Wagner Suicide

Authors Note: I wrote this when I was 17. And though it's every bit what you might expect from a junior in high school, I've purposely left it unedited from its original in the hopes it serves as a touch point to the past. Spoiler alert . . . it's VERY dramatic. :-)

There had been better days in the past, but they all seemed to run together in a blur of grays and blues. That old clock on the wall over my bed ticked away endlessly. The only real joy I found in my meticulously clean abode were my memories. Were they memories though, or dreams? I had difficulty sorting out the difference between the two. No matter though, they wouldn’t let me do much more than sit and think anyway.

The past comes to mind . . . I couldn’t have been more than fourteen years old at the time. He was so handsome. The memory of our childhood arguments and hatred had already begun to melt away. A new watercolor painting was being formed on the old canvas.

Being young and at an easily impressionable age, was an obvious deterrent to resistance. The excitement of explorations in a new world seemed endless. All we wanted was to find a little peace and be happy. What an ambition! I have searched all the cavities of my mind in hope of finding the truth. I know that all truth exists in my head somewhere.

So, when Jonathan and I first took our leap into the unknown, we had a common goal. That goal was to make ourselves happy at the expense of no one but ourselves.

At first, we called our intimate desires merely games of pleasure. Jonathan always said that our secrets were ours alone. No one else was allowed to play in those days, so I could not share the stories with anyone. We were fearful of misunderstanding and jealousy by others that we could not let join in the fun.

At every ring of the phone in my mother’s country kitchen, came a burst of excitement that settled in the pit of my stomach. Sometimes I felt that the feeling was fear. I’d always been rejected by the circle of people that I wished to associate. Some murmurings about dress and the way I wore my hair. Such material and surface judgments were too trivial for me to comprehend. Innocence in youth is a superb advantage but has its disadvantages when it eats away at one’s eros.

Jonathan’s sister Linda was my best friend. It was quite convenient to have her as my neighbor. Linda knew about the games, necessarily. In fact, she arranged them most of the time. I really loved Linda. She was always around when I needed her, even in the white room with that clock. I despised that clock.

Our fantasy for happiness had come to life with such simplicity. Jonathan was an artist. His room was characterized by Peter Max, a miniature of Maxwell’s silver hammer, and a puppet’s head that dangled from the ceiling. The puppet’s face was sinister and had eyes that could burn through to the core of one’s mind. The nightmares I had about that puppet coming to life sent chills up my spine at the slightest recall to detail of the scenes.

The corridor leading to Jonathan’s place of habitat seemed miles long. Walking down the hallway, I had sensations of soundless noise that echoed through my entire body. There was no love, no emotion that could be described. I reached for the door knob and entered. Instantly, all was tranquil and the frustrations that had built to the point of explosion ceased. No one could emulate that touch that he had.

I was obsessed with giving him pleasure, but could never detect any success. He hardly ever spoke, and only years later did I find that he had deep admiration for me. I only wish that he could have told me his feelings then, for as I grew to love him, my hours spent alone grew. I have shed tears enough for ten lifetimes. All because Jonathan thought that his love showed through his actions and he did not feel that words were needed to reinforce what he thought.

Jonathan and Linda went West for three weeks of summer vacation with their parents, I desperately longed for their return after their first week of absence. I received a letter from Linda saying that Jonathan had dreams about me and she suspected that he missed me. I lived on that hope for the remainder of their trip. The day on which they were to return, I spent thinking about the games. The games had become a large part of my life. Even though they failed to give me as much pleasure as I had originally intended, Jonathan still wanted to play and I felt obligated to accommodate him. The sun was out, there would be no game playing today, only on rainy days.

“May I call you Rebecca?”

I gave Jonathan a puzzled look and asked, “What’s wrong with my real name?”

“Well, nothing at all. I just think you look more like a Rebecca. Now sit still for just a few more minutes while I finish some sketches and we’ll play the game.” He shot a glance that met my eyes with a force almost overpowering. I could not look at his eyes and inadvertently broke the gaze.

“Why can’t you look at me?” Jonathan always gritted his teeth and talked very slowly and deliberately when he was angry, “You can not expect any respect from people if you insist on evading their eyes. Laura, don’t make me angry with you. I’ve told you a million times, LOOK BACK AT THEM!”

He was always right. He told me to use my eyes as a spider does a web. Jonathan said if I did what he told me I would hold great powers.

“Jonathan, where are we going today? To another island or Paris?” He was unusually bland and lacked enthusiasm totally. Maybe it was my change of the subject.

He answered, “We’re staying right here. How does that make you feel?” Again, Jonathan looked at me with sour mockery. He was testing me again. Why was he always testing me?

“I don’t know.” I tried to sound affirmative in my answer so he would stop intimidating me. I had succeeded in only disgusting Jonathan with my reply. I could see the disappointment on his face. The corner of his mouth curved slightly downward and he made a noise that told me I had better leave. He gestured to me to do what I had suspected. I could feel the tears forming in the wells of my eyes as I departed from his room. I don’t want to cry again, too emotional.

