disappear. I didn’t want to find out the answer.

  ‘Think of all the people who will miss you.’

  ‘It will be hard for them at first, but in the long run, they’ll be glad to be rid of the burden.’

  ‘But what about you? You’ll miss out on so much!’

  He paused and looked straight at me. ‘You don’t understand. I can’t deal with things any more. No one likes me in school, I stuffed up everything with Aoife, Mum and Dad are constantly worried. Everything is just broken.’

  The bus arrived in town and we disembarked.

  ‘Adam!’ called a voice.

  Adam turned and saw it was Linda, who was carrying something in a large box, being directed by her mother.

  ‘Hey, Linda.’

  ‘Are you on the hop?’

  ‘Ah yeah, I guess.’

  ‘Nice. Just a second, Mum. I’m on the way to the dentist. Look, I know you were a dick to Aoife, but we are still around and we’re worried about you. Come back to Paul Street!’

  ‘Oh, yeah, I was going through a rough patch but I’ll see you on Saturday,’ said Adam, making a promise he had no intention of keeping. ‘Oh and tell Aoife to get well soon!’

  ‘Sure?’ said Linda, waving him off.

  ***

  This was it. Here we were. It was surreal.

  I thought he would try to take them all at once. His parents could come home looking for him at any minute, so time was of the essence. But, no, instead he took one at a time. If he was going to do it, I kind of just wanted it over and done with. At one point he did speed up, but ended up coughing up a few in his impatience, nearly choking himself (which is funny if you think about it).

  I made one last try to dissuade him. ‘I don’t understand. How did it get so bad so quickly? You seemed happy enough at Christmas.’

  He looked at me.

  ‘It’s always bad. Even when things were okay, they were still bad. I was able to ignore it for a while, but it’s always been bubbling underneath, waiting to overwhelm me.’

  ‘Did you write a note?’ I asked. He grabbed a page, scribbled something on it and left it lying on the desk with a book on the corner to prevent it from getting lost.

  ‘Let’s see what your final words are.’

  In large print in blue biro it said: SORRY.

  Sorry. Sorry with a full stop. I couldn’t process this. Where was the purple prose? Where was the explanation? Where was the heartfelt missive to his loved ones?

  I looked at him. He looked sorry. I couldn’t understand. Why was he sorry? Philip drove him to it with his bullying and blame, Aoife drove him to it with her selfishness, his parents drove him to it with their lack of understanding.

  He was sitting there.

  ‘Why are you saying sorry?’

  ‘It’s my fault.’

  ‘How is it your fault?’

  ‘I dunno. My general existence.’

  ‘You idiot, this isn’t your fault. It’s mine.’

  The final words fell hard in my mind, a revelation. I had been blaming him and Aoife for my unhappiness. But it wasn’t his fault o
r hers. He was a sad boy who got stuck with a dick of a ghost who couldn’t stand the idea of someone else being happy. I looked at Adam. He was beginning to wobble. I realised that we didn’t have much time left.

  ‘Adam!’

  ‘Mmmmph.’

  ‘Adam, we need to ring the hospital.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘There is still time to stop this. I just need you to ring someone.’

  Adam looked at me funny.

  ‘I … I need to stop this.’

  I’d been wrong. Why didn’t I realise this earlier? It wasn’t fair. I should be able to change my mind. More than anything, I wanted to stop this but I had nothing. All I could do was talk. Talk, talk, talk. If only I could grab him, I thought.

  I reached out my hand and grabbed his arm.

  It stopped.

  He looked at this, shocked. He dropped the remainder of the pills on the floor. There were a lot left. He really had only taken a few, at least that was what I hoped.

  ‘We can be okay,’ I said but I couldn’t hear myself. Everything was getting woozy. I guessed this was sleep at last.

  The landline rang somewhere in the white.

  And then we faded away.

  Epilogue

  The Future

  One

  I ran into him on North Main Street. It was a morning in April, technically spring but it still felt like winter. I had debated what the ideal form for our meeting was. My decided plan was to write him a very well-thought-out email that would spare us the embarrassment of a meeting in school (and the possibility of me being punched in the head again).

  However, when I saw him leave GameMania, he was on his own, staring at the game he had just bought. The sun struck in just the right way and I decided that the moment was perfect. If I didn’t do it right now, I would never do it.

  ‘Hey!’ I shouted, running down the street.

  ‘What do you want?’ he growled. He literally growled at me, like a bear. If I didn’t make my follow-up statement amazing, there would be a good chance of decapitation.

  ‘I … You probably don’t want to hear this or anything, but I think it’s important for me to say two things. Number 1, Philip, I’m sorry your brother died and for what I said at the talk that day. I was going through a bad time. No, actually, no excuses. It was completely out of line.’