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Note: The views shown in this story are not necessarily those of the author. She would have thought like this four or five years ago, but not now.
 

Rage and Tears
 

"Miss Cody! Kindly give me the answer!" Marie Cody snapped up from her half-doze. Given Mrs. Callahan's tone, she thought, I've zoned out again. Better play it safe and ask her what the question is this time.
 

"Could-- could you repeat the question, please?" Her voice was barely audible in the crowded room.
 

"Didn't she used to be smart?" Rick loudly whispered from just behind Marie's desk. Every student except Marie began suppressing giggles. The teacher didn't notice; she just looked penetratingly down at Marie.
 

"Maybe it's an infection!" Jamie's voice spoke this time, considerably louder then Rick's. Yet the teacher couldn't hear it; Jamie was sitting by her deaf spot, and Mrs. Callahan was oblivious to Jamie's entire quarter of the room. The rigid teacher at the blackboard was visibly upset at Marie: a definite problem. Mrs. Callahan very rarely showed emotion; she controlled her feelings as rigidly as she controlled her hair. No strand dared show itself outside the tight hairstyle.
 

After pursing her lips for a final second of awkward silence, she replied, "The answer to problem number six on last night's homework assignment. You did do your homework this time, did you not?"
 

"Of course, Mrs. Callahan. I'm sorry."
 

"Don't be sorry, just give me the answer. I don't take kindly to repeatedly asking you questions."
 

Marie scurried through the scatter of miscellaneous papers on her desk. First, she found the poem about death she had been writing that morning during U.S. History; next, a permission slip for some field trip. After several long moments of frantic searching, she found her math assignment. "If a triangle has two legs of identical length and one of a longer or shorter length, then the triangle is isoceles." She sighed. Yesterday, she hadn't brought her assignment to class and consequently hadn't known a single answer. I hope I've pleased her now, Marie thought as she looked up at her teacher's disparaging face. Uh-oh. She's frowning. This is not good. This is very not good.
 

"Technically, you are correct. However, that was not what the question asked. The correct answer is 'If a triangle has two legs of identical length and one of a longer or shorter length, then the triangle will have two identical angles. See me after class, please, Miss Cody." Marie sighed. This was going to be a long afternoon.
 

%%%%%
 

"Miss Cody, you have consistently been a nuisance in my class. You refuse to do your homework on time. Whenever you do turn it in, you have either not finished it or not followed the instructions. You refuse to work with other people, yet I caught you talking in class six times last week, and passing notes four times. If I look at you and you are, by some miracle, not doing something like that, then you're almost asleep. Look at me, young girl, and tell me-- What is your problem?" Marie wasn't in a state to notice, but Mrs. Calloway's piercing eyes held a look of sympathy and pity under their mask of reproach.
 

Marie could barely look up, let alone find the courage to speak, so she whispered instead. "I d-don't know, ma'am."
 

"You realize, Miss Cody, that I'll have to let your parents know about this."
 

"Yes, ma'am." Marie didn't trust herself to be able to say anything else without bursting into terrified sobs. Middle School Rule Number One, she thought, Never show your fear around those you are afraid of. At least I've learned something in this hellhole.
 

"As well as the principal?"
 

"Yes, ma'am."
 

"And may I recommend that you see the guidance counselor? I have been teaching for a very long time, and I can tell when something is bothering a student. You were my best student last year, and now you will probably be lucky if you get above a D in my class. Perhaps talking to somebody may help." Mrs. Callahan saw the despair in Marie's face and said, "You may leave now, Miss Cody."
 

Marie couldn't hold her tears in, so she quickly about-faced to hide them from the megalith of stern kindness who was her math teacher. She didn't allow herself to cry for too long; people would notice. She would have enough crying to do that night, anyway.
 

%%%%%
 

"That was Mrs. Callahan on the phone just now, Marie," Graham Cody was livid; it took all his ample self-control to keep himself from screaming at his daughter. "She says that you are failing in math and that your behavior in class is deplorable. We aren't paying taxes to fund schools so you can nap all day. What is the matter with you this year? You were such a wonderful student in the sixth grade."
 

