Chapter 2: Saralinda

Hushalinda, Saralinda, Don't you cry
You're gonna turn into a butterfly
Pretty, oh so pretty that it makes me sigh
Hushalinda, Saralinda, Butterfly

Gentle rocking, rolling, rocking, rolling. So cozy, so comfortable, so warm. All except for that ache. Why am I so sore? Oh, it's just the waistband of my pants digging into me. Huh? Wait a minute. Why am I wearing clothes in bed? What the... ? Where am I? WHERE AM I? Awake.

I was not expecting what I saw when I opened my eyes. I certainly wasn't in my bed. Light filtered through green curtains into a small room. I was wearing jeans and a blouse with an itchy collar and my bra felt too tight. Was the room really rocking, or was it all in my head? Same for that deep throbbing noise – was that real too?

I tried to remember. I tried to remember anything. Then the knot in my stomach came back and I wished I could have unremembered for a few minutes longer.

But it came tumbling in on me. That night. I shook my head to keep those memories away. That bastard. I let myself remember making my decision, though. Taking the pills, then realizing that it was not going to be enough. If two are prescribed for sleep, four weren't going to, like, kill ... So I'd thought of the bridge. The hurried walk, standing there, getting ready to jump, and then...

And then what?

Was I even still alive? Unfortunately, I felt alive. In fact, I felt alive enough that I realized I needed to pee. I lay there a minute longer, putting off the inevitable. And then I remembered more: someone grabbing me and holding me, a car, crying and pain, and ... nothing else.

Maybe I was, like, at a psych ward or something. Maybe Harborview? But it didn't look like hospital. Nor a jail, not like I'd ever actually been in one. Motel? Didn't seem right, with just one twin bed. There weren't any motel rooms with one twin bed, were there? And why did it rock?

I gave up thinking and pulled the covers back, swinging my legs over, and sitting up. My head ached – would I get a hangover from four little sleeping pills? My bladder urged me on, so I tried to stand.

Either the floor really was rocking, or I was, like, seriously messed up. No, it was rocking; I could see the flowers in the vase rock too. OK – if it's real rocking, then maybe this was a boat. I'd been on a boat before – walking was just a matter of timing your steps to the rocking.

The small door behind me looked like a bathroom door, and it was. I didn't turn on the light – bathrooms have mirrors, and I desperately didn't want to see myself. I fumbled for the toilet seat, lifted it, undid my jeans, and pushed them down. Steadying myself on the wall, I sat, and let flow.

My pee smelled and stung. I peed a lot. Dehydration. Drink water dummy.

And then I was like, Why? I was supposed to be dead. Peace and quiet and dead. Why couldn't I be dead? I couldn't even kill myself successfully, not even with pills and a bridge to jump off of. Fuck, Fuck, FUCK. I felt tears tickle the corners of my eyes. I didn't want to cry. I didn't want anything. What I wanted was nothing, or really, nothingness. I just wanted everything to be over.

Sniffling, I wiped, pulled up my pants, flushed, and turned to the sink. Dixie cups, in a little dispenser. It was like I was a little girl again, playing with the Dixie cups in the bathroom and "slubbing" in the sink. Mamma!

Mamma. Crap.

I filled a little cup with water and drank, filled it again, drank again, and forced myself to fill it a third time and drank. I put the cup down, dried my hands, and left the dark bathroom.

Going over to the green curtains, I paused, afraid. I could just go to sleep and pray the Lord would take my soul before I'd wake. My fingers felt the fabric of the curtain, then slowly pulled them open.

Brightness – unimaginable brightness. I squinted. Startled, I dropped the curtain.

Outside was a railing, the sea, and a man. We were on a boat at sea. And the man had eyes that were like blue holes. Looking into them was like looking into the sky – like looking into his soul.