Day 3: One a Day/For one second



For One Second


“Come on love, you can’t sit there forever.” The sky is as blue as it is in Teletubbyland land, with clouds that look as though God has made a special effort to fluff them himself. I feel sick under such a gorgeous sky, while my girlfriend is trying her hardest to commit suicide. We’re been here fifteen minutes and she hasn’t let me take my phone out of my pocket or get any closer than five feet. People have seen us, and have risked death themselves by vaulting over the road so as not to get involved.

“I’m not going to sit here forever.” She picks at her suede top, the one her Mam used to wear. She likes the feel of it.

“Just take my hand and we’ll sort it out. I love you, Tash.”

“No.” Should I beg? Actions speak louder than words, right? I need a plan on how to approach this. But there isn’t time for a plan.

“You’re scaring the shit out of me.”

“Then go.”’

“And watch you chuck yourself onto the A19? As if, Tash. Now stop acting like a kid.” She waggles one foot and one of the flip flops she bought last week, with the ‘crystals’ studding the two straps that go between her big toe, drops into the road. I don’t hear any screeching of tyres or crunching metal. She must have dropped it at exactly the right moment.  “This has gone on for too long.” The sun doesn’t want to be involved, and lets some beefy clouds take his place. The wind whips up. Tash’s white summer dress flaps. I can see the skin on the back of her arms go from alabaster to purply blue. Her teeth start to chatter. Any other time when we’ve had arguments, I’ve offered her tea and sex, but I don’t have the facilities for both here and now. I should have walked away the second she slipped her body through the gapping gap in the wall of the bridge; maybe she would have followed me. (It’s almost as though the council are purposefully taunting people with suicidal tendencies. Come one. It’s only one jump. One jump and you’ll never have to worry about council tax, epilating or medication again.)

“Babe, at least let me come over there and hold you. Let me hold your hand at least.”

“No, it’ll make it more difficult.” Her face is soaking wet. I want to see fear in her eyes like when they dragged her out from under my bed, and bundled her away to St Lukes. I want to see the fear in her eyes like when we had our first row. I want to see the fear in her eyes when the doctors screwed up her medication.

“Please, babe I need you. You need me.”  My eyeballs sting as tears curl around them and dribble down my cheeks. I take my phone out and smash 999 into the keypad, while I drop to my knees. I can feel the gravel making imprints.  I love this woman; voices, crazy habits, medication and all. I don’t care her arms are thick with scars, or that she skived off school more than she attended, or that she can’t eat in public places. We have really hard experiences and really incredible one. She can be smiling and confident looking. We should have gone travelling; India, China, Israel, instead of staying here and fermenting in each other’s beds. She is the idol that lives in my heart. Maybe I should have become a Budist rather than a metal head. Maybe I would have been better able to help her, if I had meditated rather than drink and smoke dope and go to gigs.  I look away for a split second to check my phone is dialling, and she’s gone. I catch her dress, like a swan tail before the sickening thud and squeal of breaks. I cover my head with my hands; I don’t want to see my beautiful girl in pieces, so close my eyes.