The suicide note ( fiction )

To Whom It may Concern,

That sounds so impersonal.

But that is how this life experience has been , so impersonal.

Everything everyone seemed to do to me seemed so impersonal.

"Don't take it personal, but..." Oh so many ways to finish that sentence. So many ways it was finished for me.

What was that American dream I heard about. It passed me by. I saw the American nightmare they never talk about.

I was supposed to get married, have children, grow old with my loving husband... through thick and thin with a man by my side.

I was supposed to keep an immaculate house.

I was supposed to cook like Julia Child or some-one's grandmother.

I was supposed to be the perfect mother, never an ill word or a tear. Always calm always cheerful always sacrificing no thought for myself

I was a piss poor house keeper. I tried to keep up, but as soon as one side of the house was done, to perfection, the other side was trashed again.

He always said he was seemed to invite people over. That was followed by braking dishes, or a favorite item or just a slap to the face.

My cooking was adequate. Healthy. That was my concern. He fussed so much that the children followed suit. Ever meal not edible according to my family.

Motherhood, I failed there too. Never calm enough, never nice enough, never, never... never enough of anything for anyone. The schools called me irrational, because I got upset. My oldest son he found it an easy excuse not to do his work. "well you know how my mother is." he would say and they would give him a passing grad on a paper half ass-ed done. The others found it easy to blame me, too.

Roy, he runs the streets since he was 15. The cops talk about his crazy mother and give him a pass most the time. His father used the same line the first time the cops brought him home. As soon as the door closed the belt came out, first for Roy second for me for embarrassing him.

That was the night I made him leave. Well it was something a kin to Roy and I pushing him out the door.

I thought that would be the end of it. That the children would calm down. That the world would see me for me and not though his eyes, not through his lies.

I was wrong.

The boys they got wilder. They turned their wildness to me and the girls. I found myself up against walls screaming about respect. The girls cried as the boys said they were now the men in the house and would have order.

What was worse? I sot help from the police who laughed at me, told me it was my fault for turning out the only man who would deal with me. The court system, the social workers all interviewed him and they said I was luck enough to keep my kids. They told me I could press charges and put my sons in jail for years.

A man to grow old with. The thick and thin. Why women put up with it? The teenage years. As they grow into it, they all turn on me. Nothing I do is good enough. His words haunt me, though my children. But I love them. I can not get rid of them as easy.

Oh lord, I don not not how to go on. I work all day, clean and cook all night, with no kind word towards me during any minute of the day. I have failed you. I could not live up to the role of Mother. As I could not live up to the roll of Wife. I do not know how to go on one more day.

I reached out to people. They seemed to be good people. A man who said he cared. The children took to him. He told me he had morals. Good Christian morals. He was nice, I didn't mind don't all those things to please him. I saw him as someone I could be with. Than I saw him with another woman, saying the same things he said to me, those things they seemed so sincere, so personal. He was just a player playing his game.

Oh Lord, I raged against him , like a Hurricane rages against the gulf coast.

All those people, they spun away from me as quickly as they spun to me. I want Just one person to be what they say they are. But they are not.

In all my life I wanted to love. I settled fr "he liked me." And that was good enough. We got along well enough. Until we didn't.

I fell hard for a man knew all the right words to say and the right places to touch but none of the staying power of a real man.

I fear my children. I gave birth to them, nursed them, love them, held each one close and yet they treat me as I was a stranger.

I fear growing old alone.

I fear love. Love I will never find, love I will find but does not want me.

I am past my time to get a man. It is not fair, Lord, how men my age are in their prime and women are disgusting old bags. Why make things so unbalanced as they are.


I have no more need of a hard life. Of toiling everyday and never having any light at the end of the tunnel. Hope has left years ago. And with out her sweet grace I find nothing more to live for.


But I wanted to let who ever cared, know why. I suspect none should care, but I hate unanswered questions and would not like to do that to anyone else.

______________________

The next morning the alarm went off. I shut it off stumbled out of bed. Found the note I left. Realized I chickened out again. Crumpled it up and threw it away with the other ones.

Maybe today someone will care.

I head out the door to take the train to work.

The world looks gray again. I think it might snow.

Ugly p4

O.k. where did I end this?

Oh yeah.