Well, "wonderful student" isn't popular enough, Marie's thoughts surfaced. If you go to Harvard but don't have any friends, what good are you?
 

"This is the third call from your teachers that we've gotten this year, honey," said Marie's mother Pat. "They're all worried about you, and so are we. We just need to know what's going on. Is it one of the teachers? Do you not understand the work? What is the matter?"
 

Great, Marie thought. They're both against me now. "They just want to help me," my butt. "I don't know."
 

"Yes, you do. This is all your fault; you must know what is causing this."
 

"Graham!" Pat glared at Graham for several seconds before continuing to her daughter. "Whatever this may be, Marie, this may not be your fault."
 

But they think it is, came the dark voice from Marie's inner being. They don't love you. If they did, they wouldn't be trying to get you in trouble like this. Marie felt she had to risk a retort, even if it meant tears. "But it is. Daddy just said so."
 

"Honey--"
 

"And what else could it be? The wind? Aliens? What?"
 

"But Mar--"
 

"First you tell me that this is my fault," Marie was absolutely livid. Every word she said was punctuated by rage and tears and the fire growing deeper inside her. She liked this fire; it let her actually feel something instead of remaining indifferent. "Then you tell me that it isn't. How can it be my fault? I don't even know what 'this problem' is. I'm just changing, all right? GET OVER IT!"
 

"I'm sorry, Marie. But we don't have any idea what the matter is, either. We're both extremely worried about you." Pat's calm voice seemed to appease Marie for a moment, but then the hate came back to her daughter.
 

"Bullshit." And with that statement, Marie retreated into her room, slamming the door behind her. Graham and Pat stared at each other for a moment before falling, both of them crying, into each other's arms.
 

%%%%%
 

-Damn. Even when I'm alone, somebody in the room hates me. I used to be able to be alone and not hate myself. I'll do my stupid homework. Maybe that will help.
 

-Yeah, right. Nothing can help. What is there to hope for anymore? Why work for anything if it won't be worth it? Is Harvard really worth this? -Of course not. If you want to stay a nerd, and not have any friends or a boyfriend, then go ahead and go to Harvard. But if you want friends, go somewhere popular. You can't be so smart all the time.
 

-Yes I can! I can find a place where I can be smart and have friends. You'll see.
 

-You're wrong. There is no such place. You can't find a place that doesn't exist; I don't care how many times anybody tells you that you can do anything. And as long as your parents run your life, you can't be popular.
 

At this point, Marie started laughing uncontrollably at her own stupidity. She was arguing with herself!
 

She ended up going to bed early that night. Sleep was the only state in which she felt good, and it was easy to find. Her dreams that night were of a hope and power that eluded her in the open-eyed world; she was a popular, pretty Harvard senior. She was being congratulated by Jamie on becoming valedictorian. She didn't have to pretend.
 

Pat cracked open Marie's bedroom door and found Marie asleep with the light on. It's funny, she mused. When she was a baby, she smiled all the time, except in her sleep. And now she only smiles when she's sleeping. "Good night, Baby," she whispered. Marie stirred slightly and returned to her sleep-doped reverie.
 

%%%%%
 

Melissa Callahan sighed. She cared for Marie; she really did. But she didn't know what she could do for her. Well, I'll have to do what I always tell my students to do when they learn something new. I'll have to ask 'why,' she thought as she picked her cat Monster up and placed him on her lap. She loved staying up at night, long after her husband had gone to sleep. It was peaceful now; she could think. So why would a vibrant sixth-grader who loves to learn suddenly become so indifferent? Why has her character changed so much? Why does she seem so distant from everything? She rests so much; last year I could barely get her to stay down. I refuse to think it's "just hormones." And her parents don't either.
 

Nor do they believe that Jamie and the others treat her badly. But I know otherwise. It's not easy for me to not do anything, but pretending to have a deaf ear will help me catch them when they do something really bad. But do I think that what they do to her is the full cause?
 

