picture.”
He glanced at the picture, then at me. “We’re very busy,” he said. “Sit down.” He waved me toward a chair. “Crazies,” he muttered as I turned away. “All day long I got nuts walking in off the street.”
After a while a policewoman took me to another room, where a grave-looking man in a navy-blue suit asked a lot of questions. He had a flat, nasal voice.
“So this is you, right? And you say this is Officer Wilkenson?”
He made a few calls. It all took a long time, but he was getting more and more excited. Then someone else came in and they made me say it all over again.
“I already told you. That’s Aunt Genna. Yes,” I said, “that’s the officer. And that’s me.”
“Holy smokaroonies,” said the navy-blue suit. “We’ve got her.”
The third time I tried to commit suicide, I found out where Paul kept his small automatic at work. It was supposed to be protection against robbers, but it wasn’t loaded and I had a hard time finding the ammunition. When he was busy with an order, I put the gun in my purse.
This time I was going to get it right.
I remember it was a Wednesday. The sky was clear and there was no moon. I didn’t want to mess up Paul and Janet’s house, so I was going to do it at Lookout Point, where I could watch the waves and listen to the ocean.
I left no note. Couldn’t think of anything to say, really. Nothing I could explain. There was already a queer deadness to my body as I walked up the road trying to hitch a ride. This time was the last time.
Cars passed me. I didn’t care. I was willing to be benevolent. They didn’t know. How ironic, I thought, when Matthew pulled over and powered down his windows.
“Where to?”
“You going anywhere near Lookout?”
“I am now.”
I opened the door and got in. He was surprisingly low-key for Matthew. He had on a purple muscle shirt and black studded shorts.
“Going to a party?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Me and a few old friends.”
Something British was on the radio. We drove, not saying anything until we came to the turnoff.
“You were supposed to go left,” I said.
Matthew said nothing.
“We’re going the wrong way,” I said.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Lookout’s that way.”
“Yeah?”
“Matthew, quit fucking around.”
“Ooh. Nasty language.”
“Matthew, stop the car.”
“Scared?”
“Shitting my pants. Pull over.”
“You know,” he said casually. “I could do anything to you out here and no one would ever know.”
“I think you’d better stop the car before we both do something we might regret.”
“Are you scared now?”
“Pull the car over, Matthew.”
“Babe, call me Matt.”
“You are making a big mistake,” I said.
“Shitting my pants,” he said.
I unbuttoned my purse. Felt around until the smooth handle of the gun slid into my palm. The deadness was gone now, and I felt electrified. Every nerve in my body sang.
Matthew opened his mouth, but I shut him up by slowly leveling the gun at his stomach.
“You could try to slap this out of my hand, but I’d probably end up blowing your nuts off. Do you know what dumdum bullets are, asshole?”
He nodded, his eyes fixed on the windshield.
“Didn’t I tell you to stop the car?” I clicked off the safety. Matthew pulled over to the embankment. The radio played “Mr. Sandman.” A semi rumbled past, throwing up dust that blew around us like a faint fog.
He lifted his finger and put it in the barrel of the gun.
“Bang,” he said.
Mama would never have hesitated. She’d have enjoyed killing him.
I had waited too long. Matthew popped his finger out ofthe barrel. I put the gun back in my purse. He closed his eyes, rested his head on the steering wheel. The horn let out a long wail.
I can’t kill, I decided then. That is the difference. I can betray, but I can’t kill. Mama would say that betrayal is worse.
A long time ago in Bended River, Manitoba, six people were reported missing:
Daniel
He glanced at the picture, then at me. “We’re very busy,” he said. “Sit down.” He waved me toward a chair. “Crazies,” he muttered as I turned away. “All day long I got nuts walking in off the street.”
After a while a policewoman took me to another room, where a grave-looking man in a navy-blue suit asked a lot of questions. He had a flat, nasal voice.
“So this is you, right? And you say this is Officer Wilkenson?”
He made a few calls. It all took a long time, but he was getting more and more excited. Then someone else came in and they made me say it all over again.
“I already told you. That’s Aunt Genna. Yes,” I said, “that’s the officer. And that’s me.”
“Holy smokaroonies,” said the navy-blue suit. “We’ve got her.”
The third time I tried to commit suicide, I found out where Paul kept his small automatic at work. It was supposed to be protection against robbers, but it wasn’t loaded and I had a hard time finding the ammunition. When he was busy with an order, I put the gun in my purse.
This time I was going to get it right.
I remember it was a Wednesday. The sky was clear and there was no moon. I didn’t want to mess up Paul and Janet’s house, so I was going to do it at Lookout Point, where I could watch the waves and listen to the ocean.
I left no note. Couldn’t think of anything to say, really. Nothing I could explain. There was already a queer deadness to my body as I walked up the road trying to hitch a ride. This time was the last time.
Cars passed me. I didn’t care. I was willing to be benevolent. They didn’t know. How ironic, I thought, when Matthew pulled over and powered down his windows.
“Where to?”
“You going anywhere near Lookout?”
“I am now.”
I opened the door and got in. He was surprisingly low-key for Matthew. He had on a purple muscle shirt and black studded shorts.
“Going to a party?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Me and a few old friends.”
Something British was on the radio. We drove, not saying anything until we came to the turnoff.
“You were supposed to go left,” I said.
Matthew said nothing.
“We’re going the wrong way,” I said.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Lookout’s that way.”
“Yeah?”
“Matthew, quit fucking around.”
“Ooh. Nasty language.”
“Matthew, stop the car.”
“Scared?”
“Shitting my pants. Pull over.”
“You know,” he said casually. “I could do anything to you out here and no one would ever know.”
“I think you’d better stop the car before we both do something we might regret.”
“Are you scared now?”
“Pull the car over, Matthew.”
“Babe, call me Matt.”
“You are making a big mistake,” I said.
“Shitting my pants,” he said.
I unbuttoned my purse. Felt around until the smooth handle of the gun slid into my palm. The deadness was gone now, and I felt electrified. Every nerve in my body sang.
Matthew opened his mouth, but I shut him up by slowly leveling the gun at his stomach.
“You could try to slap this out of my hand, but I’d probably end up blowing your nuts off. Do you know what dumdum bullets are, asshole?”
He nodded, his eyes fixed on the windshield.
“Didn’t I tell you to stop the car?” I clicked off the safety. Matthew pulled over to the embankment. The radio played “Mr. Sandman.” A semi rumbled past, throwing up dust that blew around us like a faint fog.
He lifted his finger and put it in the barrel of the gun.
“Bang,” he said.
Mama would never have hesitated. She’d have enjoyed killing him.
I had waited too long. Matthew popped his finger out ofthe barrel. I put the gun back in my purse. He closed his eyes, rested his head on the steering wheel. The horn let out a long wail.
I can’t kill, I decided then. That is the difference. I can betray, but I can’t kill. Mama would say that betrayal is worse.
A long time ago in Bended River, Manitoba, six people were reported missing:
Daniel
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