took all those pills,” she whispered. “You tried to commit suicide.”
Suicide! But I would never … I mean … never!
Sure, I’d had self-pitying moments when I threatened to do something drastic, but I never meant it. End my life? No way! I had so much to live for: best friends, family, college, career, and the unknown super-hot guy I would marry. We’d have only one child—boy or girl, I wasn’t picky. Being an “Only” had lots of perks, which I’d enjoyed until the triplets came along, and I wanted that for my child. I had all these huge plans for my career, too, complete with sketches I’d drawn of the fabulous Malibu beach home I’d live in with an entourage of “my people,” which would include a personal assistant, hair stylist, chef, and nanny. It was exciting to imagine myself as a top-flight agent, giving advice, counseling clients, and watching a spark of talent skyrocket into stardom. Also I’d be invited to A-list parties, where dessert tables offered oh-so-delicious chocolates.
Yeah, life was going to sweet.
So suicide? I don’t think so.
Of course, while all these thoughts raced through my head, I watched sorrow play across the nurse’s face as if her heart was breaking for me. And I remembered that this wasn’t about me. I wasn’t the one who’d attempted suicide.
That was Leah.
And she’d nearly succeeded.
Um … not good. Definitely not good.
Not being myself anymore—at least on the outside—was terrifying. Like when I’d been trapped in my sleeping bag at fourth grade science camp. My hair had snagged in the zipper. I screamed, squirmed and yanked, but I was totally stuck. It took two counselors to unsnag me, and eventually the bald spot grew back. But I never forgot the suffocating panic of being trapped.
This was worse.
I couldn’t unzip my way out of this body. I wasn’t me, yet I wasn’t Leah, either. A non-person, that’s what I was—except on the inside I felt like the same Amber Borden. Whatever equaled identity was beneath the skin: fears, hopes, feelings, and memories. I knew who I was—but how could I convince anyone else? Especially as a hospital prisoner with no phone privileges and zero strength to get out of bed? I had to figure out a way out of this mess … but I was just too tired.
So instead of coming up with a plan, I went back to sleep.
My dreams danced to soul music, soaring with no boundaries. Free from restrictions, I flew backwards into memories.
Zoom in, camera-like, to the rustic lake community of Sutton Pines, to a shady tree-lined street winding into the paved driveway of 43 Molly Brown Lane. Flowering bushes and a brown picket fence welcome visitors into a cozy, two-story, wood-sided house. Pan up to the round attic window, and close in on two thirteen-year-old girls huddled around a plain brown box. Oh, how well I knew that private attic hideout and those girls—and especially that box!
The box was the result of whispered secrets and hard-earned babysitting money. Alyce and I had conspired for weeks. When the package finally arrived, I snatched it up and immediately called her. She came over ASAP, bursting into my bedroom. We couldn’t wait to open our prize.
“Will it work?” Alyce asked as I ripped off the paper.
“It better for $49.95!” I told her.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this!”
“Why not? You thought it was a great idea.”
“But now I’m not so sure,” she said, gnawing on her black-polished pinky. “Maybe it’s too unnatural … shouldn’t we be satisfied with what nature gave us?”
I nailed her with a dead-on stare. “Are you satisfied?”
“No, of course not.” She frowned at her chest. “A’s are good when it comes to grades, but not bra size.”
“Exactly. B-minus isn’t that great either.”
“So open the box already!”
Holding my breath, having no idea what to expect, I pushed back cardboard flaps, tossed aside bubble-wrap, and pulled out our very own,
Suicide! But I would never … I mean … never!
Sure, I’d had self-pitying moments when I threatened to do something drastic, but I never meant it. End my life? No way! I had so much to live for: best friends, family, college, career, and the unknown super-hot guy I would marry. We’d have only one child—boy or girl, I wasn’t picky. Being an “Only” had lots of perks, which I’d enjoyed until the triplets came along, and I wanted that for my child. I had all these huge plans for my career, too, complete with sketches I’d drawn of the fabulous Malibu beach home I’d live in with an entourage of “my people,” which would include a personal assistant, hair stylist, chef, and nanny. It was exciting to imagine myself as a top-flight agent, giving advice, counseling clients, and watching a spark of talent skyrocket into stardom. Also I’d be invited to A-list parties, where dessert tables offered oh-so-delicious chocolates.
Yeah, life was going to sweet.
So suicide? I don’t think so.
Of course, while all these thoughts raced through my head, I watched sorrow play across the nurse’s face as if her heart was breaking for me. And I remembered that this wasn’t about me. I wasn’t the one who’d attempted suicide.
That was Leah.
And she’d nearly succeeded.
Um … not good. Definitely not good.
Not being myself anymore—at least on the outside—was terrifying. Like when I’d been trapped in my sleeping bag at fourth grade science camp. My hair had snagged in the zipper. I screamed, squirmed and yanked, but I was totally stuck. It took two counselors to unsnag me, and eventually the bald spot grew back. But I never forgot the suffocating panic of being trapped.
This was worse.
I couldn’t unzip my way out of this body. I wasn’t me, yet I wasn’t Leah, either. A non-person, that’s what I was—except on the inside I felt like the same Amber Borden. Whatever equaled identity was beneath the skin: fears, hopes, feelings, and memories. I knew who I was—but how could I convince anyone else? Especially as a hospital prisoner with no phone privileges and zero strength to get out of bed? I had to figure out a way out of this mess … but I was just too tired.
So instead of coming up with a plan, I went back to sleep.
My dreams danced to soul music, soaring with no boundaries. Free from restrictions, I flew backwards into memories.
Zoom in, camera-like, to the rustic lake community of Sutton Pines, to a shady tree-lined street winding into the paved driveway of 43 Molly Brown Lane. Flowering bushes and a brown picket fence welcome visitors into a cozy, two-story, wood-sided house. Pan up to the round attic window, and close in on two thirteen-year-old girls huddled around a plain brown box. Oh, how well I knew that private attic hideout and those girls—and especially that box!
The box was the result of whispered secrets and hard-earned babysitting money. Alyce and I had conspired for weeks. When the package finally arrived, I snatched it up and immediately called her. She came over ASAP, bursting into my bedroom. We couldn’t wait to open our prize.
“Will it work?” Alyce asked as I ripped off the paper.
“It better for $49.95!” I told her.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this!”
“Why not? You thought it was a great idea.”
“But now I’m not so sure,” she said, gnawing on her black-polished pinky. “Maybe it’s too unnatural … shouldn’t we be satisfied with what nature gave us?”
I nailed her with a dead-on stare. “Are you satisfied?”
“No, of course not.” She frowned at her chest. “A’s are good when it comes to grades, but not bra size.”
“Exactly. B-minus isn’t that great either.”
“So open the box already!”
Holding my breath, having no idea what to expect, I pushed back cardboard flaps, tossed aside bubble-wrap, and pulled out our very own,
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