No. There must be more to this. They did this to her last year as well, and she was completely oblivious. And now the only thing she is oblivious to is how much we all care--
 

Mrs. Callahan remembered her brother Steve. He was so much like Marie at her age; even their changes parallelled each other. Parallelled? That's an understatement. The changes are identical! She sprang up from her seat, barely catching the protesting cat who had been sprawled across her legs, and started doing research.
 

%%%%%
 

She was holding Jamie's head into the toilet and flushing. She was laughing. She was getting revenge, at last. She was--
 

Dreaming. Damn. At least this was a good dream. Marie turned over to check the time. 1:47 AM. Perfect. I'm done with this.
 

Marie slinked over to her bathroom and took the razor from the shaver she had only recently been allowed to use on her legs. She was ready for this. She wasn't brave enough for anything else, but she could do this.
 

But I'll need a note, too. She had an idea. Now where was it? She had written it just that day during one of her classes; English, or maybe U.S. History. She couldn't remember. Then-- My backpack! I left it there!
 

Making sure to skip over the three squeaky steps, she tiptoed slowly downstairs to her untouched backpack, and found nothing. So how does it go? You can write it again, she told herself. No, I can't. I'll find it tomorrow at school. Tonight, I'll live.
 

%%%%%
 

The next morning, the Cody's telephone rang. The typical family custom was for everyone to tell everybody else to answer it until either the caller gave up or the answering machine took a message for them. It kept most telemarketers away, and it saved them a lot of time and trouble. Today, however, Graham answered the phone after only two rings.
 

"Hello?" He was still groggy because he hadn't finished his customary black cup of coffee.
 

"Hello. Mr. Cody? This is Melissa Callahan, your daughter's math teacher. Can one or both of you see me this morning at nine?" Mrs. Callahan's voice betrayed worry and urgency.
 

"That depends. Is Marie in trouble again?"
 

"No, but this is about her, and her health. It is imperative that I speak with you as soon as possible."
 

"Today will be fine," Graham said, just to get Mrs. Callahan off the phone.
 

"Thank you, sir."
 

"Goodbye."
 

"See you at nine." They both disconnected.
 

%%%%%
 

"So why are we here? And what in God's name is so urgent?" Graham's impatient tone matched his nature; he always wanted to get to the point immediately. Mrs. Callahan admired him for that, but there was another part of his nature that instilled fear in her.
 

"I believe that your daughter may be clinically depressed." This remark visibly struck both of Marie's parents. Before either of them had found words, Mrs. Callahan continued. "We have all noticed the change that has come over Marie over the past several months. You're her parents. What other changes have you seen in her? Has she been eating more or less than usual? Have her sleep patterns changed?"
 

"Now that you mention it, I cooked chili for her last week; it's her favorite. She didn't have a single spoonful," Graham was still incredulous and disbelieving.
 

"And she has been sleeping from the instant she arrives home until I wake her. I used to have to threaten to tie her down to keep her in bed," Pat was beginning to realize.
 

Mrs. Callahan slid a collection of printouts over to the parents' side of the table. "Much depression has its roots in crises: deaths in the family, major changes, traumas. But a lot of it seems to randomly come. This type of depression probably has a genetic component. This is what I believe is why your daughter has been acting so strangely lately. Treatment of depression can mean drugs or therapy, or both, depending on the type of depression and its cause.
 

"I am clinically depressed, and I have taken medication for it since I was thirteen. So was my brother; he killed himself when he was fifteen and I was ten. Neither of my parents believed that anything was wrong until he locked himself in the bathroom and--" Mrs. Callahan couldn't continue through her tears.
 

"I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?" Pat's eyes shined with concern and respect. It must take amazing strength to be able to share such a vulnerable part of yourself with near-total strangers, she thought.
 

"Yes. You can. Please talk to a doctor or psychiatrist. You'll in all probability save your daughter's life," Mrs. Callahan pleaded.
 