My parents all gave me a name. A gift that would be with me forever. I wonder how they will fit that on my tomb stone? Make sure they do, wont you. It is my final wish. Well, I still have a few wishes left in me. But it's the one I want you to remember. Also, dear, rose granite. Yes, I want rose granite for the stone.

Anyway, I am still only one years old and far from the grave.

They took me back to the surgeons again. They had waited for be to get my birth certificate. They realized my mothers and fathers were a little disorganized. They had seen them beg for money. They realized this was the end of a year's journey.

I remember my mothers and fathers wanted to come in with me. My mother's face was so full of hope. As if she could imagine seeing me.


They had seen drawings of the procedure. They saw how a lot of children look afterwards. They got care instructions. While I was taken into another room.

They laid me on a table. They strapped me down. I was frightened. They put a blinding white light on above me and told me not to worry. You will wake and it will be all over. They looked like aliens with their faces covered. Monsters, ghosts, scary things. I tried to stay awake. I didn't want to sleep with the around me. I hate the feeling of being put under. It reminds me of death. It is a little death. I feel the same way about falling asleep sometimes. I wonder if I will wake up.

I did awake. I touched my face to rub my nose. I felt cloth. I cried. I felt pain. I cried louder.

My mother came to my bed. "You can not touch. You will ruin what the doctor did. You want to be pretty for Mommy, don't you? "

She never called herself 'Mommy' to me before.

She couldn't see my face under the bandages. In her mind under my bandage my face became hers as a little child. Flecks of freckle on my nose, pale white skin, and lips that held a mischievous smile.

You see all she could see was my eyes. Sparkly green blue just like hers. That was enough for her to piece the rest together.

"You do realize when the bandages come off she will have stitches and scars. She will never be "perfect", Bobbie? She will just be better then she was before, She will be able to have a more normal life than she would have without the operation. The doctor told us about this." My oldest father said to her.

"No, God, will make her perfect. Just like she was meant to be. My perfect pretty baby girl. She looks just like my little sister when she was a baby."

My mother's and father's looked around. Not really sure how to deal with her flights of fancy when they all knew the reality of the miracle she hoped for.

"Miss Miller, can you go out to the nurses station to fill out some paperwork about your baby." The doctor said. He was standing in the room the whole time.

"What paperwork?"

" Just questions about what your baby eats, likes, and such."

"But I don't know..."

The doctor gave her a stern look. "Are you not this child's mother?!"

"Yes, I can answer these questions, I just didn't want to leave her."

"It's important." Smiled the doctor as he escorted her out.

"Now that she is gone. I wanted to talk to all of you. This baby will need your help to recover. You will need to keep and eye on her mother. She seems to have unrealistic expectations. She is young still. You all live together, is that correct?"

"Yeah."

"That is one good thing about you kids," Doctor said and he looked around "you have formed substitute families. Right now they both need family. RESPONCABLE FAMILY." He looked around almost judgemental with a mix of lecturing. " The baby needs a lot of nurturing and the mother needs a lot of growing up. I fear she is too young to deal with a child like this. It takes a strong woman to love a child that is not perfect."

My mothers and fathers seemed upset at that last remark. They felt mothers should love unconditionally. They also watched my mother not love at all but barely tolerate.

"Not all women are cut out to be mothers. The less mature the mother, the more likely she is to harm the child. If the child is deformed in mind or body, it is more dangerous. I hope the rest of you can fill in the gaps." His tone seemed far more concerned than technical now. " From what I have seen, you have. Please remember she's not a doll but a living human. They are delicate. There is a reason we pair off and have children, one mother one father. I hope you are all up for the task."

Mother came back in with a piece of paper and handed it to the doctor.

He looked it over. "So you baby likes hamburgers and fries and peppermint candies... oh and she likes playing with lava lamps. Be careful, Miss Miller, lava lamps can get very hot. Best to keep them away from her."

"O.k. Doc!" mother said as she came over to dolt on me again.


She kept looking into my eyes. As long as my face was bandaged I was beautiful. And she would told me so.

I was in the hospital for a while. Much longer than they would keep you in now. It was for the best. I was mostly healed by the time I got out. Chances for infection were low.

The last day I was there. I was happy to go home. The mothers and father's gathered. It was time for them to see my new face. The doctors had taken the stitched out a few days before, but kept me wrapped up. My mothers and fathers never saw me without the bandages.

