Sometimes an author just doesn't have enough time for a full story

The Gateway to Life:Or what does a girl need to do to get service around here.

I walked into Mary₂'s office and stopped. It wasn't anything like the office I was used to. Most of the same items were there. It just seemed that something was different. Her Vincent van Gogh Sunflower print was on the left wall, instead of straight ahead. On the back wall, in place of the van Gogh, was a picture I had never seen before. It seemed to be a set of stairs running upwards forever. Or was it going down? There were people going both ways. It was on top of a castle, or something. I really liked it.

"Examining my Escher again?"

I turned around, startled. Mary₂ was standing just behind me. "You startled me."

"You haven't looked that intently at that print since the first time you came to see me."

I had no idea what to say. I opened my mouth a couple of times to speak, but nothing came out. In my own world, I considered Mary₁ to be a friend. What would it be like for her to find out I was dead? And what if someone who looked exactly like me came to tell her.

"What did you do to your hair, Jamie? Trying the short look?"

"I've never had long hair." I said before thinking, and then wanted to take it back. How could I be so thoughtlessly cruel.

Mary₂ seemed to crumple in on herself. 'Help her, Jams'

I felt Jams take control and go to hug Mary₂. "I'm not completely gone."

Mary had a confused look on her face. "Jamie?"

"Yes, Mary. It's me. I'm hitching a ride in this Jamie for the time being." I smirked at that. Of course, with Jams in control of my mouth for the time being, only she could really see it.

I saw Mary₂ genuinely smile. They sat and talked for a while, and seemed to have the same sort of relationship that Mary₁ and I did. At least some things didn't change. I did notice another thing that bothered me. She wasn't wearing a wedding ring. 'What happened to Frank?'

'Who's Frank?'

'Mary's husband,' I thought. Of course Frank was her husband. There should be at least that much similarity between worlds.

'Mary's not married.'

I felt really sorry for this Mary, and was glad she had a moment of happiness with her Jamie. Even though I hadn't started liking him until recently, I could always tell that Mary₁ had been deeply in love with her husband. I couldn't ever understand why, but I could see it there in how he treated her, and how she reacted to that treatment.

I knew that this Mary must feel a void in her life that nothing would ever fill.

I began to cry, and I just couldn't stop. Disembodied crying hurts inside a lot more than normal crying does. I knew that it wasn't only Mary₂ that I was crying for, but myself, and Jamie, and everyone else that had been hurt, or killed, in the past little while. I didn't realize what was happening enough to know that Jams had given me back the body before I felt myself collapse on the couch.

Mary sat down beside me and put her hand on my shoulder, and when I didn't seem to be letting up, she got up. I felt so alone in that moment. What would I do? I just couldn't stop, and started to feel something uncontrollable welling up inside of me. I was terrified I would never be able to stop. I began to wail a bit, and then I felt my Mother's arms around me. No, it was Jams' mother. My mother never loved me. I tried to pull away, but her arms held me tighter.

"Jamie Patrice, I know you aren't my flesh, but I am standing here as your mother. I have you, and you are safe."

I don't know how long I sat there, crying myself dry, and still unable to stop. I felt every strike that my father had ever given me. I felt Jams' death again. I felt the loss that Mary₂ would never know she had. Through it all I could hear my mother saying, "You're safe. You're mine. You're safe."

I had no more tears left to shed, and still I moaned my loss. Jamie should be alive. Not this weak, incapable person called Jim. Jamie had a life, and all I could do was almost let her murderer get away.

I felt Jams' arms go around me and I completely lost it. I began to babble out my hurts. I told them about every time my step-father struck me. I told them about Brian goading me into flipping the BMX. I told them about getting locked in the girls bathroom at the movies, and being stuffed in a trash can and rolled down the hill at school, and all of the other things that people had done to me. I told them about all the hurt I felt and the hurt I couldn't heal in others. I told them how much I loved Jamie, and that she should be the one that was alive.

I told them about trying to kill myself.

I have never had the courage to go through with it. I once bought a package of razors blades at the drug store. I even put one to the skin at my wrist. I couldn't push it hard enough to draw blood. I had tried with a kitchen knife once as well. I tried jumping off a bridge, and that was the closest I had gotten. Someone had pulled me from the edge, warning me that I could fall. I laughed at that. I think I sounded a bit crazy. I got out a bottle of my mom's sleeping pills once.

Mostly though, it was the ledge at the top of the school. The gym to be exact. Our Gym was four stories tall. I was small enough to slip through the gate at the bottom of the stairs. I used to go up there to get away from the bullies. One day I went over to the ledge at the edge of the roof. It was a little like a parapet. It was about a foot and a half wide, and flat on top. I would climb up there and watch people going back and forth between the gym and the rest of the school. No one ever looked up. I would sometimes imagine dropping right in front of this person or that one. You know, the people who seemed to torment me the most.

I would imagine them awakening screaming with the image of my death for the rest of their lives.

I was too afraid it would hurt, and so I would always climb down from the ledge, but it was always there, beckoning me to take that one final step.

Each day the time I spent on the ledge would grow longer. I had even started skipping my English class to be up there. I was taking creative writing this year.

We talked for about two hours after that. I think that Mary₂ canceled some of her other appointments to give that time to me.

Author's Note: I had only planned to write for about half an hour, to get something up for your enjoyment, but I just couldn't stop there. First, I really love writing, and second, I couldn't just leave Jamie in the midst of her pain. My Dad says that the way that I write is proof that I'm insane. I'm not altogether sure he's wrong. I create my characters as individuals in my mind. I then breath life into them and loose them on an unsuspecting world. This has often in the past led to revelations about my characters I didn't know, and interactions I never planned.

Before tonight, I truly never knew that Jamie was suicidal, and it really hurt me to find out. I could not leave that little girl where the half an hour took me, and the more I found out, the less I could stop. I have been writing for an hour now, and feel that Jamie is in good hands until tomorrow. Mary₂ is up to the task.