A Studentss Guide to First-Year Writing :: Personal Narrative Suicide Death

A Students's Guide to First-Year Writing Now, and at the Hour I was not with You I. Laurie is crying again, â€Å"You are not with me,† she says. â€Å"Wait, Rae, don’t move.† I watch the silver image of the Virgin Mary on a swaying chain around her neck as she snaps the shutter to trap me in black and white. Laurie is the photographer of our little society; Michael is the sculptor, Stacy and I are the painters, and George has had a thing for performance art lately. We’re smoking cigarettes in the moldy bowling alley. George says: â€Å"I’m bored of this- all of it. Everyday’s the same shit. We need to fucking do something before my skin rots off.† Laurie is quiet, but Mike shrugs his shoulders, â€Å"What do you propose that we do, George?† â€Å"I don’t know, rob a bank, be punk rock and spread some anarchy... man, I don’t know, just anything.† I look at Laurie. She’s quiet. I motion to the bathroom to take her from George’s little angst party. We stand together in the stall, so I kiss her and touch her hair and say, â€Å"You okay, swe etie?† â€Å"Do you want the truth?† she asks. I nod and she replies, â€Å"No, Rae, I’m not okay. I’m really very, very not okay. I’m losing my shit over absolutely nothing... Rae, I just can’t do it anymore.† I’ve heard Laurie like this before; it makes my stomach go sharp and black because I want her to be okay. I need her to be okay. But she hurts so deep; her depressions come in torrents. Her tears stream the Chanel foundation off of her cheeks into puddles on her black dress, all in such slow motion. She brings a bottle from her bag, clicking and childproof, to her burgundy lips and then shares it with me. We return to the group with hydracodone breath, so that the rest of the day will be a senseless opiate dream. You are not with me. You are not with me. None of you. You stand around and let words drool out of your lips. You speak of punk rock and of anarchy, but you don’t even care... about anything. You don’t even care. You can’t even see me crying. You say, "Laurie, you okay, sweetie?