Paris Wills is a dreamer. His father always said he got it from his mom, an artist who was unlike any other. Her virtue was painting, and Paris' is poetry. No matter where he is, Paris finds inspiration for his poems.
In the summer after his sophom...
A raucous commotion jostles me awake. It's probably one of the nurses making their frequent evening check-ins. They tend to wake me up at odd hours of the night. However, I don't see the dim shine of a flashlight or notice anyone standing in my doorway.
As I flip onto my side, an overwhelming sense of dread overcomes me. It's the same apprehensive feeling my mom used to experience from time to time. I've experienced them myself a few times, and they were always right.
Even under the sheets, my heart palpitates and my hands tremble. Bile bubbles in my esophagus but I swallow it down. There's no way I can shake this awful sensation until I figure out what's wrong.
Tentatively, I slip out of bed and tiptoe out of my room. A few of the nurses congregate at the end of the hallway, completely oblivious to me. I can't hear what they're saying, but their hurried murmurs are laced with concern.
As I inch closer, I start to make sense of their frantic stammering. Then, I hear one of them say, "André," and my nausea threatens to breach the surface. Fearing I may vomit, I dart down the hallway. In the confusing darkness, I bump into a half-asleep Sabina, who asks me what's going on. Without a word, I wrap my arms around her and grip her tight. Sabina welcomes the hug, albeit with a hint of confusion.
"It's André," I finally explain in a hushed whisper.
Despite my best attempt at keeping quiet, the nurses notice Sabina and I down the hallway and rush over. I turn around, expecting them to chastise us for sneaking around in the middle of the night. Instead, one of them ominously lead us to the sitting room.
"There's been an accident," the nurse begins, speaking softly to keep from waking the other residents.
"What kind of accident?" Sabina questions, tired of euphemisms and pleasantries. I feel the same, reminded of how everyone referred to my suicide attempt as an accident. Talking down to us is futile. We've already been through more than some individuals will ever experience.
"André tried to kill himself. He's fine. I found him in his room, hanging from the ceiling. If I'd done my check-in any later..."
"Can we see him?" Sabina asks, maintaining her composure. Meanwhile, I'm trapped in a state of shock, numb to anything but Sabina's strong grip steadying me.
"Not until the hospital clears André for visitors. He suffered minimal injury from the attempt, but he's spending a few nights at the hospital under careful observation."
Sabina and I breathe a sigh of relief, glad to hear that André didn't sustain any severe injuries.
"You're both friends with André. Do you have any idea what might've triggered this?"
I scoff at the nurse's question. Doesn't she know why we're all here? All three of us have been diagnosed with depression and have tried to kill ourselves before.
When she realizes we have nothing to say, the nurse escort us back to our rooms. I squeeze Sabina's hand before slipping back into bed, hoping she'll feel be alright on her own. I'm not sure I'll be alright on my own. André's been at Neo longer than I have. Has he improved at all since he arrived? Have I? Do I really feel a little better, or am I fooling myself?
I spend the rest of the night staring up at the ceiling, my abdomen aching from nerves and my head racing with questions that I don't have answers to.
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