My name is Jenny Fulton and I’m a murderer.
And no, I’m not some character in a cliché action book. I wasn’t trained by a secret sector of the CIA to become the ultimate weapon, wasn’t genetically engineered with cold blooded killer coded into my DNA, and am NOT some sort of crime-fighting hero. I’m deffinately not a hero. In fact you should stop liking me right now. I mean if you’re gonna listen to the entire story of how I ended up here, then you’re gonna start to hate me at some point anyway.
I’ll start with my first murder. It was raining and I was crying. Visibility was pretty much zilch between the water that was clogging my eyes and the water that was pounding onto the windshield. I kept on driving anyway. Maybe a code for being a murderer did somehow slip into my DNA. Then I’d at least have something else to blame.
Anyway so I was driving across the bridge over Lake Union, drowning myself in stupid self-centered tears. My car’s speedometer was the last thing on my mind. Which was unfortunate considering that it was trying it’s hardest to tell me that I was flying down the road at grand theft auto speeds. You all seem pretty smart so you can probably guess what happens next even though I couldn’t. I hit a slippery patch of road and hydroplaned.
They say that in a time of crisis your senses speed up and that you become more alert. They say that the adrenaline can make people do amazing things like the grandma who lifted a car up to save her grandchild. But that Adrenaline didn’t do didly for me. My mind was racing faster than the car was spinning, trying to remember what I would have known if I’d actually paid attention in driving school. But I couldn’t remember a thing and I panicked and from that point on my mind just spewed a continuous stream of curses. While I was repeating to myself, “Oh shit, oh shit, I’m gonna die,” my car slid into the next lane over. Now this whole-hydroplaning thing only had been happening for a couple of seconds so the car next to me didn’t have time to get away. My car slammed into the other car that I later found out was driven by a nice older man named Mr. Jackson. I never got to properly meet him though because after my car and his car spun around each other, his car rammed through the guard rail and down, down, down, into the ocean. And it should have been me. And now everyone knows it, including all of you.
The ending damage was a minor concussion, some bruising, two totaled cars, and one death. I’m “lucky”, they say, that I have no permanent damage. I’d be luckier if I had some real injuries. Maybe a spinal dislocation that would take weeks of hospitalization to cure and some acute memory loss that would forever keep me from remembering the all too scarring experience. My minor injuries only bought me two weeks before it was back-to-school time. I tried to persuade my Mom otherwise but there’s no sympathy for a monster.
School was hell. Last time I checked teenagers didn’t pay attention to newspapers. I guess things have changed though because everyone read the article detailing how Jenny Fulton did away with Mr. Jackson. Had I known that I’d be the new center of attention I might’ve tried to face myself in the mirror that morning and done something with my frizzy brown hair and giant-pored face. Just two weeks before I would have killed for that much attention. And by that day, I already had.
I guess I should talk about my academic courses since they keep on telling me that the purpose of school is to get an education. Well all of my academic classes equally sucked. Students casted accusing glances at me, my legs couldn’t stop swinging underneath my desk, and I couldn’t distract myself from any of it by actually trying to learn cause I was beyond lost in each class. The last thing that I remember learning about was the Japaneese ritual of Seppuku and how Samurai would kill themselves so that they could restore their honor and their family’s. The class had moved on from thirteenth century Japan to thirteenth century England so I had no idea what was going on. Still, I’d rather sit through one more academic class, anxious and confused as I may have been, then to have gone to lunch.
Normally I eat with my two friends, Alyssa and Meghan. They’re both alright people. Meghan’s nice for three-and-a-half weeks of every month but she’s more yippie than my dog when she PMS’s. Alyssa lies a lot for no apparent reason and sometimes she chews with her mouth open. Still, they’re both nice people. I mean, I could’ve done a lot worse. I could’ve had friends who, when I approached their lunch table on that horrible day, told me in front of everyone that they didn’t want to sit with me anymore. Instead they confronted me in the hall before lunch period started.
“Hey, Jenny,” Meghan said, “Just so you know Alyssa and I aren’t going to eat in the cafeteria today.”
“Oh, ok. Where are we eating?” I ask.
“Well, me and Alyssa were gonna drive over to McDonald’s.”