The moment of truth as they say, they took off the bandages.

My mother's face went from smile and hope to disgust.

"But she is still ugly!" With that she got up and left the room.

The doctor looked at the rest of them. He didn't have to remind them of the words he spoke weeks earlier. The look said it all.

She rejected me again. I should have been used to it by now. I cried. The doctor was worried I would tear something. I should have been used of it by now. A full year plus of it. But for those few weeks I was her beautiful little girl.

Arms surrounded me. "Don't you look great! I didn't think it would turn out this good." My oldest father was here. Holding my little body close to him. My tears started to slow.

One of the mothers brought over a mirror. "Papillon, you are still my Papillon. See, the baby in the mirror. Her nose is in one piece now. Her lips come together like mine. And she pointed to her face where a long scar was on mine. Once there was a space there. I did look more like them. I laughed. And so did they.

"Time to get Rose into the sunshine where she belongs." Another of the mothers said. They dressed me and walked me down the hallway to the front door. "Rose, while you were in that dreary room, the world exploded in love and rainbows and music.." as we walked outside "and hippies!"

There were more people my mother's and father's age around, dressed the same, singing and dancing than I ever seen before.

One young woman with striaght long yellow hair came over to me and blew bubbles in my face. My oldest father carried me as I tried to reach for the bubbles catching one or two of them all the while I smiled and laughed. She smiled back at me. "Welcome to the Summer of Love, Little One!" She said in a laugh voice and danced away.

One of my fathers danced after her. We did not see him for about a week later.

Ugly p3

My mother was young. I tell myself that. She was far from her family. She had no mother around. The only real adults were men. They could not understand all the things a woman goes through during those time. She had no-one to explain to her about how babies form and how many things could go wrong.

I don't really blame her.

I wish I could truly believe that. But those are the first words I heard.

I know people don't believe you can remember that far back. But I do. And my first feeling was rejection. The first name I was called was Ugly. It was not the last time. It was used so much I thought it was my real name or at least one of my names until I was seven.

The father who gave me to my mother took me away quickly.

The women gathered around me.

"Poor thing."

"It doesn't look like any of the men or even the mother."

"We should bring it to a doctor. Get it checked out."

One woman took me. "SHE, she is not an it! She is a baby. I will take her."

One of my fathers drove us to the hospital. We waited in the ER for a long time. A very long time. I started crying. I couldn't stop. My crying for hours is what finally got me looked at.

Bright, bright white light. Each face less loving than the last.

"Someone give this child something to eat!" A man in a white coat ordered.

They fixed me a bottle and feed me. The substance they feed me would come out of my face.

" We can fix this cleft lip and pallet opening with surgery. The birthmark will have to stay. Other then that she looks like a very healthy baby. Why didn't the doctor who deliver the baby explain this to you? " He looked at the woman who brought me in suspiciously.

"This is not your baby? You don't look like you just gave birth."

"No, sir. It was a home birth and the mother freaked out."

"Is the mother alright? Does the father have insurance? Are you the father?" He looked at the father who brought me in.

"I think she is. No insurance and there is no father. I mean..."

"You kids. Creating babies. Having them at home with who knows what around. Not knowing which one is the father. This is not the first child I have meet from your communes. A little girl needs a Daddy.

This is going to cost money. Can your commune come up with the money for her surgery? The longer you wait for it the harder it will be on her. "

My father and the woman looked at each other. They didn't have any real money. Not the kind the doctor wanted.

"When you have the money give this person a call. " He handed them a card with the name of a doctor and an amount written on the back.

"Nurse, get them some formula and some bottles to take with them. "

The nurse left quickly.

"I strongly encourage you to try to get the mother to breastfeed. It is the cheapest way to keep the baby healthy."

The nurse returned with a weeks worth of formula, 4 bottles a package of diapers and pins.

"Take these and here is some pamphlets on how to take care of a baby. The mother might be 'emotional' or depressed. Watch her around the baby."

The nurse washed me off, diapered me and swaddled me in a blanket. Showing the woman how to did it every step of the way. She handed me back to the woman.

When I was brought home everyone gathered around. It was explained about my medical condition and what was needed to fix it.