Rejection. I had to find an escape that would enable me to cope with being an outcast. Jonathan says that Laura can’t deal with acceptance therefore, is always having to face rejection. She is the model child who caters to her parents every wish. Through her I am timid and fear all that exists out of the realm of traditional Old Testament teachings of Christianity.

Rebecca, on the other hand, is such a free living spirit. Jonathan created her in me just in time. The little puppet in my nightmares had caught me and attached the strings with the greatest of ease. The colors she painted were brilliant and new.

Linda was always my tower of strength. She perpetually was doing the right thing at the right time. Her eyes were deep chocolate brown in color. They were seducingly constant. Her warmth was inspiring and without her I would have swallowed a dozen or more barbiturates that would have rocked me softly to death. The spherically shaped, red-coated candies were looking incredibly better by the moment. The buzzing in my ears grew louder when I realized how opportune the moments surrounding me were. I felt a cold, dark, shadow fall across my path, beckoning me with a bony outstretched finger. I stopped briefly from my hysteria only to put “Lohengrin,” a romantic Wagnerian opera on the stereo.

I captured the brown bottle and began pouring the contents into my hand with intense determination. The opera seemed far away but the ringing in my ears and the hollowness in my gut seemed unbearable. I was at the apex of my flight, about to admonish the fatal drug into my bloodstream, when suddenly, Linda pounced on me unannounced. The water in my glass soaked my clothes and bed. I felt as if I had just fallen out of the sky after experiencing the eye of a hurricane. I could hear the bold chords of the traditional Wedding March penetrating my senses as I grasped the tides of reality.

Linda held me close and caressed my outer ear with circular motions. “My poor, sweet, baby Laura.” She spoke with so much tenderness. I could only wish that her brother would employ the same tenderness. I had allowed Jonathan to have infinite power over me.

Linda dated frequently now, and displayed abounding affection to me when she was between loves. I spent hours rationalizing her actions, finding only a minimum of comfort. As the days and weeks rushed by, I found a need for Linda’s soft words more and more. I didn’t dare demand the time from her because she spent her free time, which was precious to her, with the present boy of her dreams. Sometimes I felt used, especially when she had a lover’s quarrel and used my shoulder to cry upon. I wouldn’t deny her my compassion for her grief.

I was old enough now to accept dates and did so under Jonathan’s reasoning that, if I refused dates, others would become suspicious as to whom my heart was true.

I found that I enjoyed the company of Tom Robinson, a boy I’d had in classes since Kindergarten. He was very kind and he held my hand in public. Jonathan never spoke to me or even acknowledged my existence in the real world. My relationship with Tom hadn’t gone on long when Jonathan confronted me with his views on the situation.

“Sit down Rebecca, I must make a few things clear.” I sat. My heart was racing with a speed that was out of control. My mouth had gone dry the moment I had received his summons, and conversation on my part would be impossible. “Rebecca, you are only faithful to me aren’t you?” I nodded my head in agreement. “I knew you were. I’m not saying that you can’t have your little friends on the side, but, you mustn’t ever let yourself become serious or sexually attached to anyone. You have me and need no one else. The games have been better than ever lately.” He was right, they had been delightful. Jonathan told me that when I felt myself falling away from him, it was most likely because I was falling for someone else. So, as not to lose the security of Jonathan’s haven, I would have to run from the claws of emotional involvement. I silently regarded the rules as Gospel and continued to worship the great power that held me so tight. Inevitably, I flitted from romance to romance, not giving much of anything and leaving only broken hearts in my wake.

It had been over a year since my parents had uprooted our family in search of a more affluent existence. A bizarre sort of expression on Jonathan’s face when I departed haunted my memory. His cold gray eyes and accusing smirk had showed no warmth. I felt as if growth, inwardly, had stopped in my system. Emptiness is what I felt, void of the fire for life, I was possessed with a want for happiness. (Again, or still?) Under the influence of a pain-killing drug after minor surgery my fears burst forward and culminated in the form of a dream.

The fire surrounded me on three sides. On the fourth side stood a dark figure having no distinguishable features. The night was black and hindered my sight. The figure was wearing a sepulchural robe and manifested the Spirit of Fear. The tongues of the hot glow crept closer to my body. I could feel the perspiration that was dripping from my forehead. The heat was intense and yet a glance at the Spirit sent chills through my bones. I perceived no escape and in my panic to survive, screamed obscenities to release some of the stress. The fire was closing in and I decided to take what might be the lesser of two evils. My eyes were watering from irritation. I turned to accept the fourth side alternative and found that the walls of fire had met, forming a complete circle. I was trapped.

When I woke, I heard a ticking noise. The ticking was constant and unmoved. Opening my eyes I saw white walls, white sheets, white floor and ceiling. Tick, tick, tick. I have seen my watercolors run off the canvas into oblivion, am governed by the clock, but, still have a world that revolves beneath my feet.

Copyright DJ Anderson 1974