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Callaway, but I'll need a damn better explanation than that for me to send my baby girl to a shrink. Come, Pat. We've wasted enough time here," Graham stood and glared at Mrs. Callahan as he got up to leave.
 

"Graham, please listen! I think she has a point. Could you go on living knowing your daughter has a disease and that you chose not to do anything about it?" Pat remained sitting; her tone was calm and even.
 

"If she's so sad, then she should just cheer up! Marie's too smart to kill herself."
 

"So was Steve."
 

At this, Graham walked brusquely out the door to Mrs. Callahan's office, slamming it on the way out.
 

"I'm sorry for my husband's actions. He isn't exactly receptive to the idea that Marie may be sick. I'll call Dr. Katz as soon as possible," Pat's voice was so sincerely apologetic that Mrs. Callahan decided upon hearing it to forgive Graham.
 

%%%%%
 

"A shrink? I get sad and you're gonna take me to see a damned shrink?" Marie's rage was building again.
 

"You got it. And don't try any funny stuff; Dr. Katz got you an appointment with a doctor named Jim Overton. You get to miss an hour and a half of school..."
 

Marie hated how her mother could make even the worst of fates seem appealing. She was already looking forward to missing Spanish and P.E. But she still was aghast that her own mother of all people would do something like this to her. "I won't go."
 

"Yes, you will. You don't have to enjoy it, but as long as you live here, then you'll follow my rules. And if I say that you'll leave school at 2 tomorrow afternoon so I can drive you to Dr. Overton's office, then you will. Do you understand me?" Pat's voice was beginning to scare Marie; she knew she wouldn't get out of this without agreeing.
 

"OK, Mom. But I won't enjoy it."
 

"I don't expect you to." For the second time in as many days, Marie stomped up to her bedroom. She had no intention of seeing Dr. Overton the next day. Hell, she had no intenion of being alive the next day. She set her alarm for when her parents would be asleep and pulled the covers up over her face before slipping into sweet oblivion.
 

%%%%%
 

She didn't even need the alarm tonight. She awoke about five minutes before it was set to wake her. As soon as she noticed this, she turned it off and scampered downstairs to get the poem she would use as her goodbye note. Maria had found it early and lettered it nicely during one of her classes; she couldn't remember which one. That didn't matter anyway. She wouldn't have to take another class again. The sheet of paper read:
 

Possibly pain is the only feeling
despair, the sole emotion
death, thebeginning and end of life.
 

Probably hope is an illusion
created by the world's Pandoras to mask their deceit
They have destroyed me in the process.
 

There is no way out of the prison of despair
Except for a life sentence without parole.
 

I plan to escape. Will you join me?
 

With those parting words pinned to her chest, Marie slid the blade up the inside of her arm. Surprisingly, it didn't hurt as much as she thought it would; she rather enjoyed the sensation. She lay down and waited for the release of unconsciousness to claim her.
 

mwirth: The ending is very bleak, but I see what you are trying to get across. You evoked the depression of junior high very well, and the way that adults who care are sometimes not enough. cgroom: I like how you switch perspectives throughout this piece, starting from Marie's perspective then moving to the teacher's, then the parents, &c. Your characters are very real, though I wish I had a better sense of the depression in Marie because it's hard to distinguish between normal teen angst acting up vs. deeper despair. One idea would be to make her interior dialog more heated and less rational. But, yeah, a powerful piece; I hope you keep working at it and others, too. cgroom: Just to nuance what I said above -- I'm thinking back to a great quote I heard once, by Thomas Merton: "Despair is the ultimate extreme of self-love," because we willfully choose to ignore the world around us. I'm not sure whether it's true or not, but it does raise the point that many people who despair are incapable of suicide except as a dramatic gesture rather than an actual release. So, the question is: is Marie acting out the drama of suicide, or does her world really make this the only way out? Perhaps that's the good thing about open-ended narratives like this, they don't give any conclusive omniscent judgement. Add comment