Each father emptied their pockets. Each mother did as well. For the women, who later saw themselves as mothers to me as they would play with me, smile at me and give me the love my own mother did not have to give.

The months passed. My mother finally did take me to her breasts. She was never alone with me. One of my fathers would be there or one the other women. She didn't do much more than feed me ending each feeding with "Get that Ugly thing away from me!" She was sure I was her curse, her scarlet letter to wear for sinning against God. I know because she would wake up and say it every morning she saw my face.


They would find little jobs here and there. They would bring me to the street with them and out right beg for money. Other communes heard of what had happened. How a baby with many mothers and many fathers needed money for an operation. They would come by and give us what they had. My mothers and fathers sold pot for the 'fix my face fund', my mothers sometimes had sex with older men for profit, sometimes they sold flowers they picked.

It was my first birthday when they finally called the doctor to set up the appointment. At least that is what they told me. May 24th,1967.

My mother called me Ugly.

Each father and mother had different names for me. I responded to almost anything by the time I was a year old. Some named me after their mothers or grandmothers. Some after flowers or other things. Some changed their name for me as I grew. One mother said I reminded her of a cat when I was born. So she called me Kitty. That was until she saw me play with a sunbeam when I was 2 months old. Then she called me Sunbeam. Later as I made a mess while eating sweet potatoes I was Pie Face. When I was crawling I reminded her of a turtle. So I became White Turtle. When I got closer to a year old I was picking the heads of dandelions. So then she called me Dandelion. Another called me Papillon after the birthmark on my face.


When I was brought to the doctors office they asked for a birth certificate. There was not one.

My mothers and fathers brought me to city hall to get one.

"Mother's name?"

"Roberta Susan Miller."

"Father's Name?"

They looked around.

"The Universal God of Love and Understanding."

"So that would be none."

My father's were not amused. They really did want The Universal God Of Love And Understanding on the birth certificate.

"Sex?"

"Yes, please."

"Ha, like I haven't heard that before from you hippies? BOY or GIRL?!"

"Girl"

"Place of birth"

"The Planet Earth"

"San Francisco, it is than. You wouldn't have a date and a time would you."

"Damn, did anyone look at the clock that day? " the mummers among themselves.

"May 24th. Sorry no time other than it was dark out. " My birth mother talked for the first time in all of this. No one was sure what day it was either. It was May. She decided to choose Bob Dylan's birthday. It did make it seem like she was paying attention to something that day.

"The child's name?"

"Ugly." My mother responded.

"No! Don't write that!" the others said quickly.

"Good I was hoping you were not serious. So what is her name?"

"Dandelion, Papillon, Rose, Moonbeam, Alice, Rainbow Walker, Emma, Peace Frog, Matilda" They all said their name for me in turn then my birth mother said "Miller"

"You have got to be kidding?"

"No!" They said together.

"Just write it down." my oldest father said to the women behind the counter.

They waited the appropriate time and got my official piece of paper saying I existed and my name was NOT Ugly. Officially. Not Ugly. Though my mother still called me it from time to time. But mostly she started calling me Dani. Everyone else still called me their name for me.

As I grew older other people thought Dani was short for Danella. They never believed that me that it was short for Dandelion.

Ugly p2

After loosing Sandra and her sister in the street she ran to the train station. They were not there.

She sat there for the night. Partly because it was her last effort ditch effort to meet up with her again. Part because in her quest to be famous she forgot to find a place to stay.

In the morning the ticket taker woke Bobbie "Baby, you gotta buy a ticket somewhere or go. And don't thing about sleeping here again. This was a one time thing. Got me, child?"

"Yes, Mame." Bobbie Sue said as she took her bag and strolled out of the station.

She got a room in a sleazy boarding house. That was easier than she thought. She just lied about her age, and they didn't really care anyway. She found someone who got to doctor an ID so she could get a job and a driver's licence. She felt scared and alive and free all at the same time. She felt like she was told being a teenager was suppose to feel like. She did not want to look back.

She saved a little. She meet other young people. She meet a young man. Young, he was 25. She thought daddy would shoot him if he ever knew. They moved to San Francisco. He had friends there who were all sharing a house. Young people providing themselves a family when they have none. This appealed to her. She was not alone. She was not so scared. She felt alive and safe.