“I forgot my lunch,” Alyssa quickly added. “We would invite you but we need to drive and we don’t want you to have to worry about being in a car and all that.” I stared at her for a second after she finished and she suddenly became very interested in a scuff mark on the floor.
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll eat with someone else. You chew with your mouth open anyway.”
…
I swung the door open to the lunch room. The bell had already rung and the student body president was making the daily announcements. Everyone else was sitting at their cafeteria table or standing in the lunch line. Per the school rules, it was silent besides the student president’s squeaky voice. When the lunchroom door slammed behind me all of the students’ heads turned towards me. Their once bored, glossed over eyes perked up when they saw me. They realized that their lunch today would come with a show.
Everyone was dying with anticipation to see what I would do next. Would I pick an empty seat at a random table hoping that I would be accepted? Or would I sit alone at my usual lunch table, the one that my friends would be at had they not abandoned me? Or would I stall either of the above eminent options by entering the lunch line even though I packed a lunch? I looked at someone’s cafeteria tray and noticed that it was breakfast for lunch day, Alyssa’s favorite. Odd that she’d of chosen McDodo’s junk food over her beloved French toast sticks. Right. I looked back at everyone looking at me, and then turned around and left.
I wandered the halls aimlessly for a bit. It was nice to be able to roam, sitting still made me restless. I had to worry about being caught though. Every time I saw a teacher I tried to take more determined steps, acted like I was on official business instead of skipping class. The act worked and the teachers didn’t ever approach me. It was passing other students that became the problem. When they saw me their faces turned cold, their eyes full of accusations. The worst part was that I didn’t just see them once and it was over with. Apparently a lot of students skip class by walking the halls so I’d see them once in one part of the building and then have to face them again in a completely different area. It became unbearably uncomfortable so I left.
I waltzed out of the school’s oppressing double doors and into the great outside. I imagine that the moment had the potential to be liberating but the clouds kind of ruined it. I also had no idea where to go. The only thing within walking distance was home, but I couldn’t risk going there in case my parents came back from work early.
I walked without direction for a while. Getting nowhere bugged me. I decided that I needed to go far, far, far away. I saw a bus and hopped on it. I road it for a bit. The whole motion thing didn’t freak me out as much as I thought that it would. The people freaked me out more. Every time someone glanced over at me I wondered if they knew about what I’d done. There wasn’t a picture of me in the newspaper article so they shouldn’t have. But it felt like they did. Each glance became an accusation which then became an assertion. “Guilty!” Their eyes screamed at me.
I stayed on the bus for two more stops and then realized that I had arrived at my destination of far, far, far, away. I got off the bus and looked up at the bridge, it’s huge intimidating arches cutting through the dark clouds. I started to walk towards the bridge and then stopped. I knew once I reached the bridge there’d be no going back. I stood there for a bit and then decided that I needed to talk to someone so I took out my phone and scrolled through my contacts. Alyssa- No, Dad- No, Meghan- No, Mom- No, Steve- Hell no. He made it clear two weeks ago, right before that drive, that he never wanted to talk to me again.
I called information and asked to be connected to a teen suicide hotline. The lady who worked for information put me through right away. When the suicide hotline worker person picked up the phone, I hung up. It was stupid for me to have called. The phone lines needed to stay open for the people who actually deserved to live.
There was a clap of thunder and it started to rain. And I started to cry. My legs suddenly broke into a full on sprint and I was racing across the bridge. I looked at the guard rail as I flew, waiting for it to change. When the guard rail became bright and shiny, I knew I was there. My head spun, adrenaline pumped. My mind sped as I grabbed hold of the railing. I looked down and saw the far, far, far, away that I’d been waiting to reach. Even though my vision was blurry from the tears and the pouring rain the world reached a point of clarity. This time the scene would end right. The universe would balance. My honor and my family’s would return. I could head towards my proper fate as a Samurai.
A siren shattered through my thoughts. The police arrived early. Didn’t they understand that they were supposed to show up after the suicide? A man in uniform told me to step away from the railing and I was about to disobey when I remembered something very important. I remembered that I wasn’t some sort of hero as the Samurai were. I was doomed to fail. I did as the police officer asked which brings me to here, talking to all of you at this nice Suicide Attempts Anonymous meeting.
All I can say is this; I’m glad that we failed. We wouldn’t be here if we hadn’t.
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