No more of the old school. No more woman the salve to man. We are modern. We have jobs. We have men who tell us we are free and liberated from the chains of our mothers.

The guys still make the women do the dishes and wash the clothes and clean up after them. She wonders where the liberation was. Every time they grabbed her ass and whispered free love into her ear she remembered. Liberated from being a good girl. When they would bring it up the men would talk about doing the stronger tasks. "Separate but equal, babe. Everybody works in the commune." They still didn't seem to work much, more sitting and talking.

They introduced her to pot, hash and shrooms. Now that felt liberating. She felt free to enjoy the making love not war even when the boys didn't know how. She wondered with her mother's "no sex before marriage" rule, how she ever knew if Daddy was good in bed. She decided it was much better to check out the merchandise and throw the inadequate ones back. She did a lot of throwing ones back, than fished them back out again to see if they learned anything.

Free love plus drugs = me.

"Hi!"

Welcome to my conception.

Party time!

Well, literally.

It was an orgy.

I have 5-8 possible fathers. My mother could only remember 4 of their first names. 2 she actually knew last names of.

Well, the night started off with the normal meal, cooked by the women. Lentils, brown rice, you know typical hippie earthy crunchy stuff. Next came the hash brownies. Some friends of friends came by with their "old ladies". And Bob's your uncle...

What, you thought I would tell you this part. If you want a sex story there are plenty out there, films, too, I am told. Especially of the orgy verity. I never asked her the details of an orgy. Mostly because I was sure she would tell me. Some things you should not hear from your mother.


When she turned up pregnant and throwing up a few months later the men in the house got together and decided she should have an abortion, for a baby would really drag everyone down.

The next day they gathers some cash together from their fathers and....

Of course she didn't! I couldn't tell you the story if she did, could I? Maybe I could, from the aborted fetus part of heaven or limbo or where ever aborted babies go. Sorry, my Southern Baptist up bring comes back at the worse time.

Well, she told them. And all the women in the commune told them too. They had their own little revolution. Women's liberation. Explaining what a woman's right to choose what happens to her body meant. It meant a whole lot more the lending them her body for mutual enjoyment.

The women were so furious that they went on strike. Oh, the men laughed. They said anything girls could do they could do better. This went on for weeks.

The men cooked.

Well, the burnt a lot of food. You see their mother's didn't teach them to cook. After a few days they decide raw foods were healthier for all of them special a pregnant woman.

The men cleaned.

They decide cleaning was bad for babies. Because there were toxins in cleaners. The women pointed out no toxins in hot water and a mop and elbow grease. There mother's didn't teach them to clean either.

The men did the washing of the clothes.

The cloths were all pink. Many a dress got shrunk to the size of a 6 year's dress. Mother's never taught them how to sort laundry, either.

The women ended their strike when they could take it no more. The woman not the men.

The men had a house meeting. They admitted the real reason for the abortion suggestion. They all could be my father. They didn't know how to deal with it. They were all taught real men take care of their responsibilities. But she was the first girl they could not convince to have an abortion. They really didn't know how to deal with this.

They all decided to wait and see. Who ever I resembled would be my father and he would take care of me and my mother. One of them had did a study in college where the results were the babies resemble the fathers. It was nature's way of getting the father to bond with the baby instead of killing it.

Not very scientific, I know. DNA tests were not around back then. Until I was born and let them all know, they would all treat her as if she carried his child inside her.

This made me the commune's baby.

Mother enjoyed herself. She was pampered as if she was a goddess. It was the first and last time this happened. She was very grateful for me during this time. I was appreciated. I too, was adored and wasn't even born yet. They would all sing to me. I could hear the music through my mother's skin. Words of love were spoken I am told.

The months passed. I grew, my mother's stomach grew.

During yet another orgy, I decided to make my appearance. The water broke. I am told nothing stops and orgy like a woman's waters braking.

This should have been a sign to her. The party should have been over.

They had all agreed to have a home birth.

My mother changed her mind halfway through. "Drugs, I want drugs!"

"The baby is almost here, it will only hurt for a moment. " One of my fathers said to her.

She responded by hurling a lava lamp at his head. One person screamed that it was expensive. Mother screamed because she burnt her hand.It did take her mind off the pain. That father screamed because his face was burnt. He still has the scares today.

With all this screaming, down the birth canal I came. More things were thrown as advice about my mother's pain being mostly in her head were said by people who would never feel the joys of birth without drugs.

A lot more screaming issued from mother and the people she got with her easily identified flying objects.

When I came out. The noise of the house stopped. The only noise to be heard was my crying.

They handed me to her, naked and bloody and cord still attached.

"Get it away! It's UGLY! God has punished me!" mother cried.

The Scent of a Man

The smell of him lingered on the pillow. When he left she would smell the pillow for hours when first he slept over.

He smelled of the oils of his skin mixed with some oils he mixed himself. His special blend. It was intoxicating to her. It was from the first moment she meet him. Some olfactory drug that turned her libido on. She would never tell him this.


As her dark eyes with a golden rim were the same to him. He never quite explained what their to her. There was plenty of time. Plenty of time to tell her that the golden ring made him think of far off lands, exotic women in cheep stories and those women who tempt men in the old movies, the ones they just can not resist.


His smell lingered on his pillow, cool and soft.

She stripped from her clothes and fell into the big bed made for two. She grabbed the pillow, hugs it, smells it deeply.

She fell into the world of the unconscious.

Not really sleep. Somewhere else. There she still lay clutching the pillow. There she clenches her lover. He is younger. Still the same.He is in his prime. Before he got distinguished looking in the last 4 years. He smiles and holds her back.

This time is timeless and lasts forever.

Beep.. they smile into each other's smiling eyes.

Beep... they are not seeing anything physical. They see each other fully.

Beep... the physical drop away and they are bright and brilliant.

Beep... Will that beeping stop!

Beep.. She remembers it from somewhere. Somewhere far away. So far from this place.

Beep... She opens her eyes.

"FUCK!"

She gets up from bed.

Rolls out of the room. Stumbles around.

"Ouch!" She whacks into the door jam to the bathroom.

She starts the water in the shower and finishes her routine.

The mirror is fogged. It makes her look younger. The illusion he tells her is his reality. She lived in that foggy reality for enough time. She took the towel and moved away the condensation from the mirror. She was taken aback by her 41 year old face. She turns away quickly. She thought it was some one else. Not her. It was her mother's ghost. She is sure of it. Slowly it fogs over again. And she is 25 again.

She pushes the shower curtain away. The water is warm.

Everything stops. Time passes. Unnoticed by her. The sun rises higher. The shadows slowly move. All the memories of him. His touch. His laugh. The look in his eyes when he wants her. She loves it when he wants her.

She doesn't want to wash of the scent of him. She knows it is crazy. Or is it just sentimental.

She thought of jokes of women who hold on to long.

In high school she remembers a girl who didn't wash for a week because the boy she had a crush on finally fucked her. She would have loved to call it making love. But boys didn't do that back then and he did it on a dare. After a week the girl realized her virginity was taken by her own true love who saw her as a piece of meat. The girl finally took a shower then. The circumstances of the how she knew was beyond the cruelty of girls. Forced truth. One of the cruelest things girls do to each other. Followed by a forced shower by said girls.

She pulled her hand back from the shower's water. She was not ready.

She put the clothes back on that she had on last night. She forgets she has worn them already. It is all the same day all running together. Back to back. One long day. This is not the first time she has walked through this routine. Same cloths. Same day.

Beep...

The stupid reminder of the seat belt she hates. She secretly likes the illegality of not wearing it. Makes her an outlaw. Makes her dangerous. Makes her someone not to mess with. Makes her wild. It's the only illegal thing she does. It's the wildest thing she has done for years.

Driving in a head fog she forgets the trip.

Beep... She hates the sanitized smell.

She reaches over.

Beep... she hates the sound.

She pushes the leaver to the off position.

Beeeeee... ahhhhhhhhh.

Sound of air escaping it's host.

Finally the beeping stops.

She thinks she can rest now.

She is dead wrong.

"You bitch, what have you done!?"

"It was suppose to last another 20 years at least, maybe 30 or forty if we were lucky." She turns to the older woman screaming at her.

"But I was the only one who could do what needed to be done. You can hate me now if you want. At least you didn't have to make the decision. You can hate me for the rest of your life. I give you permission. And I will never fight it. I did it for you,too. I love you, he loved you. A mother should never have to do that for her son."

With that she walks out of the room and walks back in her fog .